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Description
The Alien
I hate cafeterias – but not for the food, unless humans can count. Somehow I doubt it. So this morning, when my brother informed me that we would be invading a local high school, I was a little disappointed, and more than a little angry. High school has always been an ugly place. Whatever, I thought. I’ve suffered before.  I grabbed some toast and started walking as soon as I was decent.

When I entered the hallways, everyone began to stare. I averted my eyes and kept walking. It was as if they had never seen a person wearing a mask before. They were all wearing them, too, of course – their race was merely fortunate to bear theirs far beneath the epidermis.

At lunch time, I went into the cafeteria. It was quite squalid, though the humans seemed content enough.  I waited in the long, slow-moving lines for their form of grub. It was given in a rectangular, synthetic plastic container. The aroma was interesting, though I missed my home planets cuisine.

As per orders, I sat down with humans that seemed to be my age mates. They were chattering easily; I noticed that the females had a tendency to flip the fuzz on the top of their heads when they spoke to the males.

The week passed quickly. The cafeteria is the most memorable part of the school. I pretended to sleep through my classes to earn their trust. The half-grown humans acted quite differently than their adult forms or even the children. When I coolly asked in English, “waking” momentarily, about their idea of rebellion, they seemed to not understand…

Then I divulged by identity to one of the humans. She was a brunette, I learned, though my race does not care for the idea of ‘pigmentation,’ and had eyes as round as one of our biggest moons. They were an uglier color, however.  I did it in a deliberate way, of course. This was no attempt to assuage her ego by making her think that she had won. I had earlier learned that females could be unbearable if they thought so. I let slip my proboscis from beneath my mask and slurped up some of the milk that they described as chocolate, though it was not similar to our version of chocolate. The moons in her face widened drastically. I turned on my secret radar and divulged her thoughts to myself.

“If aliens like this gross food…”

But she didn’t finish the thought, and when I returned to my home planet, I was still, as humans often said, ‘in the dark.’

The Reformer
Today your cafeteria has a ham sandwich. Yesterday you had pizza – also with ham. Tomorrow you’ll have soup, and guess what? Yup – with misshapen chunks of beef and scrawny, little, unidentifiable vegetables. You strongly believe that cafeteria food is questionable – but why don’t adults ever seem to listen? You decide to find out, but you can’t do it in an obvious way. It is well known that some of the workers have vile temperaments.

You start at the “grassroots level” per se, and inconspicuously start a discussion in the hallways about the food. Other students have similar complaints – even the principal’s daughter! Your heart soars. You have the brains, and the others have connections. This can be solved, you think. We’ll have fried chicken and ice cream by Christmas!

As the last bell rings, you rush to your locker with a notebook full of ideas. Maybe you can even start a petition? But then reality hits. As you crouch down to twist the combination lock – you met the teacher who was handing out locker numbers a little too late this year – a shadow obscures the numbers. You frown and lean down a little more. It isn’t until moments later that you see the cafeteria manager’s eldest son, a big strong boy named Gary, or his fist, which soon collides with your jaw. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes. Your jaw has been broken.

“What was that for?” you croak, angrily; though in excruciating pain, you are determined that your voice will be heard.

Gary shrugs his massive shoulders and walks off. “Don’t diss my momma,” he tells you.  “She works hard at what she does.”

While you recover in the hospital, you think over that idea. How could someone work so hard and still have food that tastes and looks so awful? It’s a troubling concept and you think over it, long and hard. By the time your parents come to visit you, however, you have come to a single conclusion: it’s all the government’s fault.

The Clique
The cafeteria is ridiculously crowded, Ari thought. The intimidated young man hung at the doorway, only able to watch. Every day students had to scramble for the precious seats, and usually there were about a dozen left out, lining up against the walls or trying to balance their food trays while sitting on their lumpy backpacks. The students that managed to get tables weren’t much luckier, though, and everyone suffered with the state of disrepair in the room.

“Hey!” Caterina, his best friend, waved at him from a cramped corner. Her brown hair was frizzy today, more than usual, and her grin held a spicy tinge. “I managed to score us a couple of seats!”

Ari blinked a few times and made his way over to her. Before he could, however, all the other students stopped what they were doing and began to shuffle aside. He tried to weave through them, but they were packed in too tightly. He was gauged in the ribcage by neighboring elbows, and when someone stepped on his untied shoelace, he couldn’t stop himself from tripping. There was a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach; the inevitable was just about to happen.

He was flung right into the make-shift aisle, right into the path of the oncoming clique of the most popular, attractive girls on campus. Mae, the commanding curly blonde with eyes the color of the morning sky. Erica, the African American girl with a complex series of braids winding down her slim figure. McKinsley, the tough, musical brunette with all the right moves.  Of course, they didn’t help him, but they dropped just short of a trampling. There was laughter, but he picked himself up before anything worse could happen. His ribs felt as if they had suddenly decided to collect bruises for a hobby.

“Ari!” Cat was there at his side, providing a little more blockage against the milling, jeering crowd. He grinned at her, grateful, but by the time they made it back to their table, they found that their seats had been taken. He sighed, and they both shrugged. Well, at least there were a few spots near the wall. They leaned against it and picked at their food. It consisted of dubious ingredients: broccoli and cauliflower oozing with rotten juice, some kind of mystery meat served over chunky gravy, and curdled skim milk.

The bad food only served to make his bad day even worse.

Description
The Alien
I hate cafeterias – but not for the food, unless humans can count. Somehow I doubt it. So this morning, when my brother informed me that we would be invading a local high school, I was a little disappointed, and more than a little angry. High school has always been an ugly place. Whatever, I thought. I’ve suffered before.  I grabbed some toast and started walking as soon as I was decent.

When I entered the hallways, everyone began to stare. I averted my eyes and kept walking. It was as if they had never seen a person wearing a mask before. They were all wearing them, too, of course – their race was merely fortunate to bear theirs far beneath the epidermis.

At lunch time, I went into the cafeteria. It was quite squalid, though the humans seemed content enough.  I waited in the long, slow-moving lines for their form of grub. It was given in a rectangular, synthetic plastic container. The aroma was interesting, though I missed my home planets cuisine.

As per orders, I sat down with humans that seemed to be my age mates. They were chattering easily; I noticed that the females had a tendency to flip the fuzz on the top of their heads when they spoke to the males.

The week passed quickly. The cafeteria is the most memorable part of the school. I pretended to sleep through my classes to earn their trust. The half-grown humans acted quite differently than their adult forms or even the children. When I coolly asked in English, “waking” momentarily, about their idea of rebellion, they seemed to not understand…

Then I divulged by identity to one of the humans. She was a brunette, I learned, though my race does not care for the idea of ‘pigmentation,’ and had eyes as round as one of our biggest moons. They were an uglier color, however.  I did it in a deliberate way, of course. This was no attempt to assuage her ego by making her think that she had won. I had earlier learned that females could be unbearable if they thought so. I let slip my proboscis from beneath my mask and slurped up some of the milk that they described as chocolate, though it was not similar to our version of chocolate. The moons in her face widened drastically. I turned on my secret radar and divulged her thoughts to myself.

“If aliens like this gross food…”

But she didn’t finish the thought, and when I returned to my home planet, I was still, as humans often said, ‘in the dark.’

The Reformer
Today your cafeteria has a ham sandwich. Yesterday you had pizza – also with ham. Tomorrow you’ll have soup, and guess what? Yup – with misshapen chunks of beef and scrawny, little, unidentifiable vegetables. You strongly believe that cafeteria food is questionable – but why don’t adults ever seem to listen? You decide to find out, but you can’t do it in an obvious way. It is well known that some of the workers have vile temperaments.

You start at the “grassroots level” per se, and inconspicuously start a discussion in the hallways about the food. Other students have similar complaints – even the principal’s daughter! Your heart soars. You have the brains, and the others have connections. This can be solved, you think. We’ll have fried chicken and ice cream by Christmas!

As the last bell rings, you rush to your locker with a notebook full of ideas. Maybe you can even start a petition? But then reality hits. As you crouch down to twist the combination lock – you met the teacher who was handing out locker numbers a little too late this year – a shadow obscures the numbers. You frown and lean down a little more. It isn’t until moments later that you see the cafeteria manager’s eldest son, a big strong boy named Gary, or his fist, which soon collides with your jaw. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes. Your jaw has been broken.

“What was that for?” you croak, angrily; though in excruciating pain, you are determined that your voice will be heard.

Gary shrugs his massive shoulders and walks off. “Don’t diss my momma,” he tells you.  “She works hard at what she does.”

While you recover in the hospital, you think over that idea. How could someone work so hard and still have food that tastes and looks so awful? It’s a troubling concept and you think over it, long and hard. By the time your parents come to visit you, however, you have come to a single conclusion: it’s all the government’s fault.

The Clique
The cafeteria is ridiculously crowded, Ari thought. The intimidated young man hung at the doorway, only able to watch. Every day students had to scramble for the precious seats, and usually there were about a dozen left out, lining up against the walls or trying to balance their food trays while sitting on their lumpy backpacks. The students that managed to get tables weren’t much luckier, though, and everyone suffered with the state of disrepair in the room.

“Hey!” Caterina, his best friend, waved at him from a cramped corner. Her brown hair was frizzy today, more than usual, and her grin held a spicy tinge. “I managed to score us a couple of seats!”

Ari blinked a few times and made his way over to her. Before he could, however, all the other students stopped what they were doing and began to shuffle aside. He tried to weave through them, but they were packed in too tightly. He was gauged in the ribcage by neighboring elbows, and when someone stepped on his untied shoelace, he couldn’t stop himself from tripping. There was a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach; the inevitable was just about to happen.

He was flung right into the make-shift aisle, right into the path of the oncoming clique of the most popular, attractive girls on campus. Mae, the commanding curly blonde with eyes the color of the morning sky. Erica, the African American girl with a complex series of braids winding down her slim figure. McKinsley, the tough, musical brunette with all the right moves.  Of course, they didn’t help him, but they dropped just short of a trampling. There was laughter, but he picked himself up before anything worse could happen. His ribs felt as if they had suddenly decided to collect bruises for a hobby.

“Ari!” Cat was there at his side, providing a little more blockage against the milling, jeering crowd. He grinned at her, grateful, but by the time they made it back to their table, they found that their seats had been taken. He sighed, and they both shrugged. Well, at least there were a few spots near the wall. They leaned against it and picked at their food. It consisted of dubious ingredients: broccoli and cauliflower oozing with rotten juice, some kind of mystery meat served over chunky gravy, and curdled skim milk.

The bad food only served to make his bad day even worse.