I’m having a fairly normal day, right. Just a normal Tuesday. They’re serving lasagna, just like they do every Tuesday. I’m standing pretty far back in the line, late because I got a lecture on my attitude at the end of Maths, just like I do every Tuesday. The can is sitting in its fridge, nice and cold and contained, just like it does, well, every single day of the week, it isn’t as if it gets holidays. The only thing strange in the general area is the new girl standing in front of me. She’s so blatantly new too. Not even trying to pretend she knows what she’s doing. She forgets to take a tray at the start of the line and has to run back to grab one, causing general chaos.
I ignore her. She’s in my year, I saw her in French that morning. Not my kind of person though, seems way too into paying attention in class. Not a people person either, you can tell the thought of finding somewhere to sit in the canteen is practically making her hyperventilate. Pretty, but I bet she’s well aware of it. A bit stuck up. She’s going to have fun trying to fit in here.
She’s not doing a very good job of holding my attention until we get up as far as the fridges. I’m busy watching the lasagna on my tray, waiting for it to breathe or give some other sign that it is, in fact, alive, as we have been claiming for some years now. The hum of refrigeration makes me look up. I have a tradition of giving the can a nod every time I walk past it, just saying ‘Yeah, I know you’re there.’
Something’s not right today though. There’s a hand on the can.