It started, amazingly enough, with Jeremie, though I’m sure he’ll deny it if confronted later.  He’ll blame Odd for dumping milk into his lap, use that as an excuse for the overturned plate of spaghetti on the boy’s head.  The cafeteria went still at that moment; I couldn’t help but sense the danger brewing next table over.  So I did the sensible thing – I shrieked and dove for cover.

The food fight began in earnest.

From my vantage point, I could see Rosa flee from her station behind the counter, presumably to fetch Jim or some other help.  Stupid woman.  It’s like she left the door to the armory unlocked for the rest of them.  I see Odd make a beeline for the abandoned pots of red sauce, Ulrich not far behind.  I flinch back as a basket of garlic bread nearly lands in my skirt.

The floor has become slick with all the food dropped, and I’m left in one of the few clean zones.  Herve and Nick bolted, taking shelter near the door with some younger students.  Jeremie has fallen down by an overturned chair, and is being helped up by Aelita.  I can see Milly and Tamiya venting years of frustration at each other, each wielding a breadstick and fencing like there’s no tomorrow.  William seems to have control of one side, Yumi the other, and god help whoever’s in the middle (myself included).

It’s in the middle of this chaos that Emily stumbles over, half-blinded by the gelato smeared in her face.  She’s about to collide with the table I’m hiding under, so I grab her before she falls and yank her under with me.  I cluck under my breath and remove her glasses, cleaning them off with some fallen napkins.

“Not the glasses!  I’m blind without them!” she pleads.

“You were pretty blind with them dirty like that, too,” I retort, handing the now-clean glasses back to her.  Well, I try to, anyway.  It seems she was telling the truth about her vision – she’s groping at thin air for her spectacles.  Sighing, I position them on her face, and Emily goes redder than the marinara lying around us.  “Better now?” I ask.

She nods but does not speak.  Emily just now seems to be drinking in the devastation of her surroundings.  I let her gawk for a minute before lightly seizing her chin and turning her to face me again.

“So, what should we do?” I say.  “Someone’s going to find us and get us good if we stay under here much longer.”  Again she won’t speak.  It’s like she’s going through shell shock, only with food.  I look into her eyes; gears are turning in their, but actions are not forthcoming.  I wipe the now-drippy dessert from her bangs, but she grabs my wrist before I’m done.

“What if I wasn’t done eating that?” Emily grins as she says that, then proceeds to lick my fingers clean.

“Emily!?” I’m afraid I sound a bit shrill, but it can’t be helped.  The devious grin still there, she takes some of the excess gelato on her clothes and tosses it at me, and I’m too floored to do anything.  It hits, seeping everywhere – hair, clothes, skin.  The chill goes down to the bone.

“Oh no, you’re all messy now too,” Emily croons, all mock innocence and hidden laughter.

I spit out some gelato.  “Don’t I get a thank you for what I’ve done?” I gripe.  I had no idea Emily could be this heinous, and I tell her so.

“But you like it,” she says.  Feline-like, she starts cleaning the gelato off me again.  The noise of the food fight seems to fade away as Emily moves from my hair, my eyes, my nose, my mouth.  Before I know it, she’s kissing me, and I can taste the sweetness on her tongue as she works it in my mouth.  She pulls away after a moment, temporarily satisfied.