Davey Tooker – angry that failing his fucking history test got him cut him from fall football – threw a plate of spaghetti, greasy marinara sauce dripping down the cafeteria cement wall. Cracked plate pieces, strings of pasta, clumps of tomatoey ground beef broke apart conversations about Homecoming Dance dates and after-party plans.
In silence, we waited for the principal to drag Davey to the Main Office before resuming our lunch-time banter. But then Davey’s best friend Jon Mitchell flung a handful of brownish-green beans at the same wall, just above the reddish glop, so we rose up in solidarity, chucking rubbery hot dogs, warm chocolate milk, jelly-oozing-peanut-butter sandwiches, and over-cooked Tater Tots at each other while Davey stood with his fist raised in the center of the cafeteria, bits of vanilla pudding smeared on his head like bird droppings on the Statue of Liberty. We roared: We want pizza! We want fried chicken! Never surrender!
Later, Homecoming Dance cancelled, parents asked, What-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you? Don’t-you-know-how-to-act? We stared at the adults like they were idiots, later congratulating each other for our righteous protest. Davey, punished with a week-long suspension, ate stale bread and ketchup alone at home, secretly craving the cafeteria’s spaghetti, garlic bread on the side.
Liz deBeer is a teacher and writer with Project Write Now, a writing cooperative. Her flash has appeared in BULL, Fictive Dream, Switch and others. She is a volunteer reader at Flash Fiction Magazine. Follow Liz at www.ldebeerwriter.com or https://lizardstale.substack.com or @lizdebeerwriter.bsky.social.
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