"Vegetables?" Vendetta sneered as they looked at their plate. "Why, is it always vegetables, in this stupid town?"

Mrs Millet raised their eyebrows. "Now, now, young lady! Our Clamburg is a lovely town, and our vegetables are fresh from Molding! Where are your manners?"

Instead of providing an answer, Vendetta stalked off with her tray of food, grumbling some foreign language under their breath that may have merited a little more than a gentle chiding had it been overheard. With one last lingering glance, the lunch lady sighed and returned to their happy duties with happy children.

Making the trip all the way to the last completely empty lunch table at the far end of the hall, Vendetta sat down. The sound of the rain striking the roof outside steadily rumbled on as they began meticulously sorting their clams from their carrots. They used their knife, not their fork, to stab offending veggies and scrape them off on the side. This rather repetitive task caused them to zone out and become lost in their own dark thoughts, where imaginary monsters rose out of the darkness to torture students and teachers alike.

Yes, yes! Some monsters to terrorise their peers would make them very happy indeed. Something in the playground to turn the children's squeals of joy into pain. Something in the lunch hall to ensure no Molding vegetables would be served again. Something in the halls to crush the singing that certain happy schoolgoers were apt to hum. And then, Vendetta would declare herself the ruler of the town; they would be feared and respected, and-

"Vendetta!" The sound of a tray dropping onto a table startled the evil girl out of their thoughts. They looked up to see Maggie grinning at them. "There you are! I just got back from a meeting with your dad."

"I don't want to hear your stupid rant."

"No offence, but your dad – the principal - is a bit of a jerk!" Maggie ranted. "He doesn't want to start up any sort of therapy sessions because apparently 'ze students is happy enough'. Ugh!"

Vendetta cracked open a clam with her hands. "I never understood therapy. Why put people in therapy when you can put them in hospital?"

"Hospital? That's a great idea!" Maggie snapped her fingers. "I can petition the city council to build a hospital in downtown Clamburg! Not only will ambulances have a much shorter driving time, people can go and seek therapy without driving hours out of town! But... how would I convince them it's necessary?"

"You could shoot them." Vendetta suggested, and the dark green girl looked up in shock. "With a water gun. Clamburg has always very cold winds; hypothermia causes stupid people, to make even stupider decisions."

"Oh. Haha!" Maggie shook their head. "I love your dark humour, Vendetta."

"I was being serious."

"Yeah, right." A deep roar of thunder rumbled outside. "Oh! I do hope this storm clears up before we have to walk home. I haven't brought a coat."

"I hope you get struck."

Maggie rolled their eyes. "Funny. Can I have your vegetables?"

In response, Vendetta roughly shoved their tray forwards, allowing her vegetables to be taken. "Stupid vegetables. I wish they served more meat."

"I'm sure we could petition Mrs Millet for that. Some grape punch would be nice as well."

"Grapes are worse than vegetables."

"I'm sure I could change your mind." Maggie raised a mischievous eyebrow. "You used to hate beef jerky before I introduced it to you."

"Beef jerky is not grapes." Vendetta looked up as a bell rang. "Ah, look. It is classtime now. I do not have to listen to your stupid argument anymore."

Maggie stood up. "Gee, it feels like lunchtime is so short nowadays. Maybe I can make that better if I go ask your dad."

With that, they skipped away, leaving Vendetta to their melancholy self.

"Hmmm..." Vendetta thought out loud. "Maggie is a stupid girl, but at least she leaves me alone when I say so."

Instead of walking over to the trashcan to dispose of their tray, Vendetta decided to throw it like a frisbee. Being not particularly gifted with any sort of aim, they missed and struck a boy in the back of the head.

"My head!" The boy exclaimed, and Mrs Millet marched over.

"Vendetta, that was awful!" Mrs Millet put her hands on their hips. "What do you say to poor Marvin?"

Vendetta arched an eyebrow, the very gesture setting off all sorts of red alerts for the lunch lady. "I was aiming for the trashcan, however you do just as well."

And they turned on their heel and walked away amid the rumblings of thunder and the roaring of Mrs Millet.