Friday 25th November, 5:28 PM - IT DOESN'T MATTER NOTHING MATTERS ANY MORE
SOMETHING TERRIBLE HAS HAPPENED
THE WORLD HAS ENDED
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGG GGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH
Friday 25th November, 7:14 PM - My bedroom.
Deep breaths. Stay calm, Gilbert. Calm.
Today started innocently enough. I got to school, opened my locker and a bunch of sheets all came fluttering out. I picked them up before they could get trampled and flipped through them; it turns out my new journalists actually came through. There was a handwritten page from Alfred (so messy and badly spelt I had trouble deciphering it) that told the epic tale of how the Gakuen High football team beat one of our rival schools three-nil last weekend thanks to the brave heroism of Alfred F. Jones. Bella had written a report about the playlists and live music they were finalising for The Gakuen High Official Christmas Party (I approved, by the way. So going.) There was a review of a new Nintendo game from Kiku (which, if the number of exclamation marks were anything to go by, he liked), a description of the new winter fashion trends from Mei, complete with pictures (all of her - how does that girl have so many clothes?) and even the mysterious culture column from Arthur, which turned out just to be a review of a book I've never read. Yay.
It was a pretty good haul, actually. I'm still honestly shocked they took to it all so enthusiastically. I was impressed, and majorly pumped to show it all to Lizzie and Feliks at our meeting that afternoon. Maybe now they'd believe I was taking this newspaper crap seriously. This is my only chance to go to that party (which I now know will have epicmusic) and I'm sure as hell not blowing it.
"What's that?" asked Feliks as I came into the art room and dumped my bag on the desk, the shiny new articles in my hands.
"This," I said, spreading them reverently on the table, "is content."
They just sat there and looked at it.
"Jeez, guys, don't thank me all at once."
"No!" said Lizzie, picking up Bella's article and examining it. "No, it's good! Great, even. We're just..."
"Not used to, like, actually having news," finished Feliks. His eyes scanned the table and came to rest on Mei's fashion report. "Omigod, is knitwear really gonna be in for Christmas? I love knitwear! It's cozy as shit!"
"So what do you reckon?" I asked, plonking myself down on one of the stools. "Up to my usual standards? Do I get a Lizzie Héderváry seal of approval?"
She put down Bella's article and sighed deeply. "I have to admit, I wasn't expecting you to manage half this much."
"So is that a compliment or what?"
"Yes," she said, and her lips twitched in the tiniest hint of a grin. "I suppose it is."
"When you two are all done flirting," said Feliks loudly, "is there anything else we need to talk about before we print this thing?"
"Actually, yes," said Lizzie. "I was going to tell you, I know what we can do for a proper story."
"Yeah?"
"Well, Bella gave me the idea for it. You know how the food was absolute crap today?"
"The food's always absolute crap," I said.
"I know, but she said she'd love to see what sort of rubbish goes into it. So I thought, why don't we invade the cafeteria? Poke around and take some pictures. I'm sure everyone'd be interested to see what they're actually eating every day."
"Sounds awesome," I said. "When are we doing this, then?"
"We have to print the newspaper over the weekend if we're going to have next week's issue out in time, so it'll have to be tonight."
Feliks's face fell. "You're kidding me! The only bus back to my place leaves in like, twenty minutes."
"So give me your camera, then," I said. "Lizzie and I can do it."
"No way in hell, Gilbert."
"I'll take the pictures," said Lizzie. When Feliks hesitated, she added, "I won't let him touch it," and he reluctantly dug it out of his bag and handed it over.
Why does no-one ever trust me with anything? It isn't fair.
Anyway, that was how Lizzie and I ended up sneaking around the back of the cafeteria, me with my super-awesome new reporter's notebook at the ready and Lizzie with Feliks's camera clutched tightly in both hands with the strap knotted around her wrist. The Gakuen High cafeteria has two entrances: one leads into the main eating area where we all sit every lunchtime, and the other is outdoors with a little alley for driving stock up to be carried inside. That alley was where we were now. There was a massive stack of fizzy drink crates easily six feet high still waiting to be taken in, and, of course, the dumpsters were giving off their charming aroma.
"She's still in there," said Lizzie quietly. "I can hear her."
Our cafeteria lady is almost certainly some sort of low-functioning sociopath. I have never met a more miserable, spiteful woman in all the years I've spent on God's green Earth. She hates everyone. Everyone. She even made Feliciano cry once when he asked for more pasta. I mean, what sort of psycho has a heart cold enough to be mean to Feliciano?
In other words: if she caught us, there would be no mercy.
"Leave it to me," I said. And, in one swift movement, I kicked the bottom out from under the stack of crates.
There was a fizzy drink explosion. The stack came crashing down, sending cans rolling out across the alley and bursting their tops, bubbly liquid and foam squirting out in jets all over the place. The noise the crates and metal cans made on the asphalt was easily loud enough to be heard from across the street, let alone inside the kitchen, and the mess it made was insane.
Exploding six feet of fizzy drink cans all at once: most satisfying thing EVER.
I dragged Lizzie behind a dumpster just in time to see the cafeteria lady come hurrying out, her face contorting with rage as she saw the devastation in the alley. As she left the doorway to start picking up the cans that hadn't exploded (note: don't buy any fizzy drinks from the cafeteria for a long, long time), Lizzie and I slipped silently through into the kitchen.
I'd never actually been in there before. I'd looked over the counter from the lunch hall, of course, but there's a wall in the way of the actual cooking area. It was kind of weird to be standing in a place that's been so close to us for so long but never really seen, like the odd feeling you get in a staff room or girls' toilet. But we had to be quick - I had no idea how long it'd take her to pick the crates up but we didn't have forever.
"Wow," said Lizzie. "This place is a dump."
She was right. It was pretty freaking awful. There were boxes and empty packaging everywhere, the counters were covered in stains and the floor probably hadn't been mopped in months. Lizzie snapped a picture of the general area and we started going through the cupboards, picking out anything that might be of interest.
"This is out of date," I said, putting a can of beetroot on the counter to be photographed. "By ten months."
"And this." She took another picture of a bag of potatoes that was slowly growing a furry green coating.
Dirty pans were recorded, as well as the sink overflowing with plates and cutlery, the stale bread and the melted ice-cream tub left out on the counter. I jotted down some choice adjectives in my notebook, describing the feel and smell of things while they were still fresh in my mind. But it wasn't until Lizzie reached the fridge that we got our real story.
"Oh my God," she breathed, her voice thick with a sort of horrified glee. "Gil. Look at this."
She was pointing to three massive tubs of mincemeat on the bottom shelf. I knelt down next to her and squinted at them. They looked fine, until I noticed the fine print on their packaging.
CHEAP QUALITY ASSURED MINCEMEAT. FOR ANIMALS ONLY. PRODUCT NOT RECOMMENDED FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION.
We stared at it, then each other, then back at the meat.
Now this was something worth publishing.
She'd just raised Feliks's camera to her eye and snapped a picture when we heard the door slam open and footsteps storm back into the kitchen. Lizzie swore under her breath and I spun around, looking for a place to hide. If there'd been a convenient walk-in refrigerator or broom closet then that would've been great, but the best I could come up with on half a second's notice was the cupboard underneath the counter right next to us. Thank God it was pretty much empty aside from a few old tupperwares. Even so, it was a pretty tight squeeze.
We sat there, curled up with our knees under our chins, as the cafeteria lady stomped around the kitchen cursing under her breath. It was very dark and cramped to the point of painful. It was probably okay for Lizzie - she's only about five and a half feet when she's wearing high heels - but I'm pushing six and my head was squished so hard against the top of the counter I was in danger of actually remoulding my skull. My right shoulder was pushed awkwardly against a shelf, and my left... well, my left hand side was kind of alright. Lizzie was a lot squishier than the wall. But not in a bad way. In a really nice, warm sort of way. I could feel her breathing softly and, if I concentrated, I could just about pick up her heartbeat with my left elbow. Her hair was pressed into my face, but I didn't mind. It smelt amazing. Like that pink flower hairclip she always wears was an actual flower. It was probably just shampoo, but still.
Actually, it was kind of strong. And that combined with the strands of hair tickling my face was making my nose start to itch.
Don't sneeze. Don't sneeze don't sneeze don't sneeze DON'T SNEEZE DON'T-
In the instant before I single-handedly gave away our position and ruined everything, Lizzie realised what was going on. That was great of her and all, but I would've appreciated it if she could've found a way to stop me without practically ripping my nose off my face. It was all I could do not to shout in pain and get us caught anyway. But it worked, so all's well that ends well, I suppose.
Just as my leg muscles were starting to cramp and my skull was throbbing harder than ever, we heard the footsteps recede and the door to the alley bang open. We wasted no time in kicking open the cupboard door and tumbling out onto the dirty linoleum.
"Aargh," groaned Lizzie, screwing her face up and massaging her calves. "I've got the worst pins and needles."
"Nurse your wounds later," I said, pulling her to her feet and ignoring my own considerable aches and pains. "We need to get out of here before she gets back."
As Lizzie was catching her balance on wobbling legs, the kitchen echoed with the unmistakable sound of the door opening once again. Oh crap. "Run!" I yelled. She didn't need telling twice. All stiffness forgotten, we legged it to the other exit and raced out into the lunch hall without looking back.
And then you know what that bitch did?
She looked at me. We were running like hell past the tables, out of the door and down the corridor, laughing our guts out, and she turned and looked at me and smiled. Her hair was all coming out of its ponytail, her flower barette was clinging on for dear life and she was all red and out of breath, but she smiled like we were best friends again and nothing had ever changed and she was still my Lizzie.
It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
She smiled, and my heart dropped straight into the place my stomach had just vacated. Something squeezed my chest almost painfully, up and down switched places and, when I came to my senses moments later, my face felt strangely hot.
Which are, it occurred to me, exactly the feelings Francis is always waxing lyrical about.
SHIT.