I repeatedly pointed at the tray of food, hoping that would be enough to convey to the server that’s what I wanted to eat. The man behind the counter ignored my request, speaking more incomprehensible syllables.

  Maybe it’s a food that requires a certain tolerance?

  I pointed to a different tray that looked appetizing, but got the same syllables and motions. A third time at a different tray, and the man raised his voice.

  It was clear. I was being refused food.

  The other students in line sounded agitated that I was holding them up.

  I went back to where I had gotten my tray and put it back, seeing that I wouldn’t be eating my fill. The line continued as if nothing had changed, and I saw a student being served servings of what I pointed to.

  Seems like I need something to be eligible for eating from their selection. How come when Ms. Grey and I were here, I was able to eat without- wait, it was self-service instead of talking to a worker. I was able to get away with it because Ms. Grey was there, and she gave me permission to take a plate from their buffet and help myself.

  Maybe I should get either Mr. Blonde or Ms. Grey to eat with me? It’s lunch break, so it’s likely that they aren’t as occupied.

  Plan in mind, I quickly dashed and grabbed the tray I put back, apologizing for nearly bumping into another student, before running off toward Mr. Blonde’s office.

  …

  Mr. Blonde is the only person I know where to find. I’ve got nothing on Ms. Grey.

  I’m hoping that either Mr. Blonde or Ms. Grey could explain to them that I’m going to become a student tomorrow with the kitchen staff, so that I don’t have to retrieve them every time I need to eat. It’d be equally, if not more, annoying to have to ask a teacher permission to go to the bathroom every time I felt the urge to relieve myself.

  Do they have a cooking class? Wait, even if I knew how to cook, I don’t know where to find ingredients, nor do I know what currency they accept as payment.

  Not only am I at risk of starving to death, but I might also die without even learning about their money!

  I hurried my pace, wanting to eat as soon as possible and avoid dying such a tragic, yet forgettable death.

  …

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Being refused food was an odd experience. Whether it was my mother’s cooking, my own, a fast food joint, or a restaurant, food was always an option whenever I needed to eat. Now, I’m being denied food for reasons I can’t comprehend.

  Is it an issue of privilege? I recall something about requiring payment upon signing up for a school lunch program in my past life.

  I didn’t see anything that looked like students paying the staff for the food. Maybe it's for students and teachers only, and they’re strict about it since I’m not a student until tomorrow. Maybe the instant with Ms. Grey was an exception.

  Actually, did I ever see her eat? I know she grabbed a plate and got herself some food, but oddly enough, I don’t recall seeing her take a bite. Maybe I was too immersed in enjoying the flavors of my food to notice.

  Eventually, I found myself standing before Mr. Blonde’s office door and knocked on it three times.

  His muffled voice came through the door and took that as my cue to come in. I opened the door and saw him, as usual, sitting at his large desk, examining more documents.

  Although I haven’t been here long, I’ve always seen him sitting at his desk every time I entered this place. Is he that dedicated or burdened by his role at the school?

  I doubted there’d be an opportunity for me to ask such a question, so I put it in the back of my mind for now. My current priority is having him help me get a tray of food I’m growing hungrier for. So, I held up the tray before mimicking the gestures of the man from earlier who denied me getting food.

  He only gave me a puzzled look, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

  Right, of course, those movements wouldn’t make sense unless I spouted the syllables that accompanied them.

  I looked around the room, trying to think of a concise way of conveying that I had been refused food in the cafeteria.

  The simplest solution was to recreate a localized scene of what had transpired earlier. Since it’ll be temporary, the props for the scene will be made of foam, cardboard, or any other light material I can think of.

  I conjured a section of the counter I stood at earlier, and remade trays of plastic, mimicking the appearance of the dishes I wanted to consume earlier. I then took my tray and pointed to the same foods in the same sequence I had done earlier, then walked over to the other side of the prop counter, conjuring and putting on an identical apron and mimicking the same movements.

  “I want this.”

  “No! You’re suspicious, leave!”

  “That one.”

  “No! You’re dumb. Go away!”

  “This one? Hah! You got poor taste! Get lost!”

  The dialogue is merely a creative interpretation for dramatic effect. I had no way of knowing what the man behind the counter actually said.

  Mr. Blonde’s face looked like he had bitten a bone fragment on what should’ve been a tender serving of meat.

  Maybe I should just stick to interpreting expressions instead of trying to engage in meaningful conversation, if I’m going to get reactions like that in the future.

  He gently placed down his quill before getting up and grabbing the tray I had placed down on the counter.

  Standing by the counter, he made a scooping motion before ending with a popping motion from his hand.

  I conjured a small metal spoon and gave it to him.

  He took the bowl of the spoon and attempted to scoop the fake food I conjured. There was a ‘thunk’ sound when the bowl tapped the display food. I was handed back the spoon and saw Mr. Blonde take the tray and walk out of the office.

  I looked at the props I had produced and started dissipating them.

  He came back into the office, making an eating motion with his hand and mouth, before making a ‘follow me’ gesture.

  I complied and followed him out of his office.