Chapter 1: Caught at the Fence
Every night at dinner, my little brother Noah becomes a one-man hype machine for his school cafeteria. Chicken and waffles, gourmet pizza, breakfast burritos—he describes it all with so much flair you’d think he was auditioning for his own Food Network show. Mom sighs, Dad tries not to look jealous, and honestly? I rolled my eyes—until one taste changed everything.
After I accidentally sampled a breakfast sandwich Noah brought home, I was hooked. The egg, bacon, and cheese on that still-warm English muffin? Practically life-changing. Next thing I knew, I pretty much drafted my brother into my own private cafeteria food cartel. He’d smuggle out extra portions, and we’d meet for secret handoffs by the chain-link fence behind the football field. Our own little, delicious crime ring.
But then I got cocky. One day, I was scrolling memes and barely looked up as someone’s shadow fell over me at the fence. There he was—tall, arms folded, that unmistakable teacher stare. Busted.
His voice was sharp, but not yelling: “So you’re the one making Noah bring you food every day? That’s not really fair to him, is it?”
My stomach dropped. Was he serious? I wanted to protest, but my mouth was full of sandwich and pride. The words hit me like a fire alarm—way too loud, way too public. My cheeks flamed as a couple of sophomores walked by, one giving me a look that screamed, ‘Busted.’
He looked like he belonged on the cover of a college alumni magazine—clean-cut, but with just enough scruff to make you wonder if he played guitar in a band on weekends. But he was rocking an old-school county board polo, which made me do a double take.
I just stared, speechless. He had the vibe of a guy who debates fantasy football stats at Buffalo Wild Wings, not someone shutting down cafeteria smuggling. The contrast threw me off so much I couldn’t even come up with a comeback.
“Uh (chew chew chew)... wanna talk?”
It was all I could manage—mouth full, hands full, dignity officially empty.
But as the bell rang, I realized my crime spree—and maybe my dignity—weren’t over yet.