# Chapter 3: Appetite for Mischief
Once the bell rings it’s finally lunch time, so I go to the dining hall, a large room filled with an even larger assortment of stereotypes and cliques. Jocks, cheerleaders, nerds, emos, they’re all here, eating and talking, enjoying their thirty-minute break between lessons. It’s not hard to spot Chris along with the collection of leather wearing, hair-dyed, “rebels” she hangs out with. Principal Cummings, a friendly, middle-aged man, patrols between the aisles. He is quite loved among the student body, known for being more caring than strict, and frequently getting involved with students directly on a case by case basis.
Miss Davis’ classroom is at the opposite end of the school from the dining hall, and she of course insists on using every minute of classtime up until the bell, so most days the lines for food stretch nearly out the door by the time I arrive. I let out a disappointed sigh, realizing that I could have just stopped time to arrive sooner and beat the crowd, but then it dawns on me: it doesn’t matter when I arrive if I can grab my food, and even eat, on my own time. I take a step outside the cafeteria so no one will notice me and be startled by my sudden disappearance. I make my way through the lunch line, grabbing food as I go, trying not to bump into any frozen students.