"You really think that?" Markus looked at me like I was a chimp trying to solve a Quadratic Formula.
He looked me dead in the eyes and asked the question again as if his life depended on my answer.
"You really think Mr. Deep could beat the Stonehands in a fair fight?"
I sighed. I knew I was wrong, but admitting it to Markus would give him fuel for his legendary roast battles until the end of days. While I always try to fix my mistakes, this hill is the one I'm dying on.
"Yeah, Mr. Deep could give Stonehands a beating and still have time to visit your mama."
The whole table collapsed in laughter. Everyone wanted Markus to have a taste of his own medicine.
"You think that's funny? How about this one: Yo mama so fat, when she skips a meal, the stock market crashes. Got this joke from Reddit."
That got the usual "damnnn" from the group. It was the best time in the school day. Lunch was always about food first and roasting the heck out of your friends second.
"Your mama so fat, her blood sugar got debited... I mean, diabetes! She got diabetes!" Rakim jumped in, bless his heart. Even though he's not the sharpest tool in the shed, he is one of the best hype men in the entire school. Kids from all over are trying to hire him for his extensive experience of hyping people up at the most critical moments. He can make a lame joke into the funniest one. I heard he has a waiting list longer than Firelanter's kill list.
Just as Markus was about to make his comeback of the century, Mr. Frank walked over to our lunch table.
Mr. Frank is a cool dude and a good teacher. He mainly teaches science and biology, but he also subs for history and English. What I like about him is that he doesn't pretend to be nice to us like the other teachers who want the kids to like them—he just lets us be us, and everyone is cool with him. Him also being Black doesn't hurt his rep on the teacher ranking we created because of one teacher that shall not be named.
"How are your days going, boys? I hope you're not making fun of your mothers, who brought you into this beautiful world you live in." He asked in a chill manner while mixing his coffee.
"No, Mr. Frank, we're just talking about how many acres of real estate Jackson's forehead can hold."
The table erupted in muffled snickers. Jackson's hand shot up to his forehead like a reflex, which only made it funnier.
Mr. Frank shook his head, fighting back a grin. He glanced at his watch. "Alright, alright. You've got about a minute left of lunch, so wrap up—"
Before he even finished that sentence, a very loud explosion cut him off.
The table we were sitting at, eating our lunch, cracking jokes—suddenly felt like a death trap. It lurched into the air for a heartbeat before slamming back down with a bone-rattling thud that shook me to my core.
My mind refused to process what was happening. Glass shards and wooden shrapnel flew past me, some missing by inches, others biting into my skin. The panic, the shouting, the chaos—all of it was muffled by the constant, deafening ringing in my ears.