When Jon got to the cafeteria, he found to his surprise and delight that it was more like a five-star buffet. Racks and racks of delicious-smelling food were stacked behind the serving counter. The tables were piled high with plates of fresh turkey, roast beef, baked potatoes, pies, puddings, cakes, some kind of stew, corn on the cob, vegetable scrambles, and even breakfast food like omelets, pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Jon was salivating just looking at it all!
He eagerly grabbed a plate and headed for the counter. What did he want first? Maybe a slice of that roast beef...
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING???"
Jon dropped his plate and spun around to see the mean swim coach standing right behind him. The coach was so tense, his eyes so bugged out, that Jon was momentarily afraid he'd punch him in the face. He took a step back, which only seemed to anger the coach more.
The coach snapped out a hand, grabbed a fistful of Jon's hair, and forcefully led him away from the counter to one of the tables. He pushed Jon down to make him sit with a bunch of boys, who laughed as the coach manhandled and screamed at him. "You are under a very special diet, understand, bitch?"
All Jon could do was nod, his face red from the boys seeing this.
The coach slammed a plate in front of Jon. A salad, small, dressing on the side. "Now, you're going to clean your plate, bitch. Lick it clean. And If I catch you eating off of a boy's plate, I'll tan your hide, girly. Bon appétit."
And with that, he left Jon to his meal.
Jon looked down at the pile of lettuce. He looked at the boys' plates, full of delicious-smelling, hardy food. His stomach gurgled.
Well, it wasn't like he had a choice. He reached for his fork, and that's when he realized he didn't have one. He looked at the boys. They all had one. Why didn't he?
He considered getting up to grab one, but he quickly shot that idea down. That coach...
Instead, he turned to the nearest boy and said, "Excuse me, do you think you could get me a fork? It's just the coach..."
His explanation was drowned out as the boy started screaming at him, "Get it yourself, you stupid fucking bitch! I'm not your fucking slave, bitch!"
The other boys offered agreements of "Yeah," along with various insults.
"I'm sorry." Jon apologized over and over until the boys calmed down. He decided to make do without a fork and began eating with his hands.
The lettuce was bland, and he couldn't really do much with the dressing. If he only had a fork, he'd mix a little into the lettuce, but now all he could do was dab big globs onto individual leafs like they were chips and dip--except they most definitely were not chips and dip. He looked enviously at the boys as they chowed down without a second thought.
He looked back down at his plate. He blinked. His hands were smaller, slimmer, and the nails were longer and painted hot pink.
