Chapter 16: Cafeteria Capers
1120 Words
By the time I reached the cafeteria, I was already tired.
Not physically—emotionally. The kind of tired that sat between my shoulders and made my steps slower, heavier. The kind that came from knowing, deep down, that the moment I walked into a room full of people, something would happen.
I hesitated at the doors.
“Don’t,” I muttered under my breath, adjusting my bag strap. “Just… don’t.”
The hat, of course, offered no response.
The cafeteria buzzed with noise—chairs scraping, trays clattering, laughter bouncing off the walls. I stepped inside and immediately felt it. Eyes turning. Whispers starting. That subtle shift in energy that had followed me for over a week now.
“Mistletoe Girl,” someone sing-songed from a table near the windows.
I pretended not to hear it and joined the lunch line.
“Hey,” a girl behind me said brightly. “Cute hat.”
“Thanks,” I said automatically.
She leaned closer. “So… is it, like, intentional? Or—”
“I just like it,” I interrupted, a little too quickly.
She blinked, then shrugged. “Fair.”
By the time I reached the counter, my palms were damp. I grabbed a tray, loaded it with whatever was closest—sandwich, apple, juice—and turned.
And nearly collided with Jasper.
“Whoa,” he said, hands coming up instinctively. “Careful.”
My tray tilted.
Time slowed.
The apple rolled. The juice slid. The sandwich skidded dangerously close to the edge.
Jasper lunged—not dramatically, not heroically—just fast. He caught the juice before it spilled, nudged the tray back into balance, and steadied it with one hand.
“Still got it,” he said lightly.
I stared at him. “You just saved my lunch.”
“Didn’t feel right letting gravity win,” he replied.
A few students nearby groaned.
“Aw, man,” someone said. “I thought we were getting a sequel.”
“To the spill trilogy,” another added.
Heat crawled up my neck.
Jasper glanced at them. “You’ll survive.”
He nodded toward an empty table near the wall. “Sit. I’ll walk with you.”
I hesitated. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” he said. “I want to.”
That shut me up.
We made it three steps.
“Hey!” a guy called from a nearby table. “Does the hat come with rules, or is it, like, free-for-all?”
Laughter erupted.
I froze.
Jasper didn’t.
“It comes with manners,” he said calmly. “You should try some.”
That earned a few “oooohs,” but the attention didn’t fade. If anything, it sharpened.
I moved again, heart pounding, focusing on the table. Just sit. Just eat. Just be normal for ten minutes.
I lowered myself into the chair.
The tray slid.
Not dramatically. Not enough for Jasper to catch this time. Just enough for the apple to roll off and bounce across the floor.
A cheer went up.
“Oh! That counts!” someone shouted.
“I told you it’s cursed!”
“Ivy,” a girl across the aisle said, half-laughing, half-sympathetic, “are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, standing. Too quickly.
My chair tipped backward.
Jasper grabbed it before it hit the floor, but the damage was done. Everyone was looking again. Whispering. Waiting.
My chest tightened.
“I need air,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
I grabbed my tray—what was left of it—and turned.
“Ivy,” Jasper said, already moving. “Hey. Wait.”
I didn’t run. I didn’t trip. I just walked—fast, focused, determined—straight out of the cafeteria doors and into the cold.
The air hit my face like a reset button.
I didn’t stop until I reached the benches near the quad, dropping my tray onto the grass and sinking down beside it.
I stared at the hat.
“You are ruining my life,” I told it quietly.
“Bold accusation,” Jasper said, sitting down beside me.
I jumped. “Do you announce yourself, or—”
“Only when someone’s talking to their accessories.”
I huffed out a breath despite myself. “I wasn’t talking. I was accusing.”
He glanced back toward the cafeteria. “They’re idiots in there.”
“They’re bored,” I corrected. “And I’m… apparently entertainment.”
Jasper was quiet for a moment. Not awkward-quiet. Thinking-quiet.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
I shrugged. “You usually do anyway.”
“Why keep wearing it?”
I looked down at my hands. “Because if I don’t, then it feels like… they win. Like the chaos gets to decide things for me.”
“That’s not what it looks like from the outside.”
I glanced at him. “What does it look like?”
“Like you’re daring the universe to try harder.”
I snorted. “Trust me. It doesn’t need encouragement.”
A group of students passed by, one of them whispering loudly, “That’s her,” followed by giggles.
Jasper leaned back against the bench. “You know,” he said casually, “most people would’ve given up days ago.”
“There it is,” I muttered.
“What?”
“The speech.”
He frowned. “I’m not giving a speech.”
“You always do. About surviving. Or bouncing back. Or—”
He held up his hands. “Okay. Fair. No speeches.”
Silence settled again.
Then he said, “It just… sucks. Watching people turn you into a thing.”
That made my throat tighten.
“I don’t want to be a thing,” I said quietly.
“I know.”
I picked at a loose thread on my sleeve. “I just wanted to go to class. Eat lunch. Be invisible.”
He smiled a little. “You picked the wrong hat for invisibility.”
I shot him a look. “You’re not helping.”
“Noted.”
We sat there, the noise of campus carrying around us, until my breathing slowed.
Finally, I stood. “I should go. Before someone starts a betting pool.”
Jasper stood too. “I’ll walk you.”
I hesitated, then nodded.
As we headed toward my next class, I glanced back once at the cafeteria doors.
Nothing exploded. No one chased me. No sudden cheers.
For the first time all day, the chaos stayed behind.
And somehow, that made me more nervous than if it hadn’t.
- Writer
