Page 8 of Brat Baby
With an hour to kill before my next class, I head to one of the student dining halls. I’m not sure how much use I’m going to get out of my meal card, now that I have the money from the weekend. With the dorm being apartment style and having a fully functioning, if small, kitchen, it’ll be hard to force myself to go to dining halls.
But if I want the money to stretch for as much of my college career as possible, then I should probably take advantage of all the free things that I can. I need to make the commitment that I’m only going to spend the money on necessary things, like a laptop. And maybe some new sheets and shit for my bed.
Fuck, just thinking about my macroeconomics course without a laptop makes me irritated. I should have been better prepared.
Every second I spend in the corridor of the math building has my gaze darting around nervously, both hoping and dreading that I’ll spot Derek. But I make it all the way to the front doors without a glimpse.
I know there are probably a bunch of other exits, but until I familiarize myself with this building and campus, I’m going to have to deal with the front door only. The sun hits my skin with a little more heat than it did earlier, and a full-body shiver runs through me. I step to the side of the doorway and tip my face up to the sky, soaking in all the warmth that I can.
This is going to be so fucking hard.
So, so, so fucking hard.
But I’ve been through worse and survived.
At least this kind of pain is only internal. It could be worse. They could have literally broken me.
With that super depressing thought, I force myself to start moving. The moping needs to stop, at least for the next few hours. I can feel as sorry for myself as I like once I’m back inthe dorm. I just need to get through eating some food, one more lecture, a trip to the library, and then I can break down.
With the help of the map in the student app, Baxter Dining Hall comes into view a few minutes later. The glass doors slide open as I approach, and I’m hit with a blast of noise. The hall is absolutely packed full of people. I take several steps into the space and pause, trying to figure out the chaos.
Tables to the left are filled with people sitting in chairs and actuallyonthe tables. The table sitters are all in aqua and black NU letterman jackets that have gold writing here and there, with chicks hanging off them. A football whizzes over the heads of several tables before there is a resounding cheer when it is caught.
Turning away from all of that, I spot the… is that a convenience store? I glance up at the sign hanging above the massive self-serve beverage station situated front and center—Baxter’s Eatery. This is nothing like the cafeteria in high school.
I trail behind two girls as they pass by the drinks and head toward the refrigerators that run lengthwise behind the station. They open the fridge and grab tubs of yogurt and then fruit from some baskets hanging off the corner of the unit.
I mimic their choices, not really caring what I eat at this point, just wanting to figure out how all this works without looking like an idiot. They both grab a packet of Cheetos, so I do the same, and then they go to a counter on the other side of the space.
When I can see through the glass at what food is being offered, my mouth practically falls open. There is so much food, and it actually looks like it’s not mass-produced and frozen upon arrival.
Sandwich bar.
Four different kinds of salad.
Pizzas for one.
Multiple pasta options.
Fries. Burgers. Wraps.
It all looks… fresh. Like it was made here. Looking up, I stare into the hustle and bustle of the kitchen and realize that itismade fresh. There is what I assume is a fully staffed kitchen moving around like a well-oiled machine.
“What can I get you?”
I’m startled away from my staring by a guy in a Baxter’s Eatery green polo and fake smile.
“Oh, uh. Sorry, um, could I grab a pasta?” That’s a safe option, right?
He raises an eyebrow. “Sure, which one?” He uses his blue gloved hand to gesture at the three options.
My cheeks burn. “Lasagna, please.”
He nods. “Would you like fries with that?”
I stare back at him. More food?
He sighs. “Freshman?”
