Chapter 22: Mrs. President, a Second Plane Has Hit The Cafeteria

"In conclusion, that is why I think 9/11 was an inside job by Big Oreo to condition Iraq to set up more Chocolate trees," Nikki speaks in a practiced yet anxious manner as she stares at me, looking for approval.

‘Somewhere along the way, it was decided I was the leader of our little lunch brigade. Probably because I was the one who introduced order and the doctrines.’ I sigh with the weight of the world bearing down on my shoulders. Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

My lips curl into a wide smile as I process Nikki’s words. "Great job, Nikki," I say, genuinely impressed by her elaborate theory. Part of me wonders if this world's different power dynamics affect historical events, too. Would a female-dominated society have handled things differently? It’s good to know Iraq still happened.

Erica snorts, flicking ash from her cigarette. "So this is what you girls do all lunch? You just say—"

I whip my head towards her, anger cooking in my heart. In lunch, order prevails among all things. My heart races; I've never dared challenge Erica before. But something in me snaps, protective of our lunch talks, however misguided.

Erica's eyes widened, her tough facade cracking for the first time I'd ever seen her in front of our now-shared friends. She gulps visibly, cigarette trembling between her fingers. "Ah... sorry, babe," she mumbles, looking away.

Lindsey, Nikki, and Justine exchange startled glances, their eyes darting between Erica and me. The silence stretches, thick with tension. Justine gulps deeply.

Lindsey's delicate features suddenly harden, her calculating gaze fixed on me. "Why was Nikki lauded for her insane theory, but mine wasn't?" she asks, her voice carrying a hint of ice beneath its polite veneer.

I sigh inwardly. Of course, Lindsey would turn this into a competition. Her neon blue hair seems to crackle with annoyance as she waits for my response.

"Lindsey," I begin gently, trying to soften the blow, "claiming Gabby Petito was actually the bad guy in her story was too offensive. It's still too fresh."

Lindsey's eyes narrow, but I press on, "I mean, give it ten or fifteen years, then it'll be funny." I glance around the table, searching for support. "Just like Casey Anthony, you know?"

Justine nods, her fiery red hair bouncing with the movement. "It just feels like your pandering to Jason with that one anyways." she insists.

Lindsey huffs, her neon blue hair seeming to bristle with indignation. "And you girls wouldn't even listen to what I had to say about Georgia Floyd."

The words hang in the air like a toxic cloud, and I feel my stomach drop. My hands fly to my ears instinctively, as if I could physically block out the impending controversy. "Stop, Lindsey. Just stop," I plead, my voice strained.

‘It’s like she wants to get us canceled!’

The reaction around the table is visceral and immediate. Nikki's eyes widen in shock, her half-eaten sandwich forgotten in her hands. Justine's freckled face pales, her usual easy smile replaced by a grimace. Even Erica, who usually maintains her cool demeanor, looks visibly uncomfortable as she looks to me for what to do next.

Lindsey sighs, clearly annoyed by our collective response. Her delicate features contort into a mix of frustration and defensiveness. "My thoughts aren't racist, guys. I swear if you just hear me out—"

I cut her off, my voice firm despite the tremor I felt in my chest. "One of our only rules is no racism, Lindsey. You know this."

Her brown eyes flash with anger, and for a moment, I see the inner workings of someone annoyed at being accused of something. "YOU HAVEN'T EVEN HEARD MY HOT TAKE YET!" she screams, her voice echoing across the cafeteria. A few heads turn our way, curious about the commotion.

The tension at our table is palpable. Erica's hand twitches as if she's fighting the urge to light another cigarette. Nikki shrinks in her seat, looking like she wishes she could disappear. Justine's gaze darts between Lindsey and me, clearly unsure of how to diffuse the situation.

I take a deep breath, trying to channel the authority that comes with being the unofficial leader of our lunch brigade. "Lindsey," I say, my voice low but firm, "we're not entertaining this. Not now, not ever."

For a moment, Lindsey looks like she might argue further. Her lips part, a retort clearly on the tip of her tongue. But then she seems to deflate, the fight leaving her body in a long exhale. "Fine," she concedes, her voice tight with suppressed frustration.

Erica clears her throat, breaking the silence. "So, uh, anyone want to hear about my latest conspiracy theory? It's about how the moon landing was actually filmed on flat Mars."

“Erica is taking me costume shopping after school today,” I say, ignoring her fake theory.

Erica’s eyes light up as she remembers our plans.

Everyone's attention immediately shifts to Erica, the tension from moments ago evaporating like mist in the morning sun. Nikki leans forward eagerly, her lanky frame nearly sprawling across the table. "Ooh, costume shopping? What are you gonna make Jason wear?" she asks, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

Justine's fiery red hair seems to glow with excitement as she chimes in, "Yeah, Erica! Spill the beans. Are we talking about a sexy nurse? Naughty librarian?" She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, a playful smirk dancing on her lips.

Even Lindsey, still slightly sulking from her earlier rebuke, can't help but perk up at the prospect of Halloween fashion. "Please tell me it's not another superhero costume," she groans, rolling her eyes. "If I see one more guy dressed up as He-Hulk, I swear to god..."

Erica laughs, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh, Jason here has expressed interest in going as Spider-Man or a Lego guy. But I have other ideas..." She leans in conspiratorially. "I'm thinking something tight, you know? So Mommy can see a nice dick print through his outfit."

I don't even blush, having grown accustomed to Erica's bold statements. The others react with a mix of giggles and raised eyebrows.

Lindsey, however, looks horrified. Her delicate features contort in concern as she turns to Erica. "Wait, hold on. Do you want Jason to wear something that revealing? Have you considered that other women might see him as an object if he's dressed like that?"

Erica's laughter dies in her throat. Her eyes widen as the implications of Lindsey's words sink in. "Fuck!" she mutters, cigarette trembling between her fingers. "I didn't think about that."

Suddenly, Erica's cool demeanor cracks. She starts huffing and puffingHer long blonde hair whipping around as she moves back and forth with anxiety. "No, no, no. That can't happen. Jason's mine. Only I get to appreciate him like that."

The others watch in fascinated silence as Erica's possessive side takes over. She turns to me, her blue eyes intense. "Change of plans, babe. We're getting you a full-body costume. Maybe that Lego idea isn't so bad after all. Or wait, what about a mummy? We'll wrap you up nice and tight so no one else can see anything."

I can't help but chuckle at Erica's sudden shift. "Whatever you say, Erica. You're the boss."

“We’ll decide at the store later, baby.” She looked stressed as if this decision was life or death for her.

‘I really want to go as Ben Reilly, but she doesn’t read comics.’

Lindsey watched this exchange with a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. It was as if she was proud she saved me some level of shame. Personally, I am just non-plussed about the whole thing.

As we gather our things, Erica hovers close to me, her protective instincts in full force. "Don't worry, babe," she whispers. "I'll make sure you're the most modestly dressed guy at the Halloween party. No one's gonna objectify my man."

“Sounds good, Erica,” I say, flashing her a smile.

*****

We get to Spirit Halloween nearly four minutes after school ends. There's one right down the street, which really means there is one everywhere.

“Baby, try this one too.” Erica looks at me with nervous energy.

I step into the cramped changing room, the fluorescent light flickering overhead as I examine the cowboy costume Erica just handed me. The rough denim of the jeans feels authentic, and the plaid shirt seems straight out of a Western. I slip them on, adjusting the bolo tie and reaching for the wide-brimmed hat.

‘I can’t help but notice the qulaity of costumes for men is much higher than in my old world.’

As I turn to look in the mirror, my eyes are drawn to the prop guns holstered at my hips. A chill runs down my spine as I imagine walking down the street on Halloween night, the plastic revolvers catching the light of a passing patrol car that isn’t Mother. My hands start to sweat as I picture a tense confrontation, trying to explain that it's just a costume while staring down the barrel of a real firearm.

"Erica," I call out, my voice wavering slightly. "I'm not sure about these guns. What if a cop mistakes them for real ones?"

I hear her sigh from the other side of the curtain. There's a moment of silence, and I can almost see her biting her lip in concentration, her blonde hair falling over her furrowed brow as she considers the problem.

Erica emerges from behind the curtain, her blue eyes scanning me with a mix of concern and amusement. "Well, we can't have you scared and sweating bullets on Halloween," she says, chuckling softly as she steps closer. She reaches forward and gently removes the bolo tie, setting it aside with a thoughtful tilt of her head. "How about something less... controversial? Maybe something fun that doesn't involve weaponry?"

"How about a Ghostbuster?" she suggests with a playful smile, her tone lightening the mood instantly. "It's classic, fun, and unmistakably fictional. No one will mistake you for anything but a hero chasing ghosts."

The idea immediately lifts my spirits. "Yeah, that sounds awesome!" I respond eagerly, already picturing myself in the iconic jumpsuit with a proton pack strapped to my back.

Erica claps her hands together and heads towards a box marked 'Halloween,' rifling through it until she pulls out a Ghostbuster outfit. It’s clearly handmade, likely a costume from one of her past Halloweens—the jumpsuit is well crafted, but the proton pack is undeniably made from cardboard and duct tape.

"Uh... it's great," I say, trying not to sound too disappointed as I examine the flimsy proton pack.

She laughs, throwing her head back gracefully. "I know it's not perfect. But come on, it'll be fun! And think about it—no one will kidnap you in that," she adds with a wink, her tone teasing but underlined by her ever-present protective streak.

I chuckle along with her, accepting the costume. Despite its simplicity, the thought of Erica supporting and joking with me warms my heart. "I suppose you're right," I admit. "But I'm still bummed there’s no Lego man suit."

At this, Erica’s expression softens, and she pulls me into a comforting embrace. "I’m sorry about that," she murmurs close to my ear, her voice laced with genuine regret. “But I promise I’ll make it up to you tonight."

Her eyes glint mischievously as she releases me from the hug, and there’s an unmistakable look of hunger in them.

*****

Later, as we lay tangled in the sheets, our bodies cooling in the aftermath of something fierce, Erica's brow furrows. She props herself up on one elbow, her blue eyes searching my face.

"Hey," she says softly, her voice tinged with concern. "Are you still mad at me for interrupting your lunch conversation earlier?"

Her question catches me off guard, pulling me out of my post-coital haze. I blink, trying to focus on her face in the dim light of her bedroom. The intensity of her gaze startles me, there's a vulnerability there I've rarely seen, a flicker of genuine fear that makes my heart clench.

"Mad at you?" I echo, my voice soft with surprise. "Why would I be mad at you?"

But even as I ask, I remember the moment in the cafeteria, the flash of anger I'd felt, the way I'd glared at her. Guilt washes over me as I realize how my reaction must have affected her.

Erica's usually confident demeanor seems to crumble, her lower lip trembling slightly. "For interrupting your lunch talk," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "You looked so angry, and I... I hate the thought of you being upset with me."

The fear in her voice was so at odds with her usual bravado. I reach out, cupping her face gently in my hands. Her skin is soft under my fingers, and I can feel a slight tremor running through her.

Erica," I breathe, my thumb stroking her cheek. "I'm sorry for glaring at you earlier. I didn't mean to make you feel this way."

I pull her closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. The scent of her shampoo fills my nostrils. "Those lunchtime talks, they're just for fun, you know? It's all silly theories and jokes. Having you there today, being part of our group, that means so much more to me than any of that."

‘Those lunch talks are admittedly the second most important thing in my life, but Erica beats them out no contest.’

Erica's eyes search mine, looking for any hint of deception. Finding none, she slowly relaxes, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Really?" she asks, her voice still tinged with uncertainty.

I nod emphatically. "Really," I assure her. "I was actually really happy to have you there. It felt... right, somehow. Like you belonged with us."

Her smile widens, relief evident in every line of her face. "I just... I don't like it when you're mad at me," she admits, nestling closer to me. "It scares me."

She wraps her arms around me and pulls me tight against her thick bosom. "I'll try not to do it again," I promise, a soft laugh escaping me. "Though I can't guarantee I won't get annoyed if you interrupt our next debate on whether the Epstein was actually innocent or not.

‘Im team guilty for anyone wondering. Justine though. not so much.’