Chapter 58: Waffle

I nearly choke on my meatless mystery loaf as Justine’s emerald eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that could melt steel beams. The cafeteria’s cacophony fades to a dull roar as she leans in, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulder.

“Yeah so like I was saying, lately, I’ve been getting so annoyed anytime I have to shit in the shower,” Justine declares, her voice carrying a nonchalant air that belies the absurdity of her words. “So instead of throwing it into the toilet like I used to, I just waffle stomp it down the drain.”

My mind reels, trying to process this bizarre confession. ‘Is this some kind of test or just Justine being... Justine?’

Erica’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. She leans forward, her blonde hair swinging with anticipation. Nikki, on the other hand, looks like she’s about to hurl her lunch tray across the room.

“That... that topic wasn’t on the docket for today’s lunch,” Nikki sputters, her usual sarcasm replaced by genuine horror.

Erica’s hand shoots out, grabbing Nikki’s arm. “No, no, wait,” she says, her voice filled with a mix of amusement and fascination. “Let her cook.”

I glance over at Irma, expecting her to join in the collective shock or disgust. But she seems oddly unbothered, absently twirling a strand of her wild brown curls around her finger. Her green eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, look distant and unfocused, as if she’s a million miles away. There’s an air of melancholy about her that I can’t quite place, a stark contrast to her usual eccentric energy.

Erica, meanwhile, is practically bouncing in her seat. “Hold up, Red,” she says, leaning in closer to Justine. “I need details. Like, how often are we talking here? And what’s your technique?”

Justine’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh, I’ve got it down to a science now,” she says, pushing her tray aside to clear some space. She starts gesturing wildly with her hands, miming the action with disturbing enthusiasm.

“So, you’ve got your shower drain, right?” She makes a circular motion with her fingers. “The kind with all those little holes. Well, you just position yourself right over it and... boom!” She slams her hand down on the table, making us all jump. “Then you start stomping. Like this!”

To my horror, Justine stands up and begins a bizarre little dance, her feet moving up and down as if she’s crushing grapes. “You just keep at it until it all goes down. Way better than trying to scoop it up and toss it in the toilet. I mean, have you ever tried that? Talk about a mess when you miss!”

I feel the blood drain from my face as I watch this display. Nikki looks like she’s about to faint, her complexion matching the pale green of her untouched peas. Erica, on the other hand, is howling with laughter, tears streaming down her face.

“That’s what waffle stomping is!” Justine proclaims proudly, taking a theatrical bow before plopping back down in her seat. “Efficient and eco-friendly. Who needs toilet paper when you’ve got water and your own two feet?”

I feel my stomach churn, a mix of disgust and morbid fascination washing over me. The meatless mystery loaf on my tray suddenly looks appetizing compared to the mental images of Justine’s painting.

“So, uh, before you started waffle stomping,” I hear myself say, my voice sounding distant and strained, “were you... were you shitting into your hand?”

Justine’s emerald eyes light up as if I’ve just asked the most brilliant question she’s ever heard. “Oh, sometimes!” she chirps, leaning in even closer. “But let me tell you, after one too many diarrhea incidents, I decided maybe the hand method wasn’t ideal.”

I watch in horrified fascination as she mimes, cupping her hands, her fingers splayed wide as if to catch an imaginary torrent. Nikki makes a strangled noise beside me, her face now a sickly shade of green that perfectly matches her untouched peas.

“So then,” Justine continues, oblivious to our collective nausea, “I thought, ‘Hey, why not just squat and aim?’ You know, like a basketball player. Kobe style!” She mimics a throwing motion, her imaginary turd arcing through the air toward an equally imaginary toilet.

Erica, who’s been giggling uncontrollably this whole time, suddenly bursts into full-blown laughter. “Oh my god, Red,” she wheezes, wiping tears from her eyes. “Please tell me you yelled ‘Kobe!’ every time you made it in.”

Justine shakes her head solemnly, her fiery locks swaying with the motion. “Out of respect, I didn’t actually say ‘Kobe,’” she says, her voice taking on an uncharacteristically serious tone. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it every single time.” Her emerald eyes glaze over as if lost in the memory of her bathroom exploits.

“Rest in power, Kobe,” Nikki adds softly, raising an imaginary toast with her milk carton.

Erica nods sagely, her blonde hair catching the harsh fluorescent light of the cafeteria. “She was a great woman,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “The way she dominated the court, that was something else.”

I sit there, fork suspended halfway to my mouth, utterly lost but oddly comforted by my friends’ bizarre camaraderie. The meatless mystery loaf on my tray seems to mock me, its gray surface rippling like some eldritch horror.

Suddenly, Riley appeared at our table, her athletic frame tense and nervous. Her hazel eyes dart around, widening slightly when they land on Erica. “Uhhh...” she stammers, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

Before Riley can collect her thoughts, Justine pounces. “Hey, Riley!” she calls out, her voice dripping with mischief. “You still trying to fuck Jason’s sister?”

Riley’s tan complexion turns a deep shade of crimson. She blinks rapidly, her short black hair falling into her eyes as she shakes her head in confusion. “I... what? I have no idea what you mean,” she sputters, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

Justine’s emerald eyes twinkle with mischief as she leans forward, her fiery hair nearly dipping into her untouched meatless loaf. “Oh, come on, Riley,” she purrs, her voice dripping with playful accusation. “I saw you talking to Jason the other day. It’s cool. He told me all about your little crush on his sister.”

Riley’s face cycles through several shades of red, each more vibrant than the last. Her hazel eyes dart around the table, searching for an escape route that doesn’t exist. “I... I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammers, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her sportswear.

I feel a sudden urge to step in because i don’t want her to out Erica as a witch. I shoot Riley a pointed look, trying to convey a silent message: ‘Just go with it.’ Our eyes lock for a brief moment, and I can almost see the gears turning in her head as understanding dawns.

Riley’s posture shifts subtly, her athletic frame relaxing as she catches on to the game. A sly grin spreads across her face, transforming her from a deer in headlights to a cunning fox. “Oh, you got me, Justine!” she exclaims, her voice dripping with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Yup, I sure do want to get with Jason’s sister. I mean, have you seen her? Total babe!”

Erica nearly chokes on her milk, coughing and sputtering as she tries to contain her laughter. Nikki’s eyebrows shoot up so high they threaten to disappear into her hairline.

Riley’s playful grin fades as her gaze drifts over to Irma. Suddenly, her entire demeanor changes. Her body goes rigid, hazel eyes widening to saucers. A visible tremor runs through her athletic frame, starting at her fingertips and working its way up her arms. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps as if she’s just sprinted a marathon.

I watch, transfixed, as Riley’s eyes gloss over with unshed tears. She looks like she might actually break down right here in front of everyone.

Instead, she turns to Erica, her voice barely above a whisper. “You and I need to talk. Right away.”

Erica groans, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Fine,” she mutters, pushing herself up from the table with exaggerated effort. “Let’s go.”

Erica pulls me with her as we slip out of the cafeteria, leaving behind a confused Justine and a still-nauseous Nikki. The hallways are eerily quiet, our footsteps echoing off the lockers like a metronome counting down to... something. I’m not sure what, but the tension radiating off Riley is palpable.

We duck into an empty classroom, the smell of chalk dust and teenage angst hanging in the air. Erica leans against the teacher’s desk, arms crossed, looking for all the world like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“The spell to send you home will be ready when it’s ready,” she says, her tone clipped. “I can’t rush these things, you know.”

Riley nods distractedly, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. “Fine, fine,” she mutters, waving her hand dismissively. But her eyes are still wide, darting around the room as if expecting something to jump out at her at any moment.

“We need to talk about Irma,” Riley finally blurts out, her voice cracking on the name.

Erica’s eyebrows shoot up, her cool demeanor cracking just a bit. “Irma? What about her?”

Riley’s hazel eyes dart between Erica and me, her athletic frame trembling slightly. She takes a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper when she finally speaks.

“Irma... In my world, she...” Riley’s voice cracks, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “She killed herself. A little while ago.”

The words hang in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating and oppressive. I feel my stomach drop, a chill running down my spine. The fluorescent lights suddenly seem too bright, too harsh.

“Do you know why?” I ask, my voice sounding strange and distant to my own ears.

Riley shakes her head, her short black hair swaying with the motion. “I don’t know,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “Nobody saw it coming. She was always so... vibrant. Full of life. And then one day, she was just... gone.”

I feel my detective instincts kicking in, my mind already racing with possibilities. But before I can voice any of them, Erica’s sharp voice cuts through the air like a knife.

“We’re not going to help Irma, Jason!” She barks, her blue eyes flashing dangerously.

I turn to look at her, feeling like she’s just snatched away the most intriguing case I’ve ever encountered. I must look like a dejected Sherlock Holmes because Erica’s expression softens slightly, though her stance remains firm.

“This is serious,” Riley insists, her voice taking on an edge of desperation. “We can’t just ignore this!”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Tell Louis,” I suggest, trying to find a middle ground. “He’s dating her, after all.”

Riley’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, but I press on before she can interrupt. I lower my voice to a whisper, glancing at Erica as I speak. “If he needs help, have him reach out to me.”

Riley’s eyes dart between us, her brow furrowed in thought. After a moment, she nods slowly, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Fair enough,” she says, her voice tinged with reluctance. “You're right, Louis is in the know about the other world, and he’s already dating her. He’d be in the best position to help.”

As Riley turns to leave, I catch a glimpse of her face. The worry lines etched around her eyes seem to have deepened, like canyons carved by rivers of unshed tears. Her usual confident stride is replaced by a hesitant shuffle, each step seeming to carry the weight of two worlds on her shoulders.

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving Erica and me alone in the empty classroom. The silence is deafening, broken only by the distant hum of fluorescent lights and the muffled chaos of the cafeteria beyond. Dust motes dance in the air, caught in shafts of sunlight streaming through the grimy windows, each particle a tiny world unto itself.

I turn to Erica, expecting to see her usual mask of cool indifference. Instead, I’m struck by the turmoil evident in her eyes. Her blue gaze, usually as hard and unyielding as sapphires, now swirls with curiosity.

She’s trying to hide it, of course. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, her posture rigid as if she’s bracing against an unseen storm.

Suddenly, like a dam breaking, words burst forth from her. “It’s gotta be the Cheesecake Factory thing that made her end it, right?” Her eyes are wide, almost pleading, as if begging me to confirm her theory and put her mind at ease.

I can’t help but sigh, the weight of the situation settling over me like a heavy blanket. I meet Erica’s gaze. “No doubt about it,” I say, my voice soft but firm.