Canteen Table Cold War

Noraya pushes through the throng at the canteen entrance, her black braid brushing Ava’s shoulder as she cuts past. Ruby is already at the stack of trays, blue eyes scanning the crowded room for an open spot. Jess F clutches her lunch, glancing nervously at Amaya, who stands tall and calm amid the chaos. At the far end, Katrina elbows Phoebe, muttering something that makes both of them snort. The outcast class filters in, some in tight clusters, others trailing alone. A shaft of cold midday sun pours over the window table, the most coveted spot in the canteen. Liv hesitates, looking to Corrine. Eliana adjusts her glasses and points. Instantly, the group’s tension spikes. Chairs screech. Voices overlap. Everyone knows what’s at stake: whoever gets there first sets the seating order for the week. Noraya moves; Ruby follows. Someone knocks over a bottle. The air thickens with expectation as the rush for the sunlit table begins.