"You better not be smoking weed in there."  The janitor yelled jokingly through the door of the janitorial closet.

He opened the door rolling in a mop and i had to grab my sandwich to avoid a broom falling on it. I rolled my eyes at the joke that was a year old at this point. Janitor Ronald stood in front of the door in his blue janitor uniform. In his late thirties Ronald was white, balding, a little pudgy, and had eyes that were slightly red from his recreational pastime.  His nametag said "Roy", a product of as he would call it  "An institutional lack of care for the foundation of the school system." 

I figured he was usually to stoned to sew the right name onto his uniform.

"Yeah I found your stash and decided to indulge myself." I snorted back before taking a bite into my sandwich. 

The closet was a little cramped but after a year using the place as my private lunchroom I have maneuvered enough of the janitorial supplies in order to make it the slightest bit more welcoming. A small overturned bucket with a clean sheet over it as a table and a chair stolen from the music room. Not exactly the dining room of the queens palace but all things considered. It was paradise. 

Ronald smiled and awkwardly pushed the mop into its corner.  I could smell the dirty water and chemicals from here, though I couldn't really complain. Ronald caught me intro here after Christmas break last year. Not smoking weed obviously, just awkwardly eating lunch and avoiding my problems. It wouldn't have taken a genius to guess why i was there. By that point you'd have to be deaf and dumb not to know about the animosity between me and Bobby Miles. Ronald instead of asking me the awkward questions, joked about me smoking weed and awkwardly ate lunch with me. 

Over the past year the problems that caused me to hide in the janitorial closet in the first place have lessoned. Me and Bobby still hate each other with a firefly passion, but due to my own personal intervention we can no longer bother one another. I guess after five fights, a hacked report card, and a "small" fire it was decided that our separation was needed.

Despite all that, I still come here for lunch. Ronald doesn't have much family or friends. I'm pretty sure me and his dealers are the closet thing the guy has to such. And hell it is quiet in here.

"You staying for lunch? I might have to move to get the second chair though." I asked him.

"Sadly no." Ronald said picking up a rag and a bottle of disinfected from the shelf of loosely placed supplies. "Some kids decided to play chemist in the science lab and made elephant foam. I came for my lucky pen and some supplies."

I nod my head grimacing internally. Most of the schools funds are diverted to sports. Our gym has a state of the art scoreboard, pristine Locke rooms, and more press than the mayor. All while the art department has a bring your own canvas policy, and hasn't ben a new brush in there since Clinton.  Ronald is the only janitor and despite his pot habit (or because of it) has an amazing eye for detail and does the job of at least three men. Thus they ignore the smell of "incense" coming from the basement and he doesn't complain about the amount of the work they give him. 

Ronald takes a puff of his lucky pen and blows the smoke out. I look up eyebrow raised. I've never had a problem with him smoking but he's never offered and I've never asked, probably to avoid the awkward conversation that is potentially giving drugs to a minor. Him taking a puff of his pen, and me catching him with a bowl is the extent of what we have allowed. 

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

He took a drag and looked at me. With him looking at me I got, and not for the first time, the impression that he was a thinking of asking me something. Our friendship is an awkward one built on the bones of an equal parts of avoidance. We talk about movies, comics, and conspiracy theories. Him asking how I was doing back in school after my Mum died, or wanting to know if the bullying had stopped would be an implicit breaking of our own social contract.

Luckily Ronald is nothing if not considerate, part of the complete mystical janitor packet. So instead he grabbed an arm full of paper towels, a spray bottle and used his foot to open the door.

As I sat in they janitors closet, smelling chemical fumes and dirty mop water i did, not for the first time, considered whether I was a little bit of an odd duck. Its not as if I don't have friends. I just prefer, especially after last year, to have time to myself where i don't have to put on a face. I held my phone in my hand spinning it around between my fingers thinking it through letting my nervous energy evaporate in this harmless trick. Fiddling with things in my hand always worked to calm my nerves. 

Over the last year I've gotten really good at putting on a face. My impromptu war with the head jock of the school meant that I had to be on guard. I learned early on that the best way to win a silent war against the Jockular Elite was to never let them see me sweat. To them I was never angry, scared, worried, or surprised no matter what they threw at me. As the hits kept coming I got better at slight of hands tricks and hiding behind a mask. I was a smiling brick wall of arrogance to them and any one else who thought they could break me.

It was different at home of course... at least for a while. Then mom got sick, she passed pretty quickly after.  It hit Dad hard. He lost his job, hit the bottle and fell so deep into himself that it took my uncle coming to live with us to drag him out. By then.... well pretending was about the only thing i could do.

Taking a deep breath i exhale and set my phone down on my makeshift table. Lunch was almost over and I needed to meet up with Lincoln before my next class to talk about a project due. Taking a sip of my soda i stretch my arms and stand up. 

Instantly I feel violent vertigo. My head spins and i reach over to the shelf to balance myself. I grab hold of the shelf but that does nothing as the entire floor starts to vibrate and roll. I stand up straighter expecting my vertigo to end when it becomes clear that what was happening wasn't a me thing. Bottles on the shelves start to vibrate and fall. The floor rumbles and roll and I can hear screaming all around me. I grip on tighter to the shelf realizing what was happening.  Earthquake. 

I look around trying to see if there was something, anything that I could use to protect myself. The world rumbles and even the air seems to vibrate as it does. The floor turns again and I drop my phone. On instinct I let go of the shelf to reach down and grab it. In the span of an instant things got weird. Bright lights flash and spin in my vision in kaleidoscope type fashion. . As I reach down to get my phone I feel it as time slows. Suddenly Everything is suddenly more. I can feel the air particles brush against my skin as i reach for my phone. I can smell the dirt and grass left from the mud of my shoes,  I can see the slights cracks in my phone, the crumbs from my sandwich on the ground. 

Suddenly everything snapped back. Like a rubber band for the mind. I fall to the ground my hand missing my phone as I collapse to the floor. My eyes closed my stomach turning. I open my eyes and everything is blurry and disorientating.  I reach over and by luck manage to grip hold of my bucket table. Flipping it over i let loose my entire lunch, collapsing to my side eyes closed after i  order to catch my breath. That wasn't a normal earthquake. the lights the way time froze for just a second. 

I try and stand again, my head pounding and kind of dizzy but i managed. I head for the door and twist the knob before I remember. My phone. On the ground i grab my phone and casually twirl it between my fingers once again. Slowly and methodically I flip my phone through my fingers as I take deep breaths and calm my nerves.

At least the day couldn't get any weirder.