[It's lunchtime and Ms. Zandt sits at a table in the corner of the lunchroom. The table holds a slightly desperate-looking 'TICKETS to the MASQUE $5! Support French Club!!' poster and an optimistically large stack of tickets ( Read more... )

[No matter what is actually being served for lunch that day, the vaguely unsettling scent of boiled cabbage and very old rubber - testament to years, decades of uninspired lunches - greets entrants into the Custodes Senior High School cafeteria. It's in the windowless basement, and the fallout-shelter signs don't contribute to any reassuring, warm ( Read more... )