Chapter 3. Lunch Table Politics
       
       
       The cafeteria was a war zone. Not the metaphorical kind –the literal kind. Food trays clattered like shields, students waged spork duels, and the occasional Hellbeast let out a low growl from under a table. Amidst the chaos, Blitzø and the I.M.P crew entered, each holding a plastic tray with questionable-looking “food” that appeared to have been cursed before being served.
       Blitzø slammed his tray down on the table dramatically, sending Moxxie’s Jell-O flying onto Loona’s lap.
       —Alright, team. Let’s talk strategy. —Blitzø leaned forward, gesturing wildly—. This is the year we conquer the social food chain. By the end of this semester, this lunch table is going to be the hottest spot in Hell High!
       —Define ‘hottest’. —Loona deadpanned, picking bits of lime Jell-O off her skirt and flicking them onto the floor—.
       Like Verosika’s table but cooler. And less filled with her weird perfume that smells like desperation and glitter glue. —Blitzø said, pointing across the cafeteria—.
       Moxxie sighed, carefully rearranging the utensils on his tray.
       —Blitzø, we’ve been at this table since day one. It’s right next to the trash cans and under the leaky AC vent. We’re literally sitting in the worst table.
       —It’s called strategy, Moxxie! —Blitzø said, stabbing his fork into something unidentifiable—. We start at the bottom. And then, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, we’ll–
       —We’ll smell like garbage and mildew. —Moxxie interrupted—.
       Blitzø rolled his eyes.
       —That’s quitter talk. Millie, back me up here!
       Millie grinned, chewing on a slightly charred chicken nugget.
       —I dunno, Moxx. I think Blitzø’s got a point! If we add a little flair, this spot could really pop! —She pulled out a can of spray paint from her bag—. Maybe we tag the table? Make it ours?
       —Yeah! —Blitzø chimed in—. It’ll be iconic. Our legacy. The I.M.P Table of Greatness.
       Moxxie pinched the bridge of his nose.
       —Nothing screams ‘legacy’ like vandalism.
       Meanwhile, Loona wasn’t paying attention. Her focus was across the cafeteria, where Vortex was tossing a football back and forth with his friends. She let out an exaggerated sigh, completely ignoring Blitzø’s ongoing pep talk.
       —Loona! —Blitzø snapped his fingers in front of her face—. Focus! We’re planning world domination, and you’re daydreaming about your meathead crush again!
       Loona shot him a death glare that could incinerate a weaker imp.
       —I’m not daydreaming. I was just… calculating escape routes in case this cafeteria catches fire. Again.
       —Sure, and I’m a demon unicorn. —Blitzø snorted—.
       Before Loona could retaliate, the cafeteria doors burst open, and a hush fell over the room.
       In strode Stolas, radiating an air of smug confidence that only a Goetia could pull off. Behind him, Octavia shuffled awkwardly, clutching her lunch tray like it was a shield.
       —Good afternoon, fellow scholars! —Stolas announced, waving flamboyantly—. Another glorious day at Hell High, wouldn’t you say?
       —Sit down, Stolas. —Stella hissed from her usual spot at the “elite” table, where she was flanked by a few other upper-class demons who looked like they had opinions about yacht sizes.
       —Don’t mind her. —Stolas said, unfazed—. She’s just bitter because I got elected student body president again.
       —You were the only one who ran. —Stella growled—.
       —And yet, a victory is a victory. —Stolas said with a wink—.
       Back at the I.M.P table, Blitzø’s eyes lit up.
       —You see that? That’s our in!
       —Our what? —Moxxie asked, looking up from his neatly arranged mashed potatoes—.
       —Our chance to get out of the social dumpster fire and into the big leagues! —Blitzø said, pointing toward the Goetia table—.
       —Are you seriously suggesting we try to sit with them? —Moxxie’s voice cracked in disbelief—.
       —Why not? If we infiltrate the elites, we’ll be unstoppable! —Blitzø stood up, puffing out his chest—.
       —Blitzø, this is a terrible idea. —Loona said, her tone as flat as ever—.
       —You’re just saying that because your crush is over there! —Blitzø shot back—.
       Loona’s eyes narrowed.
       —Say that again, and I’ll turn you into a chew toy.
       Millie, ever the optimist, clapped her hands.
       —I think it’s a great idea!
       —Millie, please don’t encourage him. —Moxxie groaned—.
       Before anyone could stop him, Blitzø grabbed his tray and marched toward the Goetia table, leaving the rest of the crew staring. Hoping for a hilarious outcome.
       —Ah, if it isn’t Blitzø! —Stolas said as the imp plopped his tray down at the table—. Come to grace us with your presence, have you?
       —You know it, bird boy! —Blitzø said, kicking his feet up on the table—.
       Stella let out a noise that could only be described as a mix between a scoff and a growl.
       —Oh, wonderful. The school finally is giving us the waiter I always demanded.
       —Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m actually here to eat and–
       As Blitzø tried to sit down, it was Stolas who blocked him, and interrupted his talk.
       —Oh, I… um.. —Blitzø backed down, surprised—.
       —So sorry little imp. Maybe at another time? —Stolas responded, his voice sounding hurt, even if he didn’t show it—.
       —Y-Yeah, no worries. I… uh..
       Blitzø felt his feet drag as he trudged back to the I.M.P table, tray in hand, face set in a forced grin.
       —So, uh, turns out the elites are full up today. Maybe tomorrow! —His voice cracked slightly, but he quickly covered it with an over-the-top laugh that even Moxxie winced at—.
       Millie’s face softened as she reached out to pat his shoulder.
       —Don’t take it too hard, Blitzø. Those fancy types are just too stuck-up to appreciate someone like you.
       —Stuck-up? Pfft, no. —Blitzø said, waving her off—. It’s all part of the game. They’re just testing me, seeing if I’ve got the guts to hang with the big dogs.
       Loona snorted.
       —More like they’re showing you the door.
       Blitzø ignored her, shoveling a forkful of suspiciously gray mashed potatoes into his mouth, but his mind was elsewhere. Stolas hadn’t just rejected him –he’d humiliated him. And that little pause, that hesitation in Stolas’ voice… It wasn’t normal.
       For years, Blitzø had been skating on thin ice at Hell High. Every prank, every detention, every stunt that should’ve landed him an expulsion was swept under the rug, thanks to one Goetia bird. Stolas, with his too-charming smile and infuriating habit of calling Blitzø “adorable” had always come to his rescue.
       « —Let’s just say I find you… entertaining. —Stolas had once said, a soft laugh escaping as he scribbled Blitzø’s name off yet another detention list—. »
       At first, Blitzø thought it was just pity –some Goetia guilt-trip about helping out the “lesser beings.” But over time, Stolas’ actions felt different. Personal.
       « —You’re lucky I like you. —Stolas had teased one detention, leaning over Blitzø’s desk with a smirk that made the imp’s tail flick nervously—. »
       And now this? This was betrayal.
       Blitzø’s thoughts drifted to a memory from last year –the infamous Paint Bomb Incident, the prank to all pranks he did the first year. It had been one of his finest works: a rigged locker explosion that splattered the entire hallway (and half the student body) in neon paint. He had ruined so many things that day to many it grew out to be a “moment” in Hell High history for all victims alike.
       Principal Abezethibou had nearly combusted on the spot, slamming his fist on the desk as Blitzø and his crew sat in the office, smirking through the scolding.
       « —This time, you’re DONE, Blitzø. —The principal had growled—. Expelled. Pack your things. »
       Blitzø had shrugged, pretending he didn’t care, though his stomach churned. Hell High might’ve been a dumpster fire, but it was his dumpster fire. He wasn’t ready to leave it behind.
       That’s when the door had creaked open, and Stolas had strolled in, feigning casual concern.
       « —Oh, Principal Abezethibou, I couldn’t help but overhear. Expulsion? For a little artistic expression? »
       « —ARTISTIC EXPRESSION?! —The principal’s voice had risen to an octave only dogs could hear—. »
       « —Now, now. —Stolas had said, raising a placating hand—. Blitzø’s antics are harmless, really. And as student body president, I’d hate to see this institution lose such a… spirited individual. Perhaps a suspension would suffice? »
       Blitzø had gawked as Stolas talked the principal down, weaving some nonsense about “preserving morale” and “valuing diversity of thought.”
       Now, as Blitzø stared at his cold food, that memory felt like a cruel joke. If Stolas had his back, why had he just publicly shut him down in front of everyone?
       —Boss, you good? —Moxxie’s voice cut through Blitzø’s thoughts—.
       Blitzø blinked, realizing he’d been crushing a biscuit into crumbs with his fork.
       —Yeah. Yeah, totally fine! Why wouldn’t I be?! —His voice shot up an octave—.
       Moxxie and Millie exchanged a look, but Loona rolled her eyes and went back to scrolling on her phone.
       —Look, guys, the elites don’t get it yet. —Blitzø said, forcing a grin—. But don’t worry. By the end of the week, they’re gonna be begging for me to sit at their table.
       —Sure, Blitzø. —Moxxie said, not sounding convinced—.
       Millie leaned closer.
       —Hey, maybe Stolas is just having a bad day? You know, those rich types can be moody. Like cats!
       Blitzø snorted.
       —Yeah, maybe he’s upset because his gold-plated bathtub wasn’t shiny enough this morning.
       But the joke felt hollow.
       At the Goetia table, Stolas poked at his lunch, his usual charm absent. Stella was yammering about some yacht regatta she wanted to attend, but Stolas wasn’t listening.
       —Something on your mind? —Octavia asked—.
       —Just wondering why my gold-plated bathtub wasn’t shiny enough this morning.

2


