Ronald dropped his lunch sack into the bathroom sink. He scanned the mirror's reflection of the five urinals behind him. The room was void of students and teachers. Good.
He opened his brown bag and dipped his hand into it. From there, he plucked out the baggie holding his tuna salad sandwich. Perfect. He unsealed it, peeled the plastic away from the white bread, and bit into it and chewed. Too bad I have to waste this on stupid people. It took every ounce of him to not swallow as he turned the faucet knobs. Under the running water, he held a sheet of his notebook paper and soaked it. Not enough to let it fall apart, but just enough for him to carefully hold it up by two corners. After, he laid onto the counter making sure to keep it in tact and then spit his chewed up sandwich onto it. At the Lutheran school he had made a name for himself when it came to tactical spit balls. He was an expert.
Bite by bite. Chew by chew. Spit by spit. He made a ball in the middle of the damp sheet. Carefully, he brought up the corners around the small mound and wrapped it as tightly as he could without it falling apart. The smell of this thing would linger for the day. Too bad he didn't have a few anchovies in oil to add. God help the one this lands on today.
A crooked grin creeped across his face. He contemplated who deserved it the most and it wasn't Gruber. Maybe Miss Wadsworth. Yeah. Pictures formed in his head on how he would make sure it would hit her face. He'd worry about the consequences later.