Pictou sat down at a free table and began to dine on his lunch. “This is so spicy!” a student beside him remarked, breathing heavily from the piquant heat of his chicken tikka masala curry, while another student gulped down a bottle of sweet, refreshing tutti-frutti soda. Pictou chopped the meat into manageable, easily chewable morsels, alternating with a sip of fresh, cooling milk.
Suddenly, the cafeteria doors loudly swung open, prompting everybody to fall silent and stare. Hantsport, Aspotogan and Stewiacke had arrived, eager to ignite trouble. “Who wants to start a food fight today?” Stewiacke asked out loud. Aspotogan suddenly spotted Pictou, swirling his kilt and snapping his fingers. “Oh!” cried Pictou as he relieved himself, causing the crotch of his trousers to darken, and the urine pooling into a puddle of ammonia beneath him. He stared down at himself, gasping in terror. Stewiacke snatched a student’s cupcake and roughly tossed it at him. He tried to exact revenge by tossing it back, but it only flew past Stewiacke. “Nah-nah-neh-nah-nah!” Stewiacke taunted the him, sticking his tongue out. Suddenly, a massive food fight erupted, food and drink of all kinds and flavours flying everywhere. Pictou realized he’d have to hide somewhere where he wouldn’t get splattered by debris.
Just then, Mr. Safforth entered the cafeteria, and he then set off to find Pictou, trying to dodge everything that was flying around. A muffin zipped past Pictou just as he was taking cover beneath an empty table, while Mr. Safforth pushed through all the chaos and eventually found him. “Hello,” he greeted Pictou. “I need changing,” Pictou told him. “Could you do that favour for me, please?” “Of course I will,” Mr. Safforth replied, picking Pictou up and pushing his way back out of the chaos-infested cafeteria. “Thanks,” said Pictou. “Alright,” said Mr. Safforth, and he carried Pictou off to the men’s room to change him.
Pictou lay in bed, his parents kneeling down by his side. “Oh, why does this always happen to my boy?” Port Hawkesbury asked, sobbing. “It’s not his fault,” Stellarton reassured her. “I know. Isn’t that right? Hmm?” said Pictou, touching Port Hawkesbury, and she sobbed. “Yes.”
Pictou gazed at both his parents. “You’re our sweetheart, Pictou,” Stellarton called him affectionately, jotting down some notes in his notebook. “Ah-ha,” Port Hawkesbury nodded, and Stellarton made some more notes as Pictou continued to gaze sympathetically at his parents and give Port Hawkesbury some much-needed comfort.