Claim the Prize
Trebor never realized before how quickly the school empties after the last bell (because he usually raced home for snacks) but here he is, making his way down the dustier-than-expected stairs that led to the deserted cafeteria. Since you’re still walking alongside him, you probably either love winning things or have never won anything and are living vicariously through him. No shame either way.
Trebor pushes open the door to the cafeteria and its creaky hinges echo in the darkened space. He enters and is instantly blasted with the aroma of all sorts of leftover food, soggy and compacting in a garbage disposal. His echoing footsteps throughout the empty lunchroom sound like he’s there to assassinate somebody. He coughs to alert whoever is there that he is coming - unarmed and definitely not there to kill them.
A jolly middle-aged Latina pokes her round head out of the kitchen. “Hello?” she says before she sees him.
He begins to return the greeting and clears the puberty from his throat. “Hi, I’m Trebor.
“Excuse me?” she says puzzled.
“From the raffle?” Uh oh, thinks Trebor. It’s a setup. He’s seen this play out terribly in too many movies. She’s going to say something sinister like--
“We’ve been expecting you,” she says.
Yes! He expected her to say that. However, her beaming face disarms him.
“Congratulations,” she explodes as if he just won the lottery. “Hold on right here, honey and I’ll go get your prize.” She disappears and leaves him alone, her little footsteps fading into the kitchen.
At least it sounds promising. Oddly enough, Trebor is a little thirsty and wouldn’t mind a cold, chocolate milk right about now. Maybe not a lifetime supply but at least 3. Actually, he’s getting a little sweaty standing there with his jacket in a humid and slop-smelling room. His ears perk up as he hears the sound of little hooves growing louder.
The little lady is carrying a cake. A full cake. Not a sheet cake, mind you, but one too big to fit in his backpack or conceal on his way home. With its flimsy case, it needs to be held with two hands as well. There is no good way to take this home. After all, how many kids do you ever see walking home from school with a cake in their hands?
“Here you go, honey!” Her voice resounds. “Congratulations.”
On what? He wonders. Is this a blessing or a curse? What the heck am I supposed to do with a full cake riding the CTA home? Trebor is too much of a people-pleaser to show his disappointment. “Thank you,” he says and forces a well-rehearsed and convincing smile.
He makes his way out of the school and looks down the block toward the bus stop. It’s decision time. This is a perfectly good cake. Well, it’s at least in good condition - he’s not sure how it’s going to taste. He isn’t sure what flavor it is and he’s not really a cake lover. He sees a homeless man that lives around the school and wonders if that man would want it. Is that safe though? But it feels like a waste to throw this out. But if he’s trying to blend in, taking this on a bus full of commuting students isn’t going to help.
What should Trebor do?
(Choose one below)