Delirium in the Cafeterium
The bell in the hallway rings. Far from being saved by the bell, you're condemned by it. Now you've got to face the worst part of the high school experience: the cafeteria. If the food doesn't kill you, the social awkwardness will.
You can see the clique structure is pretty well-defined: there's a table full of muscle-bound men and women joking and arm-wrestling; a table with dweebs in high pants and thick glasses rolling weird-shaped dice; and then there's a conclave of pompadoured cool kids scratching their initials into the last table with their switchblade knives (and combing their hair with their switchblade combs.
Presuming you made it through that last hellish sentence, where do you want to sit?
| Sit with the Jocks |
You walk toward the table of jocks, trying to puff yourself up and look as buff as possible. "Hey, guys, can I sit here?" you ask, gesturing to an empty seat. "Whatever, dork," one of the lacrosse girls says, sliding over to cover the empty seat, "do you even lift?"
"Yeah, I pick up stuff and put it down all the time," you say. That doesn't appear to be the right answer, as they take turns pelting you with luncheon debris until you walk away.
 | You lose ?−8-? hit points. |
| Sit with the Nerds |
| Sit with the Greasers |
