A tall man with bronze skin, slicked black hair, and an ironed blue business suit walked forth in his shiny black shoes. He flashed a grin at Serra and cast a questioning look at Murphy.
“With that kind of energy, you could teach the kindergarteners,” the fancy man said. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Moreno. My name’s Patrick Torres, principal at Astrid Walters.”
“Nice to meet the new guy in charge.” Murphy adeptly cut and boxed pizzas. In the back of his mind, he counted the man as the tenth principal he knew of at the school in the past eight years. “I don’t mean to be rude by not shaking your hand. I totally would if I weren’t so busy.”
“No offense,” Torres said. “I’d say no rush, but I heard you’re a time traveler.” His grin was insincere. “You don’t believe in wacko stuff like aliens and flying saucers, do you?”
“I’ve seen plenty of evidence to suggest the paranormal is more normal than we’d be comfortable with admitting.” Murphy continued his work, down to the last ten pizzas rolling out of the oven’s conveyor belts. “My recent work with Homeland Defense has opened my eyes even more.”
“Oh.”Torres’ smile was as sincere as his mocking chortle. “Please don’t tell me you’ve slummed out to accept scarecrow work. I heard you were a brilliant teacher. I mean, aside from dropping out of your credentialing program.”
“I help protect American citizens when I’m called to do so.” Murphy sped through the final four pizzas. “And as my day job, I see countless smiles because I deliver delicious food with a side of fun for the whole family.”
“I heard you failed the psychological exam,” Torres said as he watched the final pizzas get boxed. “That can’t be true, can it?”
“Your total is $590.70.” Murphy finished loading the last pizzas onto his rolling cart and added five large boxes full of baked treats. “I’ve thrown in dessert for your whole staff and faculty for free.” He motioned to the pay card slider and projection panel that showed the virtual receipt.
“You’re pretty good at this.” Torres reviewed the order and slid the district-issued pay card through to accept the order. “If you ever want to apply to work in the cafeteria, we have one or two retiring at the end of the year. Consider stepping up to microwaving fish sticks. You’ll earn enough to stay out of debt.”
Murphy ignored the jab and rolled his cart out the back of his food truck.
The cafeteria workers approached without making eye contact with their principal, but some nodded at their vice principal. They loaded pizza and dessert boxes from Murphy’s pristine cart onto their rusty carts.
“Just what are these?” Torres ripped open the top of a pink dessert box as one of his workers rolled a cart past him. He plucked out an orange wedge drizzled with a brown glaze. “Smells strange.”
“Baked pumpkin bites.” Murphy puffed his chest and stood before the two administrators. “Go ahead and try it.”
“Ladies first.” Torres pulled another treat from the box before waving the cafeteria worker away. He handed the item to Miss Serra.
Serra bit in and her eyes widened. She immediately tried another bite while chewing the first.
“It’s delicious!” Serra devoured the rest of her pumpkin bite.
“With such a rave review, now I have to try.” Torres raised his dessert but opened his fingers well before he reached his face. The wedge of orange and brown rolled out of his hand and onto the pavement. “That one probably tastes like dirt.” He smirked and spun around while checking his watch.
Torres raised three fingers and counted down. When he closed his upheld fist, the school’s bells rang to signal the beginning of lunch.
Serra scowled at the departing principal.
“I’m happy with my job.” Murphy smiled long enough for Serra to get a good look at him.
“What’s this about you working for Homeland Defense?” Serra folded her arms like she was disappointed in a student. “You’re so good at what you do. Is business going slow?”
“My free spirit gets me in trouble like it always has.” Murphy folded up his tables and loaded them back into his truck. “I make decent enough profits to pay bills. But I tend to get too many citations when attempting to chat with customers.”
“Are you ever in danger on your government gigs?” Serra’s arms tightened and her eyes narrowed.
“All we ever do is stand around and watch.” Murphy secured the tables and collapsed the rear ramp. “Reserve Deputies tend to get easy security observation assignments. Watch for people misbehaving and pester anyone who gets out of line. Sometimes we get a free train ride out of it.”
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