CODE: RED - Chapter THREE: Eve

Chicken salad, grilled fish, or spaghetti Bolognaise?
I was wondering what to buy from the canteen when a sugar crusted apple tart came flying from the rowdy group of junior boys nearby. The students in CVH may be obscenely rich, but some behave like animals let loose from the zoo when out of the classrooms.
The lunchroom was a state of pandemonium. It was a sea of fine black blazers and crisp white and blue school shirts, moving around all over the place. Some were chattering away, some were making out, and some, like the group near me, were having a food fight.
I decided to get the salad, for two reasons. One, because there was no cheese in it (which I hate, by the way). Two, because if a random guy decided to just pick it up and throw it at their friend, then at least the victim would only get tomato and lettuce juice onto their shirt rather than fish skin and oils or Bolognese sauce and meat smashed onto them.
“Getting the salad today, Summers?” a mesmerising voice came from behind me. I did not even have to turn around to know that it was Thomas Storme. But I couldn’t pass up the chance of being able to look at him. His eyes were so misty and blue-grey...
He chuckled, snapping me back into the chaotic canteen scene. He shook his head and then said teasingly, “Hello to you too, Eve.”
I noticed then that I was receiving a lot of envious and withering looks from the girls around me. “Yeah. Uhh, sorry, uh hi. And yeah, I’m getting the salad,” I stuttered, and then I quickly turned away to hide my embarrassment. I can feel the heat of his eyes boring into the back of my head.
After a moment of silence (between us anyway, the canteen was still loud), he said amusingly, “You’re a forgetful one, aren’t you?”
I moved closer to the salad bar, still not looking at him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I responded curtly, putting some mixed lettuce and sliced cucumber onto my plate.
“Yeah right.”
“Mr Storme, if you are not purchasing from the school canteen today, please step out of the line, and go to a table or outside,” came the British accented voice. I turned around to see Thomas being talked to by our maths teacher Mr Mason.
“Oh no Sir, I was just accompanying the lovely Ms Summers here,” he responded politely.
“Very well then, as long you aren’t bothering Ms Summers and other colleagues, it is fine,” he said dismissing him with a nod. If it was anyone else, they would have received a lecture, but because Thomas Storme and I were his star pupils we received a mere nod.
I smirked at Thomas and Mr Mason’s retreating back, amused at the situation.
“Very good save, Storme,” I said in my best British voice.
“Why thank you lovely Ms Summers,” he replied playing along, while I added some shredded chicken and cherry tomatoes to my dish.
“Why not add the tasty mozzarella cheese?” he said in his normal voice, gesturing towards the bowl of the grated stuff.
“Cheese,” I said, walking out of line to pay the canteen lady, “is disgusting and fattening.”
Thomas feigned hurt and disgust, “Cheese, in fact, is delicious, and full of calcium for strong bones and teeth,” he said, sounding like one of those TV commercials.
Then, he had a look of sudden realisation, he asked, “Hey, are you deliberately changing the subject?”
“What subject?” I asked innocently, as I took my salad outside, walking towards my group under the big peppercorn tree.
“Don’t toy with me Eve. You know what I’m talking about.” His face now wore a grave expression.
I laughed, trying to cover my nerves from his look.
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about Thomas.”
“Really? Not even about how I know about your dad being in the CIA?” he said a bit louder.
“What are you talking about? My dad’s a lawyer.” I chuckled nervously, stopping to turn to him.
Then I hissed, “Okay. You got me. Could you please keep it down?”
“Oh right your dad is a lawyer, my bad,” he acted along. I felt relieved that he did not reveal Dad’s cover.
And then he whispered in his husky voice “Good, Summers. Now that we’re finally on the same page, don’t you want to know how I know though?”
I looked at him incredulously. This guy is not going to quit until I ask the question he has been pestering me about.
I sighed, unable to imagine what could possibly be of such high importance.
“Okay, fine. How Thomas? How do you know?” I replied in a low voice.
“Well, Eve. You’re going to be in for a surprise,” he replied softly, his grey eyes twinkling, boring into my own hazel ones.
“What is it?” I said breathlessly, his face inching closer to mine.
“What I am trying to tell you,” he murmured, he was just centimetres from my face now.
My heart was thumping hard. I couldn’t tear my face away from his. My head was spinning with questions.
What is it? A deadly secret? Is he the murderer?“Is that my mother is an undercover forensic investigator who is working with your dad on the murder case,” he finished the sentence, his face still very close to my own; unmoving, expressionless. Except for a toothless smile that did not quite reach his blue, grey eyes.