Emma watched as he ate it, carefully gauging his reactions, except he didn't seem to have one, the expression on his face didn't change, or if it did it was such a brief and microscopic change that it could barely be called a change at all. Emma felt extremely panicked as that almost dead expression was the one she'd seen her mother wear when she'd asked her mother to try one of her dishes previously. It was an expression that showed when her mother had decided to give up on life and accept her own demise, which happened to come to her in the form of a dish made by her own daughter.
A split moment later Mr Thomas put his fork down on a piece of tissue he had taken out of his pocket and placed it on the table and closed the container which held the seemingly lukewarm or even cold lasagna. He then stood up and walked over to the bin with the lasagna in hand. He stood by the bin briefly and dropped it carefully inside and hesitated before going back to his desk as if he couldn't be sure whether or not throwing the dish away was a good idea or not.
Actually, Mr Thomas had hesitated because he was wondering whether or not the person who had left him the meal had wanted the container back or not. In the end, he decided it didn't matter, and that if they came to him asking about it he'd just get them a new one, or say he lost it and ask for forgiveness.
Emma who had witnessed the whole scene was beyond disappointed, she'd been watching intently up to this point but turned away after seeing him walk back to his desk, her naivety even stopped her from thinking her cooking could be so bad that he'd want to throw it away, but honestly, what else should she expect? This was her first proper attempt at cooking, the times she'd tried before was only because she saw interesting techniques she'd wanted to try off TokTik and Yutube.
However, her arrogance and blindsidedness were most probably due to the fact she hadn't had anyone to taste test her dishes before she presented them to Mr Thomas. Emma couldn't be called a fair judge on the matter, not only did she have disabled taste buds, but she was also biased because it was her own cooking.
Emma promised herself at that moment to never cook a thing again ever in her entire life, as she promised herself this she took her head in her hands and banged her face and hands into the wall next to the door. She not only felt super embarrassed but also extremely hurt, her mind was running a million miles an hour and her thoughts were so focused that she didn't realise that Mr Thomas had walked up to the door until she heard the click of the door meaning it was beginning to open.
Emma began to panic even more than she had just been, her mind going even faster as she tried to think of a solution to her problem. She couldn't be caught snooping around, that was probably against the rules, she didn't want to get suspended or told off or anything. She also desperately didn't want him to know it was her shit lasagna that he felt was so bad that he had to throw it away. He was a nice and kind teacher in her eyes, if his kind and warm-hearted self threw it away it only meant her cooking was shit, it was all her fault.
In a split second, Emma decided to sprint silently down the hall and pretend to be walking toward his office instead of away, that would make him think she'd been walking this way naturally and there'd be little chance he'd know she'd been watching him, now that she thought of it, she realised that perhaps she had been acting somewhat creepily.
The door opened fully and Mr Thomas walked out, a smile plastered on his face. That reminded her, that he hadn't smiled once when he was in his office, if anything he'd looked annoyed. Recalling that, Emma realised that when he wasn't smiling he had a resting bitch face, she thought maybe he smiled a lot so students wouldn't feel intimidated or anything by his normal face.
He seemed to have spotted her as she was slowly walking toward his office in her attempt to seem to be doing normal things. His smile brightened and he waved her over, she quickened her pace and then stopped to stand in front of him.
"Emma, what're you doing all the way over here?" He stopped for a second before adding thoughtfully, "Hasn't lunch just started? Shouldn't you hurry to the cafeteria before all the food is gone?"
Emma's mind was still racing, it looked like she was out of the woods, but now she was into the frying pan, she had to find and fabricate a believable story so she wouldn't get caught. She hesitated for a second whilst replying.
"Well I've already eaten, sir." She plastered a fake smile on her face, she moved her arms to be able to clasp her hands behind her back, her fingers intertwined.
She was so nervous that she felt as though she might just fro dead from heart failure, her heart was beating rapidly and she could feel the beats resounding in her body. They were so loud she felt as though Mr Thomas would be able to hear them, she dug her fingernails into her palms and bit her lips gently.
This was the area of the building which was mostly used for teachers' offices, she could get out of this by saying she wanted to visit one of them, but what would she say about that? Perhaps she needed help… but help with what? If she said she'd gone to ask for help wouldn't that mean she'd actually need to go ask them and sit through the selected teachers' lecture about paying attention and their long-winded explanation of whatever it was?
Otherwise, Mr Thomas might catch drift that she hadn't gone, he might even be the one asking the teachers if she'd gone to see them. If she chose not to go down that route she could say she had gone this way for… a walk perhaps? No… why walk around here when she had the whole campus grounds? Or perhaps she could say that maybe she'd lost something? No… how could she lose anything when she rarely came here in the first place?
This was a nightmare, she felt like she wanted to slam her head into the wall and dig and claw her nails into her face. However, she kept this in by biting her lips and tongue, her face instead of being contorted in pain and anger was smiling.
Mr Thomas, however, looked as though he didn't have a care in the world. He was smiling brightly and looked happy, he checked the silver watch on his wrist, Emma looked at it too when she noticed his eyes had moved from her to something else. She had to admit that the watch was beautiful, it had a black face and the clock's hands were a beautiful mix of gold and white, the numbers were white too, a nice contrast with the black.