It was just another day at the Academy—or so we thought. Classes had wrapped up for the morning, and all of us were more than ready to head to the cafeteria. After spending hours learning about the latest methods in paranormal containment (a surprisingly dull subject, despite its terrifying implications), we were starving.
As usual, Jenkins was leading the charge, practically skipping down the hallway. "I hear they've got spaghetti and meatballs today!" he said, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain. "And you know what that means—extra garlic bread!"
"Jenkins, you act like you've never had a decent meal before," Quinn teased, rolling her eyes. "But yeah, I could use some carbs right about now."
Sam and I exchanged knowing looks. We'd seen Jenkins this excited before. The last time was when they served chicken nuggets, and Jenkins had almost started a food fight in his eagerness to get a second helping.
We reached the cafeteria, and as soon as we walked in, something felt… off. The usual hum of conversation was missing, replaced by an eerie silence. The tables were empty, and not a single tray of food was in sight.
"What the…?" Sam muttered, looking around.
"Where's the food?" I asked, more confused than concerned at this point. "It's lunchtime. There should be food."
Jenkins froze mid-step, his eyes widening in horror. "No… it can't be…"
"What?" Quinn asked, starting to sound worried. "What's going on?"
Jenkins turned to us, his expression deadly serious. "The food's gone. *All* the food. This is no ordinary lunchtime, my friends. We've got a case on our hands."
"A case?" I repeated, not sure if Jenkins was messing with us or actually onto something. "You mean someone stole all the food?"
"Exactly," Jenkins said, nodding solemnly. "And it's up to us to find out who did it. Otherwise, we'll starve!"
Sam let out a laugh. "Jenkins, you can't be serious. This is probably just some weird Academy prank. Or maybe they're running late with the delivery."
"Or," Jenkins said, lowering his voice and leaning in dramatically, "it's the work of a food-loving poltergeist, determined to ruin our lunch hour!"
Quinn snorted. "A food-loving poltergeist? Really, Jenkins?"
"You laugh," Jenkins said, wagging a finger at her, "but in this Academy, you can never be too sure. We've seen weirder things, haven't we?"
He had a point. As much as I wanted to dismiss Jenkins' theory, we'd been through enough bizarre experiences to know that anything was possible. Still, the idea of a ghost with a craving for spaghetti seemed a bit far-fetched, even for us.
"Okay," I said, playing along, "let's say you're right. How do we track down this food thief, ghost or otherwise?"
Jenkins grinned, clearly pleased that we were taking him seriously. "Simple. We follow the crumbs."
He pointed to the floor, where a small trail of breadcrumbs led out of the cafeteria and down the hallway. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed it before.
"Are you kidding me?" Sam said, staring at the breadcrumbs. "You think this is some kind of Hansel and Gretel situation?"
"Only one way to find out," Jenkins said, already following the trail. "Come on, team. Let's catch ourselves a food thief!"
Reluctantly, we followed Jenkins down the hallway, through the twists and turns of the Academy. The breadcrumb trail seemed to go on forever, and the further we went, the more ridiculous this whole situation felt. But Jenkins was determined, and we weren't about to let him go alone.
Finally, the trail ended in front of a broom closet. Jenkins stopped, hand on the doorknob, and turned to us with a mischievous grin. "Ready to catch a criminal?"
"Or a janitor," Quinn muttered, crossing her arms. "Please tell me this isn't going to end with us apologizing to some poor guy just trying to do his job."
Jenkins ignored her and threw open the door with a flourish. We all peered inside, expecting… well, something. But what we found was a small, chubby raccoon sitting on a pile of stolen food, happily munching on a meatball.
There was a beat of stunned silence as we all processed what we were seeing. Then Sam burst out laughing. "That's your poltergeist, Jenkins? A raccoon?"
Jenkins looked a little sheepish but quickly recovered. "Well, to be fair, I never specified *what* kind of spirit we were dealing with."
The raccoon looked up at us, blinked lazily, and went back to its meal, clearly unimpressed by our presence.
Quinn shook her head, laughing along with Sam. "Only you, Jenkins. Only you would lead us on a wild goose chase for a meatball thief and end up with this."
I couldn't help but laugh too. It was just so absurd—exactly the kind of thing that always seemed to happen when Jenkins was around.
Jenkins grinned, reaching out to pat the raccoon on the head. "Looks like we solved the case, folks. Now, who's up for Plan B?"
"What's Plan B?" I asked, still chuckling.
"Raid the vending machines!" Jenkins declared, leading the charge once again. And just like that, our hunt for a ghostly food thief turned into an impromptu junk food feast, with Jenkins, as always, at the center of the madness.