The noise from the cafeteria died away in a matter of seconds as Harper crossed the central aisle, dragging a metal trash can that scraped against the floor like a harbinger of danger. Conversations were cut short, spoons hung suspended in mid-air, and all eyes turned to the same table: a table almost always empty, where that day a Black woman, with dark skin and downcast eyes, sat eating in silence.
Maya Thompson didn’t look up when she heard the bucket squeaking closer. She had learned, many years ago, that predators fed on visible fear. Her hands continued cutting the watery egg in the tray, as if nothing were happening, even though every muscle in her body was already on high alert.
Harper stopped right beside her. She was tall, broad-shouldered, with bleached blonde hair and arms covered in tattoos that told stories of fights won with blows and blood. She smiled crookedly, leaning towards her.
—Welcome to my table, darling— she murmured, loud enough for the whole dining room to hear.
And then, without warning, he tipped the whole bucket onto Maya’s tray.
