On Sept. 10 at 9:42 a.m., Trevor Wuest will sit down for his first high school lunch, whether he's hungry or not. That the Archbishop Ryan freshman may force-feed himself meat loaf and mashed potatoes at such an un-lunchlike hour is a sign of these strange times.
Trevor, a typical teenager, would rather not draw attention to his plight. But his mother, Virginia, is bracing for a food fight.
It's ludicrous, she says, to make students eat lunch when they've barely digested breakfast. Especially since many schools, like Ryan, have strict no-snacking rules.
"Food is fuel. Without it, your brain isn't going to work," Wuest argues. "I know my son. He's not going to be hearing anything his teacher says in last period because his stomach will be growling."
If landing early lunch wasn't bad enough, Trevor's schedule has him finishing the day with . . . algebra.
"Math," Wuest frets, "is his absolute worst subject."