When I was in junior high, lunch tables were pretty strictly segregated. You had tables belonging to jocks, cheerleaders, preppy kids and so on. I'm not sure what category my table would fall under. Other?
There was a weird kid named Chris who sat with us, but we called him "Engelbert." I'm not sure how this topic came up, but one day we began discussing firearms. Munching on tater tots and goulash (a macaroni and chili dish we also called "rat chitlin's"), Engelbert swore he kept a revolver in his drawer at home.
We said, "No way," and moved on to other topics, like the size of Jamie F.'s budding breasts or whether the assistant principal smoked the dope he confiscated from kids.
The next day at lunch, Engelbert opened his gym bag, took out a shoe box and, sure enough, he did have a gun. It was a 44 magnum, and there were bullets rolling around in the bottom of the box.
We told him we believed him now and suggested he put the box back in locker, leave it there until the end of school, then take it home. I believe he did just that.