Put Your Heart Where Your Mouth Is

"I can't believe you got us kicked out." I laughed, eyeing Pat from where he sat on the fence.

Garrett squeezed my hand. "This isn't the first time. He's gotten us kicked out of venues, too. Oh, and Foot Locker. He put shoes on his hands and feet, and said he was the shoe monster. He was hiding all the displays and tried to get all the customers to go on a scavenger hunt."

"That one guy actually did." John smirked, "The balding guy in the striped shirt? He was looking pretty excited about finding the Pumas--"

"Striped shirt?" I snorted, "Did he have a name tag, John?"

"Yeah. I didn't know why, though. I mean, his name was Dick. Who flaunts that?"

"I would." Wren said, seriously.

"Because he was an employee, John." I sighed. "Honestly, you're worse than Pat."

Pat stuck his tongue out at John, who gave him a light shove. Pat fell off the railing he was sitting on, and landed on his back in the middle of a flower garden. He made sure to pluck one of the tulips, and stuck it in Jared's hair so that it stood straight up.

"I feel pretty." Jared said, with a toothy grin.

"You look pretty, my friend." Kennedy said, patting Jared's arm.

"Garrett's hungry." Garrett said, looking down at his stomach. I could hear it growling just by sitting next to him. I giggled--it sounded like a tiger. I could picture a tiny tiger with Garrett's face on it, standing on it's back legs, and flailing its arms. He glanced over at me, laughing slightly at my random fit of giggles, and pulled me up with him. "Food time."

"I want Italian." Pat said, putting his hands on his skinny hips.

"You're not coming." Everyone else said at the exact same time.

"But--but--but--" He whimped.

"No." Jared said. "Not happening."

"Well, you guys stand here and watch Pat. Garrett and I are going to get food." I said. I took his hand, and started skipping down the sidewalk. I loved that he was skipping with me. John wouldn't have, I thought. We stumbled into Subway, still laughing.

"I've got twenty." I said, pulling my cash out of my jeans' pocket.

"I've got five." He sighed.

I gave him a smile before the two of us walked into Subway.

We just got everyone meatball sandwiches, because that's the best kind, and made the 'Sandwich Artiste' toast them all, and add provolone. We paid, grabbed all of the bags, and ran back to the group still sitting outside Ruby Tuesday's.

Pat dove for the bag, grabbed his sub, and did a dance he titled 'the Meatball Dance'. It involved him making a circle with his hands, around his head, and he rocked back and forth. I rolled my eyes, and threw a meatball. It hit him in the eye, and he had a big spot of marinara sauce running down his cheek. It settled nicely on his new white shirt, and looked like he got beat up by a twelve year old--which surprisingly, has actually happened to him.

"You suck." he said, taking a handfull of napkins, and sticking them to his newfound stain. "You and your boyfriend both suck big, hairy Jared balls."

Jared looked up from his food. "What?"

"Keep eating." John said, waving Pat off. He sat down by himself a few feet away, and stretched out on the sidewalk.

"I feel a tantrum coming on." He muttered. I prayed it wouldn't be like the Pizza Hut incident.