Rainbows and Cupcakes vs. Gunshots and Pills

I barely had my shirt over my head when Peter barged his way through my bedroom door. Okay, didn't barged in, but sneekily and quietly opening it doesn't help his case either. So there I was, standing in a white cami and underwear (I never said I had pants on) with my neighbor looking at me as if I was a super model in his room.

"Wentz!!!!" I shrieked and threw the closest item at him; my towel, "Seriously kid, can't you knock?! Who told you, you can just walk in whenever you please!"

He blocked the towel from hitting his face with his one uncasted arm,"I'm sorry. I believe I was invited over for dinner. I didn't think you'd strip while expecting guests!!!"

"Yeah, dinner, not a show! My word! Get out!!" threatning to throw my blow-dryer at his face. He quickly headed out the door and closed it. I heard a thump and a grunt. He was waiting outside my door for me. I frowned and looked at the slab of wood that separated me from my worst nightmare. I continued to think as I grabbed a pair of clean jeans and slipped them on. He didn't even look down, he just looked at my face. I guess he's not as bad as I thought him to be... I was drying my hair and letting my natural waves air out. After I was done, I put on my favorite bullet holes belt and quickly put on socks and Converse. I was about to add my make up like usual when my hand steadied itself.

Ellie, you're not wearing make up or anything," he smiled.

"No, I didn't have time to this morning," I said, my face making my usual "confused as to why I'm having this convo" expression.

"You look good, especially when the sun hits your hair like that.. it looks more red than brown..." he trailed off.

Get a hold of yourself Elyssia Vinincci! This is the Peter who you've hated since you were four! You can not be falling for him just because he's complimented you. Where are your morals.

"I have morals?" I asked my self as I stared blankly at the thin girl before me.

"Who're you asking?" I heard the boy from the underside of my door.

"Why are you listening?" I growled, walking away from my mirror and to the door.

I opened it and there he was, sitting Indian style on the wooden floor, holding his arm protectively, as if by instinct, he knew I might kick it, "You said it kinda loud... so I thought you might be asking me... unless you talk to youself.."

"Stop rambling; I can smell dinner. The faster we eat, the sooner you can leave," I huffed and started for the stairs. I was almost down the first one when I looked back to see if he'd follow. His head was down, looking at his own Converse shoes. Is he contemplating he should move? Instantly, I felt guilty for wanting to run down the stairs.

"Alright, truth be told... I'm hungry," I said softly and walked back to him, "We can eat and then you can come back up here. We can talk about Chloe and my plans for this school year- anything you want to talk about is fine, just... don't pout like that."

He looked up at me and I could see that he did want to stay, just to talk. I was fine with that. Apparently, I have grown a soft spot for Wentz. After dinner, our mothers went to the parlor room to talk about their lives and such (you know, mother talk) and Pete and I put the dishes in the dishwasher. After that was settled, we ran like hell to my room. Pete almost caused his arm to be recasted by tripping up the stairs (who trips up stairs than him?). I opened my door and quickly threw all my dirty clothing into the hamper by the door and picked up the plethra of notes and papers lying about the ground. Pete made himself comfortable by looking at my walls; noticing the bands he knew and the ones he didn't, looking at my selection of CDs by my stereo and browsing the small bookcase by my closet door. He looked at the pictures on my dresser of Chloe and myself. He laughed when he saw the one and only shot of Patrick and himself trying to kill each other.

"Okay, are you done scanning my room?" I asked as politely as I could handle.

"Yeah, and thanks for actually playing nice," he smirked and plopped a squat next to me.

"Well, you're not acting too bad yourself," I commented on his lighter mood, "If you acted like this more often, I actually might like you more."

"Watch it, I might act like this all the time. You'd hate that; I know. Who'd you have to pick on all the time?" he scratched at his cast as he spoke, not once making eye contact.

The mood became uneasy, "I think you're right. I feel weird already trying to be nice to you."

He changed subject, "Alright, Els, what do you have planned for the school year?"