Love Among the Pizza Boxes

I’m fiddling with my cell phone.
It’s pink. Like my car.
To call or not to call. That is the question.
Considering last night I was basically stalking him without his knowledge. It seems very odd to be calling him.
Grow a pair, Shayla.
Shayla, you’re not a boy.
You’re incapable of growing a pair.
Unless you’re a hermaphrodite.
And that’s not sexy.
Okay. Grow manlier ovaries and call him.
Yup.
Here I go.
Calling Pizza Hut…
“Hi, welcome to Pizza Hut. Will this be for pick up or delivery?”
Well, doesn’t he sound friendly.
“Uh- Hi.”
Don’t be a chicken.
Remember, manly ovaries!
Huzzah!
“Shayla?”
He sounds more awake now.
“Hey there.”
Can’t sound clever for the life of me…
“Uh… Hi?” He pauses for a second. “You rang?”
“Uh- yeah.”
Well. Hi Riku. Just calling to ask you out on another awkward date.
No.
You are not going to say that.
What are you going to say?
Curses.
Should’ve made a script or something.
“Well. I just called because I was wondering when you get off work today…”
God.
Stalker.
“Four fifteen.”
“You ready for another awkward date?” I start giggling a little nervously now.
Stupid.
Stupid little stupid face.
He chuckles. “Sure. What’re we doing this time? Going to Hollywood video so another one of my friends can stick their butt in their boyfriend’s face as we sit awkwardly and eat stale candy?”
No…
I thought he liked me… Ish...
Like-ish at the least...
WAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!
He was holding my hand out of pity…
“Okay. So… No dating. Okay. Well bye…”

“No -… Wait. Wait don’t go! God. Stupid Riku. Bad Riku. No. Get the foot out of your mouth. Be nice. Bad Riku. Stupid stupid stupid!”
“I- I haven’t hung up yet.”
…
He’s quiet for a second.
“What? Oh. Oh crap. You heard that. You heard that and now I sound stupid. Anyways. Now you have the upper hand and you can hang up any time now. Because I know now that you won’t go out with me even if I said yes to your question. Which I was going to. I’m just tired, and Bethany’s pestering me to no end and now my face is red and – “
And this is where if this were a movie and if we were sitting next to each other, I would say, ‘Shut up and kiss me.’
But I’m not doing that over the phone.
‘Cause that’s silly.
“-Hush child. I still want to go on a date with you. Because you are the nicest guy I have ever met at Pizza Hut.”
Well that was stupid.
I can hear obnoxious female laughter over the phone.
Riku sighed. “Shut up, Bethany! Go make some pizza or something.” Then his attention's turned to the phone again as Bethany erupts in another huge fit of laughter. “Really?” He kinda laughs. “Thanks. You’re the nicest girl I’ve ever met at the Observatory.”
Bethany laughs again.
“Shut your gob, Beth. No one likes you.”
“Oh. You’re so nice.”
Part sarcasm, part truth.
Sweet.
Now what?
Ba-bump.
Ba-bump.
Stupid little red thing.
Stop ba-bumping so hard.
He might hear you.
“Anyway… Where’re we going?” he asks.
“I dunno. Haven’t thought it out that far.”
It took all I had just to call.
“Hm. Uhh…”
I start to look around the room for inspiration.
A picture of a cow…
No. We’re not going to a farm.
The bathroom door…
No. That’d be awkward.
Yeah. Totally. Let’s take a bath together ‘cause that’s what all the cool kids are doing.
Uh… Brick wall.
Kitchen.
Floor.
Basement door.
That rhymes!
No.
Not cool.
“My basement.”
Um.
That was weird.
Maybe he thinks I have a dungeon.
Like a role play porn dungeon.
Or a room where I make snuff films.
Or maybe a pot farm.
Or a meth lab.
But I don’t.
I have a playstation.
That sounds awkward.
“Your… Basement.” He takes a deep breath in and expels it thoughtfully. “Okay. Cool. What time? And… Where do you live?”
“Stalker!” Bethany chides in the background.
“Shut the hell up Bethany!”
He sighs. “Sorry. Beth is annoying.”
I chortle a bit. “S’all good homes… Anywho… Ur. You have some paper?”
“I’ve got an old pizza box. And a pen.”
“Awesome. So. My address is, 489 East Island Drive… Cool?”
“… Got it. And what time should I be there?”
“Uh. Five. Is that alright?”
“Awesome. See you then.”
“Riku! What in the name of the lord are you doing on that phone?!” a shrill female voice yells from a ways away on the other line.
“Uh… gotta go!”
Click.
“… Bye?”
…
…
I have a date.
A date with Riku.
I am dating a boy named Riku.
And he is cute.
And weird.
And I like him.
And he’s got a weird sense of humor that I like.
And he’s got beautiful eyes…
Oh sweet baby Jesus I could just fall away into nothing when he looks at me…
… Oh shut up, Shayla.
These kinds of thoughts are what get you into trouble.
Liking a boy is tricky business.
Loving-ish a boy is another matter.
It sucks.
Stupid Lance.
Overbearing little butthole.
I stick my tongue out as if he were here.
He just liked me for my body.
Who does that?
Oh, honestly.
He gets my feathers all ruffled.
Stupid.
Now.
We’re going to think about this new boy, Shayla darling.
Because he is nicer, sweeter, taller, funnier and better than Lance.
Take that, Lance.
What a gay name.
No.
Stop it.
Time to get ready, Shay Shay.
Well. My hair is greasy so I’m gonna go take a bath.
Yes. I like sitting in my own filthy tub water.
It’s soothing.
And bubbly.
I like bubbles.
So. I’ve got approximately two and half hours to get ready.
Great. The house is a mess.
I sigh and trudge to the linen closet, grab a big fluffy towel and head in.
The bathroom is actually really big. The house belonged to my Grandparents before they went to a nursing home. They decided to give it to my family and I happened to be the only one who wanted it because no one else wanted to move from our little farm home.
So here I am, and everything in the house is my Grandparent’s. My only contributions are the new bedding, some blankies, the PS2, and a stereo. Oh- and my stuffed Iguana, Hector.
I have a radio in the bathroom. It’s my Grandma’s. It’s set to the oldies station.
I’ve never been one for relaxing in the tub, so I dork out to Glenn Miller and jiggle my foot in rhythm to the music.
But today’s music choice is more modern. We’re going with Ke$ha.
So my foot is doing some major spazzing in the bathtub.
My bath takes oh say… Twenty minutes.
So then I blow dry my hair, criticize it, brush my teeth, perfect my smile, do my makeup. This takes forty minutes.
Yeah.
Shayla.
You’re a freak.
Time to get dressed.
So I trek out to my closet, and spend the longest time deciding on what to wear.
You have to make it look effortless, breezy, cool.
So.
There’s a dress.
No. Looks like I’m trying too hard.
I could wear those jeans that make my butt look really cute.
Or that skirt that makes my legs look hot.
Or those Capri’s that hang just right.
I could wear that shirt that really brings out my eyes.
Or that clingy little…
No.
Or perhaps that cute sweater.
Maybe my pretty little tank?
What shoes?
Should I even wear shoes?
Will that make me seem high maintenance?
‘Cause I’m not.
Maybe I can wear socks?
Flip flops?
Should I paint my nails?
What color?
Do I have time?
I have an hour and ten minutes.
I decide on my cute butt jeans, a shallow V-neck white tee-shirt, no shoes but black socks and I didn’t paint my nails.
Time to clean the house.
I start with the kitchen.
It’s a pretty kitchen with cherry cabinets and quartz countertops and plain black appliances. Grandpa and Grandma have good taste thankfully.
So I clean, clean, clean away.
And then take a break.
I lean against the damp countertops and chew absently on the end of a piece of hair and remember that I have no food in the fridge.
Aw crap.
Quick! To the Barbie Mobile!
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo!