Status: Updates Whenever
Love Hate Love
Spaghetti Where It Matters
Flemming
A special ritual? That sounds very secretive . . .
Hmm . . .
I know what I'm doing on Friday.
xox
The rest of the week past quickly. Everyday at lunch I would see that now-familiar head of frizzy red hair, and I would go talk to her, asking about this 'special ritual' and whatnot. If I was extra lucky, I would run into her before school.
God, I am so in love.
Friday lunch time she approached me, instead of the usual vice-versa. I looked up from my spaghetti sandwich into her scowling face. If you ask me, she never looked so . . . scary.
I shivered in sudden fear of her and took another bite of my sandwich to cover it up.
“Are you following me?” She asked, her hands crossed across her beautiful, barely-there chest.
“No,” I mumbled, and canned spaghetti fell from my mouth onto my chin, smudging their cheesy sauce all over it. “Why would I be following you?” I wiped my chin on the sleeve of my shirt.
She cast a surreptitious glance around before bending over. I could see down her shirt, and my face turned as red as the spaghetti. I looked away awkwardly.
“Listen, you can't tell anyone about this, but-”
“Will you be my girlfriend?” I blurted. Her face turned as red as mine and her jaw clenched. “I mean, your gorgeous, and beautiful, and amazing, and I, uh, I . . .” Love you.
“You're not listening to me!” Alissa yelled before turning on her heel and stalking away. I watched her butt swing with her stride until she exited the lunch room, slamming the door behind her. But that didn't really work because it was a swinging door, and it swung back and hit her bum before she got far enough away. She jumped and started to run away.
That was all I saw before the door swung shut again.
A special ritual? That sounds very secretive . . .
Hmm . . .
I know what I'm doing on Friday.
xox
The rest of the week past quickly. Everyday at lunch I would see that now-familiar head of frizzy red hair, and I would go talk to her, asking about this 'special ritual' and whatnot. If I was extra lucky, I would run into her before school.
God, I am so in love.
Friday lunch time she approached me, instead of the usual vice-versa. I looked up from my spaghetti sandwich into her scowling face. If you ask me, she never looked so . . . scary.
I shivered in sudden fear of her and took another bite of my sandwich to cover it up.
“Are you following me?” She asked, her hands crossed across her beautiful, barely-there chest.
“No,” I mumbled, and canned spaghetti fell from my mouth onto my chin, smudging their cheesy sauce all over it. “Why would I be following you?” I wiped my chin on the sleeve of my shirt.
She cast a surreptitious glance around before bending over. I could see down her shirt, and my face turned as red as the spaghetti. I looked away awkwardly.
“Listen, you can't tell anyone about this, but-”
“Will you be my girlfriend?” I blurted. Her face turned as red as mine and her jaw clenched. “I mean, your gorgeous, and beautiful, and amazing, and I, uh, I . . .” Love you.
“You're not listening to me!” Alissa yelled before turning on her heel and stalking away. I watched her butt swing with her stride until she exited the lunch room, slamming the door behind her. But that didn't really work because it was a swinging door, and it swung back and hit her bum before she got far enough away. She jumped and started to run away.
That was all I saw before the door swung shut again.