There's No Use Crying Over Spilt Milk

Alex Gaskarth was not having a good day.

Everything just felt wrong since he woke up. Feeling sweaty and too hot for the early May weather, he decided a quick shower before school would be nice. Except, even after that he still felt sticky and just plain bad.

Pulling on the clothes that littered the floor and mismatched socks (because he couldn't find his other goddamn black sock), he stumbled downstairs in hopes of having time to eat. But no - although he woke early, that damned shower did him no good and he wouldn't even have time to wait for the toaster.

He dashed out to his car, almost forgetting to lock the house door. Of course, it had to be that day that his car stalled and idled and wouldn't start. Now, on any other day, Alex would simply go back inside and tell his mom to call him in sick, and he would enjoy a nice day of movies and video games.

But not today. Alex knew he couldn't skip. He had two quizzes and a playing test in music class that he couldn't afford to fail. So goddammit, Alex would walk to school late if he had to.

The day passed slowly for the young teen. Classes after classes of note taking and lessons. Finals were coming up, so it was crunch time.

Finally, with cramped hands and aching eyes, Alex escaped to the cafeteria for lunch. He expected to be able to relax and eat with his best friend, Jack Barakat, but lunchtime for Alex brought three problems:

1.) He didn't have time to make food at home;
2.) He had no money, and;
3.) Jack wasn't actually there for him to relax and eat with.

This day really could not get any worse, the boy thought to himself. Oh, but it could.

When Alex arrived home, he was just about ready to collapse in bed and sleep off the rest of this dreadful day. Yet he was greeted by his mother in the kitchen, looking disappointed and slightly angry.

Apparently, his English teacher called and complained that he hadn't completed or handed in this final reading analysis for a book Alex didn't even know he was supposed to read. Because really, who pays attention to English anymore? He would have to stay an hour after school every day until it was finished, his mother told him. Then she explained that she was off to buy groceries before whisking off in her stiff skirt and high heels.

Now Alex really wanted to collapse in bed and sleep off the rest of the day. But first, he wanted a calming glass of milk.

The teen grabbed the carton of milk from the fridge with quivering hands. That was the first sign that this was not about to go right.

Then he got a glass from the cabinet. The cup teetered, unstable, before toppling off the edge of the shelf. Gasping, Alex thrust his hands out in an attempt to catch it. He somehow managed to catch it, merely inches above the countertop.

Warning lights flashed and red flags were raised as his brain screamed at him to stop and rethink what he was about to do.

And then, just as he was pouring the drink into his glass, his hands trembled and the spout slipped off the rim of the cup. Both got knocked over and milk gushed onto the floor.

Alex stepped back in surprise and stared dumbly at the mess. He had enough common sense to realize he should probably have picked up the carton, but he just couldn't bring himself to move his limbs. The boy's eyes stayed glued to the stream of liquid as his legs grew wobbly and a lump rose in his throat.

Before he knew it, he was on the floor, sobbing like a baby. It was a childish act, yes, but Alex just couldn't stop the burning tears from slipping down his cheeks. He's practically failing school, can't afford a working car, and now he couldn't even pour a decent glass of milk? Pathetic, he thought.

Now, sometime during Alex's current crisis - and he doesn't know how he could have possibly missed it - the front door opened and close, his previously missing best friend appearing.

After soundlessly observing the scene before him, Jack sat on the tiled floor beside the weeping boy. Using his incredible skills of deduction, the younger realized his friend must be crying over the spilled drink covering the floor.

"Shh, Alex, there's no use crying over spilled milk," he reassured him. Jack had always wanted to use that phrase. How ironic that this would be the situation he use it in. He felt a certain sense of accomplishment in that. However, his soothing words did nothing to calm the near-hysterical boy.

Alex didn't realize Jack had arrived until he felt himself being pulled into the younger's chest. He turned his head to stare up at his friend with glassy eyes and a snotty nose. Seriously? Ew. Alex's cheeks burned in embarrassment and he simply hid his face in Jack's shirt.

Jack didn't even ask Alex what caused all this. It was a little self explanatory, considering the puddle of milk he was sitting in.

And that's where Alex's mother found them: curled up on the kitchen floor, surrounded by milk. She was slightly surprised, having only been gone 30 minutes. She, too, didn't bother asking what was wrong. Instead she stepped around the two boys to put the food away before the frozen ones melted. Then, the older lady shooed the two out of the kitchen and upstairs so she could mop up her son's mess.

Once upstairs, Alex had cleaned his face (thank god) and calmed down enough to face Jack, prepared to answer all questions.

"Alex?" Jack finally started. The elder looked up at him warily.

"Can I borrow some pants?"