Sequel: In Too Deep ›
Dirty Journalism
Psycho Muffin Eater
The cooks were baffled. By this time of the morning, the dining hall was usually empty, but today brought an exception. An extremely bizarre exception, at that.
“Why are they here?”
“Are they really sitting at the same table?”
“Something’s wrong. They’re smiling and laughing.”
“This is weird.”
“Quick! Hide the mashed potatoes!”
“This is breakfast, there are no mashed potatoes.”
“Besides, they don’t look like they’re about to throw anything…”
As the cooks spied from the kitchen, Max and Jackie sat at a table in the deserted dining hall. Max was, as predicted, enjoying a meal of pancakes, bacon, and a protein shake, while Jackie indulged in a giant blueberry muffin and some scrambled eggs.
“Stop!” Jackie laughed, almost choking on her muffin. “Your singing is making my ears bleed!”
Max shrugged and continued, “Jackie likes blueberry muuuuuffins, and so do all the puuuuuuffins!”
“What?”
“You know, puffins. Those bird things. It’s the only thing that rhymes with muffin! Jeez, woman!”
Jackie giggled as she took another bite. When all that was left was the bottom of the muffin, she held it out to Max. “Want this?”
Max stared at it, one eyebrow raised. “Um… what did you do to it?”
Jackie shrugged. “I ate the top off, what does it look like I did?”
“Why would you do that?” Max asked, slightly disgusted.
“Everyone knows the muffin top is the good part. It’s all fluffy and flavorful and has that delicious crumbly sugar,” Jackie said, a dreamy smile on her face. “The bottom is just… meh.”
“You’re very philosophical about your muffins,” Max said jokingly. “Meh is the most brilliant adjective ever.”
Jackie threw the muffin bottom, hitting Max’s head. Caught unaware, he spazzed and started madly rubbing at his face. “Crumbs… in my nose…” he wheezed out. When he finished his small freak attack, Max looked up to see Jackie laughing hysterically on the other side of the table.
“My next commentary is going to be about how I think you’re a psycho muffin eater,” said with a glare.
“Yeah, because I would totally let that be printed,” Jackie replied sarcastically. “Right next to the ten reasons why you hate me.”
“Did you happen to read that list?” Max asked slowly.
Jackie looked at him oddly. “No. I assumed your reasons would be along the lines of ‘she’s a bitch’ and ‘her hair is too poofy.’”
“Huh?”
“You told me my hair was unnaturally poofy in eighth grade,” Jackie said, fingering her light brown locks. “I’ve been incredibly self-conscious about it ever since.”
“Sorry about that,” Max said. “Your hair is just a little bit poofier than most.”
Jackie rolled her eyes but smiled. “So… what was on that list?”
“Uh... well… you got the bitch part right,” Max said, smiling. “That was one reason. And there was some other shallow stuff on there.”
“Max Leopold… admitting he’s shallow?” Jackie asked with a laugh. “What kind of shallow stuff?”
“Well, number seven was that you aren’t any fun at parties, but I guess I got proven wrong on that one…” Max said, raising his eyebrows.
Jackie stiffened. “Ignoring that. What else?”
“Oh yeah, number four was that you wear your uniform skirt at the appropriate length,” Max smirked. “Most other girls wear it all short, except you.”
“And that makes you hate me?”
“It takes away the appeal,” Max said bluntly, grinning.
Jackie’s mouth formed an O. “You are such a jerk! You can’t see up my skirt, so you hate me?”
“Pretty much.”
“Perv,” Jackie muttered. “So I’m guessing ‘she’s a bitch’ was the number one reason?”
“Well, yeah,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing ever.
Jackie smirked. “That’s not changing for you. Get over it.”
“But look at us now! We’re having a halfway-sorta-kinda-normal conversation. And you only sort of yelled at me this morning,” Max pointed out. “Maybe this week will change things.”
Does he sound… hopeful? Jackie asked herself. Doubtful. She sighed. “Six years,” she said slowly. “Six years don’t change after one week.”
“Right,” Max agreed, nodding. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Not an awkward silence—just silence. Max was fiddling with the straw of his shake when he looked up and asked, “Do you want to play basketball with me?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the next chapter of Dirty Journalism…
“Last time you said those words, things didn’t end up too hot, remember?”
-
-
“Can I throw it at your face instead?”
-
-
”My head always ends up hurting when I’m with you…”
“Why are they here?”
“Are they really sitting at the same table?”
“Something’s wrong. They’re smiling and laughing.”
“This is weird.”
“Quick! Hide the mashed potatoes!”
“This is breakfast, there are no mashed potatoes.”
“Besides, they don’t look like they’re about to throw anything…”
As the cooks spied from the kitchen, Max and Jackie sat at a table in the deserted dining hall. Max was, as predicted, enjoying a meal of pancakes, bacon, and a protein shake, while Jackie indulged in a giant blueberry muffin and some scrambled eggs.
“Stop!” Jackie laughed, almost choking on her muffin. “Your singing is making my ears bleed!”
Max shrugged and continued, “Jackie likes blueberry muuuuuffins, and so do all the puuuuuuffins!”
“What?”
“You know, puffins. Those bird things. It’s the only thing that rhymes with muffin! Jeez, woman!”
Jackie giggled as she took another bite. When all that was left was the bottom of the muffin, she held it out to Max. “Want this?”
Max stared at it, one eyebrow raised. “Um… what did you do to it?”
Jackie shrugged. “I ate the top off, what does it look like I did?”
“Why would you do that?” Max asked, slightly disgusted.
“Everyone knows the muffin top is the good part. It’s all fluffy and flavorful and has that delicious crumbly sugar,” Jackie said, a dreamy smile on her face. “The bottom is just… meh.”
“You’re very philosophical about your muffins,” Max said jokingly. “Meh is the most brilliant adjective ever.”
Jackie threw the muffin bottom, hitting Max’s head. Caught unaware, he spazzed and started madly rubbing at his face. “Crumbs… in my nose…” he wheezed out. When he finished his small freak attack, Max looked up to see Jackie laughing hysterically on the other side of the table.
“My next commentary is going to be about how I think you’re a psycho muffin eater,” said with a glare.
“Yeah, because I would totally let that be printed,” Jackie replied sarcastically. “Right next to the ten reasons why you hate me.”
“Did you happen to read that list?” Max asked slowly.
Jackie looked at him oddly. “No. I assumed your reasons would be along the lines of ‘she’s a bitch’ and ‘her hair is too poofy.’”
“Huh?”
“You told me my hair was unnaturally poofy in eighth grade,” Jackie said, fingering her light brown locks. “I’ve been incredibly self-conscious about it ever since.”
“Sorry about that,” Max said. “Your hair is just a little bit poofier than most.”
Jackie rolled her eyes but smiled. “So… what was on that list?”
“Uh... well… you got the bitch part right,” Max said, smiling. “That was one reason. And there was some other shallow stuff on there.”
“Max Leopold… admitting he’s shallow?” Jackie asked with a laugh. “What kind of shallow stuff?”
“Well, number seven was that you aren’t any fun at parties, but I guess I got proven wrong on that one…” Max said, raising his eyebrows.
Jackie stiffened. “Ignoring that. What else?”
“Oh yeah, number four was that you wear your uniform skirt at the appropriate length,” Max smirked. “Most other girls wear it all short, except you.”
“And that makes you hate me?”
“It takes away the appeal,” Max said bluntly, grinning.
Jackie’s mouth formed an O. “You are such a jerk! You can’t see up my skirt, so you hate me?”
“Pretty much.”
“Perv,” Jackie muttered. “So I’m guessing ‘she’s a bitch’ was the number one reason?”
“Well, yeah,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing ever.
Jackie smirked. “That’s not changing for you. Get over it.”
“But look at us now! We’re having a halfway-sorta-kinda-normal conversation. And you only sort of yelled at me this morning,” Max pointed out. “Maybe this week will change things.”
Does he sound… hopeful? Jackie asked herself. Doubtful. She sighed. “Six years,” she said slowly. “Six years don’t change after one week.”
“Right,” Max agreed, nodding. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Not an awkward silence—just silence. Max was fiddling with the straw of his shake when he looked up and asked, “Do you want to play basketball with me?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the next chapter of Dirty Journalism…
“Last time you said those words, things didn’t end up too hot, remember?”
-
-
“Can I throw it at your face instead?”
-
-
”My head always ends up hurting when I’m with you…”
♠ ♠ ♠
Eh... pretty short, sort of just filler-ish stuff. I wrote it out really fast. Next chapter should be more interesting, I've already started writing it.xoxo Dems