9 . t w o f o r o n e

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"Here you go, my darling." Kat hands me my box of popcorn right after adding the salted butter powder and beating the sides until it has been distributed fairly. "Buttery just for you."

I give her my gratitude with a big smile and take the box before handing her the unseasoned box. "Thank you." I patiently wait for her to season hers, meanwhile waiting for the rest of the group to purchase their own popcorn and drink.

It was David's idea to skip school today and hang out. Ironic, coming from the top performing academic student himself, but hey, I don't mind skipping school now and again. Taking a break every now and again (or daily, for me) doesn't hurt a soul. It hurts my marks and report, but certainly not my troubled soul. Besides, I spent deadful early hours of the morning completing both assignments back to back because I just want some free time this weekend. To breathe. To relax.

Maybe to drown in misery but that's a different story.

My eyes shift towards the front counters where popcorn, drinks and snacks are being sold to the many groups of people here. The wide transparent glass shows off the freshly-made popcorns, and just besides, the fancy machines display the different drinks on sale, as well as the snacks. Even the way the whole place is designed is eye-catching. I wouldn't have thought a Friday early afternoon would be busy, so there are a lot of young teenagers lingering about, wearing crop tops and short, or Adiddas.

I remember those days, with my group back in the day. I remember how we thought we used to run malls because we were the fresh teens, much like many other teens. Hanging around public places without our parents for the first few times. We seemed so cool.

Now we are adults, young still but no longer teenagers. We seem fitting, almost like we work for our money in order to actually have a life. Excluding me, I don't work and matter of fact, no one in the group would say they work, but I can bet everyone comes from a wealthy family so asking for a few bags of money doesn't harm a soul.

Except mine. I don't come from a 'wealthy' family and my father complains when I ask for money. My mother is the one who ends up giving me money — whether it's from my father or directly from her pocket, she sends it to me. How she gets it from him, not too sure and I don't even want to know how she convinces him.

I watch the rest of the group pick up their fresh boxes of popcorn and then their drinks and snacks of choice. I then smile at Amber when she comes right up to us, placing her box on the table besides Kat and mine.

"Can you watch mine? I need to pee quickly." I place my stuff down.

"Wait, I'll come with." Kat digs her hand in her box before shoving the popcorn down her throat, and I shake my head and chuckle at her actions.

"Do you have a pad?" I ask her as we head towards the restrooms.

She nods her head and then digs in her bag, and just as we entered the restrooms, she passes it to me and then we split to different stalls. I make it quick to make sure I'm bare at the bottom, and when I see no stains on my undies, I take a deep breath and sigh. The decision to put on the pad just incase crosses my mind, and then I unwrap the sanitary pad and then adjust it on my undies.

When I'm done with everything, I clean and adjust my jeans. I have on a cotton jacket with short sleeve shirt under. I flush, exit and then wash my hands at the basins, before adjusting my jacket through the mirror.

I then exit the restroom and wait outside, mindlessly watching people at the distance, wait in lines to get their own popcorns and drinks. I stuff my hands in my pocket pouting a bit and tilting my head so my short braids shift over the collar. When I look up, my breath hitches when I watch him approach me with his own hands stuffed in his pockets. Hardly any expression on his face gives an indication of what he's thinking, but for sure his eyes don't even glance any other place but directly into mine. The curtain of hair over his forehead fails to even hide his eyes from me.

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