Apple [ complete ]

[ Confessions of Being FriendZoned ]

I took this down before because I figured that I'd go ahead and edit it.

Oh! There's also quite a bit of swearing in this one (sorry guys, I was in a curse-word frenzy when I wrote this so just keep that in mind).

Anyway, without further ado, here's Apple:

Apple. 

It was that damned dog's fault that it started.

Mom was in a weird phase and wanted a puppy. She and my sister, Zoey, had gotten one even though both were aware of how much I hated them—especially the ones that never stopped barking. But I was five and the kids in my class thought that having a puppy was cool, so I pretended I liked it. It did get almost my whole class to treat me like I was the coolest kid in the world, so I managed to deal with Mojo (the puppy).

However, that wasn't the case with her. Unlike everyone else who adored the dog, she didn't.

I remember the first time I spoke with her. She was crying because Mojo was barking at her earlier that day. I couldn't really blame her; I didn't like the dog either. But I got really pissed when Zoey gave her Mom's scrumptious cookies. At the time, I thought that it was unfair that this stranger of a crybaby was allowed to have some when I was forbidden to even dare to touch the cookies.

I devised a devious plan to pretend to help her clam down as I ate as much cookies as my five-year-old stomach could possibly handle. Much to my luck, I didn't just stay there for the cookies, I stayed because of her. 

I devoured the cookies, trying to eat as much as I could before Zoey could take them away. But, due to the fact that I was still young and slightly uneducated with the nature of girls and their crying, I felt horrible for using her as a way to eat cookies.

Her cheeks were red and her eyes were puffy. I didn't have anything to say at the time since there wasn't really anything that a five year-old boy could say to a seemingly pretty girl back then. Her big, brown eyes were the first thing I've noticed. They reminded me of the cookies. After that, it was her tendency to get upset at the smallest things—I started calling her Apple Cheeks that day.

Who could have blamed me for making up such a weirdo nickname? I was a gluttonous kid with little vocabulary and a love for apple pies. Apple didn't mind though, I assumed that she liked the name, so I somehow grew up calling her by that.

That afternoon of cookies and mocking Mojo, we declared our friendship and we became inseparable since.

Her birth name was Amie Winston, but she always blushed whenever I called her Apple. Being five and all didn't really give me many things to talk to about a girl, so I used the nickname to tease her. It worked—quite well, actually. It gave me something to bring up whenever I saw her and she always smiled, which in return, made me happy, whenever she and I spoke.

Apple Winston was special, of course. Without a doubt, I didn't take notice of this when I was five, but I was pretty sure that I liked annoying her, making her laugh, and making her mad since Day One.

She was always that girl who I wanted to play with every freaking day.

I didn't know why, but I just had to see her. I always got a huge smile on my face when she asked me to play.

The funny thing was, we grew up together, and I watched over her seeing that I was a year older, declaring that she was mine to protect. I didn't know what it meant back then, and I was still confused about it now. One thing was for sure though: Apple Winston grew up to be headstrong, free spirited, and too damn optimistic for her own good. She grew up to be beautiful and I watched her go through the whole process. I, on the other hand, became the exact opposite. I hardly spoke or gave my opinion to anyone. I wasn't socially disabled or anything like that, but I never quite valued other's opinions and I was pretty damn sure that they cared about mine.