Pedestrian |✓

|30| c o c o a

Tap tap tap. The rhythmic sound of my pen against my neon-blue notebook echoed in head, making me feel slightly dizzy with the strong urge to puke. I dropped the pen, shutting my eyes tightly together in attempt to lessen the light-headed feeling. But, of course, it didn't work out the way I wanted.

I sighed and opened my eyes. Leaning back against my swivel chair, I looked at my bedside table where my alarm clock is sitting to check the time.

Oh darn. Three hours! Three freaking hours and I haven't written down anything yet-not even a single word to say at least. No, all I have is a blank sheet of notebook paper (well unless you consider the horizontal lines, of course).

This must be, what do they call it? Oh, yes. A writer's block, another fancy term for I can't write and my brain's not functioning the way it's supposed to. Only, a writer's block would be a really cool term to say if you don't have a deadline. Apparently, I freaking do. And it's only a few blinks away.

The school paper. It's my dream to be a part of it and I'm almost there. If only my brain could participate well. Then, I would have a higher chance of making it.

But as always, life has other plans and it's bound to make you misserable. Because I accidentally spilled my glass of hot chocolate on my empty notebook. Well, it seems that shaking the table furiously to come up with something to write isn't a good idea. At least now I know...

I groaned out loudly and quickly grabbed a box of Kleenex, dabbing plies of tissue on the brown puddle of my stupidty.

But what to do? The deadline is this week and I barely have a single paragraph to submit. Not even a poor one, where the editor can say: oh I'll have to return these to you for editing. Don't worry though, I'll give you more time.

Are Santa wishes applicable to seventeen year-old kids who can't write articles too? If it is, where do I sign up?

Gods, I'm probably out of my mind, ready to be thrown away to the nearest assylium with the most advanced technology and security system. Yep, that's probably my case - insanity to the nth power.

I picked up my phone and sent a quick to Austin. Hoping that maybe he can enlighten me on what to write, seeing as he's sorta, kinda my subject.

The minute I set my phone down, it rang, blasting out my Banana Song ringtone.

"Hello?"

"Hey."

"Hey, you too," I mumbled shyly in such a flirty tone, I didn't know I could even muster. Oh the power of giddiness. It scares me. Who knows, maybe one day liking someone can heal the word and make it a better place. Michael Jackson would be proud.

"About your text...? Maybe you just need some fresh air and-ah shit." I heard some shuffling in the background, Austin mumbling a curse under his breath and another series of profanities.

"Hey, is everything alright? Austin! Austin!? Are you okay?" I rose immediately on my feet, prancing around my room like a madman. Is he okay?

"Austin, Austin!"

"Yep... yeah, I'm good. Just tripped in my jeans," he said. His voice sounded a litte ragged but at least he's okay.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief then frowned. "You tripped in your jeans...? Not on?"

Maybe it wasn't on the floor?

"Uh yeah... I was trying to wear my jeans while I held the phone with my other hand."

What?

"Why? I mean, why would you do that? You can actually just tell me that you've got sonething to do. I'd understand." That's true. I don't want him tripping just for the sake of talking to me.