"Bread's in the refrigerator and the cheese...," he pulled the tote off my shoulder and hung it on a plastic Walmart coat rack. "The cheese is in my bag." I should've known that when James invited me over for lunch, he was actually inviting me over to make lunch."I suppose they're your emergency ration supplies," I replied sarcastically, as I took the cheese slices out of his bag and over to the kitchen.
"Only in the event of a flood. I have spearmint for zombie apocalypses." He shot back, without missing a beat.
I laughed, "Why spearmint?"
His grin mirrored mine. He tilted his head to a side and gave me a one-shoulder shrug, "Zombies have bad breath."
I threw open their baby blue refrigerator, expecting it to be stocked full of food like ours, but was met with the sight of two lonely loafs of bread and a whole lot of beer cans. I frowned, "You do realize grocery shopping requires you to buy something other than bread and beverages. Like- oh, I don't know- vegetables."
He waved his hand dismissively and sat down on one of the bar stools pushed against the kitchen island, "I don't shop for food. My mum does that stuff." He rummaged through his bag, "I don't even shop for clothes. Her ex-boyfriends usually leave a couple of theirs behind." Well, that explains why you turn up at school looking like an eighties yuppie one day and a frat boy the next. Wait- I scrunched my nose at the assumption I'd just made about his mom's dating life.
Searching through a couple drawers for a knife, I'd come up with only a can opener and a pair of tweezers. "Knife?" I asked Jimmy who was flipping through the pages of the Sports Illustrated he'd dug from his backpack.
He paused briefly to look up at me, and shrugged. "Cupboard or something?" Oh James, you're ever so helpful.
Cupboard number one: mustard and applesauce.
Cupboard number two and three: ketchup.
Cupboard number four: empty. Wait, no... instructions for the microwave oven.
And the knife? It was under the kitchen sink.
As I washed the knife clean, I started to realize that the people in this house lived on takeout. Homesick already, I got to work on slicing the crusts off of the bread.
In eighth grade, Jimmy cried for two periods straight because the lunch lady refused to get rid of the brown parts on Tuesday's Tuna Sandwich. Imagine that happening today; Tears slipping down his cheeks and onto the glossy two-page spread of Kate Upton's legs. I giggled at the image I'd conjured in my head.
"You know, when you laugh out loud its good manners to share." He said placing the magazine back inside his bag and nudging it under the table with his foot.
"I wonder where Kate's going to run when the rumors start." I switched on the electric sandwich maker, and lifted myself up onto the marble counter.
"Hmm..." He rubbed his chin with an expression of mock contemplation, "We could always take her in and teach her the art."
I scrunched my nose, "And here I thought James Montgomery's School of Fuck was exclusive."
He chuckled, "Come on, it's a good idea. You could be my assistant." Suddenly, his eyes light up with childish glee, "Or you could be my secretary! We can shag on your desk." He had a mile wide grin on his face as he did the dirtiest series of pelvic thrusts I have ever seen. Did I say childish? Sorry, I meant perverted.
With a soft tick, the light on the toaster turned green, thus saving me from addressing Jimmy's little jig.
Finding everything but a dish in the dishwasher, I decided to stack the two completed sandwiches onto the lid of a Ziploc container. I stared at the food. My inner Betty Crocker was utterly disappointed. I was starting to wish we'd just gone to my house for lunch.
I heaved a sigh. Don't be melodramatic. Different people have different mothers. I snorted. Yeah, Miss Montgomery definitely fits into the 'different' category. I mean, she's the only person I know that has a 4 foot disco bong smack in the middle of the living room. Scratch that; she's the only person I know that has a disco bong, four feet tall or not.
In an attempt to make myself feel less guilty about having a mother that doled out three course meals every day, I drew a ketchup smiley on his grilled cheese sandwich.
"And voila!" I placed the finished pièce de résistance in front of him. Naturally, I expected a glowing show of gratitude for my extra effort. Something like an encore or him fainting with shock.
But without so much as a thank you, he scarfed them down... both of them. Disappointed, I stomped back to the counter.
"Is there ketchup in this?" he muffled, a sandwich halfway down his throat.
"No." I slapped another cheese slice on the polystyrene supermarket bread. "It's partially digested frog innards."
"Oh." Just oh.
~-~
I glanced at the old grandfather clock pushed up against the wall between the television set and the bronze colored novelty statue of Jagger.
There were only twelve minutes left for lunch to end. And instead of prepping for the pop quiz I was sure to have in Mr. Cruz's History class, I was sitting on a kitchen counter eating grilled cheese sandwiches and listening to all the ridiculous things that come out of James' mouth.
"When I was 8, I fell in love. I don't know her name, but I know we're going to meet years later and rekindle our romance."
I should go back...
"I just hope she's still hot."
Scratch that; I need to go back.
"You know, Nate's all alone at school." I unplugged the electric toaster and jumped off the counter. My bare feet hit the linoleum with a soft thwack, "We should go back. It'd be soo mean if we ditched him there."
He snickered knowingly and waved his sixth sandwich in my direction , "I knew you'd never skip classes. You're too much of a safe player to really defy the law."
I let out a short ha. "I just don't wanna listen to delusional people talk about their delusional selves." Unperturbed by my snub, he proceeded to try and eat the entire sandwich in one go. I took this as my chance to escape.
"And besides, I'm a good friend." I reached for my tote, ready to make a mad dash back to school.
"By the way, the clocks in my house are a half hour late."
I dropped my outstretched hand. It was now eighteen minutes into Mr. Cruz's History class.
Defeated, I dumped myself onto the sofa and switched on the TV.
"So, as I was saying" He downed a glass of water, sloshing most of it on himself. "Hmm," he frowned at his shirt as if he had no idea how it got wet.
"You're a slob." I flipped though the channels searching for something to stare at during the next three hours.
He shrugged, "It'll dry." As if to prove his point, he pulled his shirt off and draped it across the back of the three-seater.
He didn't need to take his shirt off and flex for me to know that he was lean and muscular. But I still double-checked because...you know, hormones. He threw me one of those smolders he'd practiced on our way here as he otherwise disinterestedly walked past.
I quickly turned back to the screen and squinted at it. So what, I've seen half-naked guys before. And they were actually attractive. Hell, a half-naked monkey would be more attractive than James.
After that completely unnecessary round around the den, he settled down next to me. "Hand me the remote, would you?"
I tossed it in his general direction, sinking as low as I could into the cushions. Maybe, just maybe his mom's red upholstery would camouflage the color of my face.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
A/N: Soo, what do you guys think? Come on...don't be shy. Speak, you apparition I call reader! Well, no don't speak because I'd never be able to hear you. Instead you could vote or comment below. I'd love to have some feedback ^_^
[ This chapter is dedicated to @Emblem- . Seriously thank you so much for all your comments, votes and support. It means so much to me =) ]

YOU ARE READING
How to Steal a Happy Ending
HumorClaire was never the girl that got the happily ever after. Instead, she was the one standing in the sidelines, whose only scenes consisted of her being a major bitch. And when you're stuck in a plot line that doesn't allow you to be anything but...