Crushing on Royalty (The Cuttings #1) [To Be Reconstructed]

5 | Seven Minutes All Over Again

"So, where's the storage room?"

"Just zip your mouth and -- wait, you really don't know where the storage room is?"

He furrowed his brows at me, shaking his head slowly from side-to-side. "Why did you think I asked for you to take me there to get a new shirt?"

"Because I thought you were shitting me!"

Michael stared at me blankly. And then: "That, Keller, is too cruel of you."

"Oh, shut up," I snapped.

"I heard you say that to me for the hundredth time, now, not to know that I really have to shut up," he bit off.

"Three."

"Three what?"

"I told you to shut up three times, not a hundred."

"You're correcting me now? It was a figure of speech, Keller."

"Shut up."

"Fourth time. Since you've been counting it."

"Shut up!" I wailed, flailing my arms in the air like I was drowning.

My eyes were shut tightly, teeth clenching. I heard him mumble, "Okay, okay," to me, but I ignored him. Sometimes, he could really be annoying that I'd thought I would always have to pop an Advil just to get this stupid headache I was feeling off. I swore, Michael could be the death of me. I wasn't even kidding.

I went to several hallways while Michael trailed behind me, whistling a tune I wasn't familiar with. I looked over my shoulder, slicing him with my hard stare. He mock-shivered, pretending that he was afraid of me. I groaned, practically frustrated with him.

How could anyone raise a teenager like him? Why was he even born? God, why did You have to bring Michael into the world where people are normal? Why did it have to be him trailing behind me so that he could get his stupid extra shirt? Why, Lord, WHY?

"Keller?"

I really had to transfer schools and move on with my life. I could change my name and move to New York or something. That would get me away from Michael --

"Keller."

I could drag Grams along with me and leave Tommy and Cookie alone in the wilderness. Yes, perfect! I could just see it now, Michael along in my head...

It had been several days now -- two weeks, to be approximate. Michael Cutting, Thomas Blakely, and the stupid parrot with the dreadful name, Cookie, had their lives at stake. They were fighting. Who would take the last coconut? They were nearly ripping each other's hairs out in the process of successfully defending their honour and taking the offending, round coconut for the gold. They -- oh dear. The young man called Michael's shirtless state mesmerized everyone as he dove for the fruit. His muscles clenched in a distracting fashion, and his tan nearly glowed under the hot sun that --

"KELLER."

I whipped my head to the side, seeing Michael standing beside me, his expression one of amusement, impatience, and curiosity. I kept staring and staring and staring, until he asked, "What the hell was that all about?"

"What was what about?" I was confused. Well, I acted like I was confused. I couldn't practically tell him that I'd been imagining him, my younger brother, and my grandmother's miserable parrot named Cookie in the wilderness.

Not that I wasn't enjoying my daydream of them suffering and all, but you get my point.

His eyes narrowed. "You know what I mean."