Boys Will Be Boys (v.2)

chapter seven - human burrito

chapter seven — human burrito

<Lukas' POV>

I DIDN'T BOTHER TO KNOCK, KNOWING THAT BOTH KIERAN AND HIS MOM HAD AN AFFINITY FOR FORGETTING TO LOCK THEIR FRONT DOOR. Thankfully, the neighborhood was pretty safe, and everyone loved Ms. Mogan to pieces. If anyone dared to rob her, even look at her wrong, they'd probably be in jail in less than 24 hours. If Kieran had his way, it would be the morgue.

"Lukas!" Kieran's Mum had an apron wrapped around her, flour in her hair and egg yolk stamped on the cloth-like it was a postcard. Her eyes sparkled when she smiled, crinkling the same way Kieran's did, though the gesture was much easier for her face to make.

"Hi Ms. Mogan," I grinned.

"Oh, you boys...call me Caoimhe dearie. Ms. Mogan makes me feel like I should be in a home!"

Caoimhe.

"Okay, Kee-va...?" I tried it out, failing miserably to pronounce her name. Though it wasn't that bad, I stuck to Ms. Mogan since it was just easier in my head. It wasn't the first time I'd butchered her name, and it definitely wouldn't be the last.

Kieran's Mum ignored my failure, instead cheering at my terrible pronunciation. She'd always been like that, as far as I could remember: Insanely supportive and optimistic. It was enough to make anyone who visited Kieran's house jealous.

"I would hug you, but I've made an awful mess of myself. I don't want to get it on you too!," She laughed lightly, hands playing with the tie of her apron. She'd wound it around her waist twice, an ugly bow sitting at her bellybutton. Kieran's Mom wasn't a short lady by any means, arguably the same height as Kieran (though he vehemently denied it), and she was scarily thin.

Her figure did not do justice to her appetite though since I'd seen her finish an entire pie by herself a few Thanksgivings ago. Kieran got that from her too, along with the majority of his features.

He only resembled his father when he opened his mouth.

"Ay, how you doing Schmitt?" DJ appeared right behind Ms. Mogan, bright smile on his face. He had a bright pink, floral apron on, most of the design clouded with flour. There was a singular chocolate chip stuck to his cheek like an extroverted dimple, arguably a part of an unintentional Marilyn Monroe Cosplay.

"Pretty alright," I laughed, wiping my shoes on the doormat out of habit.

"Doing some baking?"

"You could say that" DJ rolled his eyes, chuckling when Kieran's Mom poked his arm with a fake frown. He held his hands up in surrender and she laughed, thin hands reaching forward to pull on my forearm gently.

I let her guide me to the kitchen, trying and failing not to laugh when I saw the disaster inside. Roger was bent over a baking sheet, nose millimeters away from the parchment. He had a lump of cookie dough in his hand, a ruler in the other, and was measuring out the distance between each ball he put down. He looked up quickly, offered me a half-smile, before looking back down to continue whatever the hell he was doing.

DJ walked over next to him, grabbing chunks of the dough and rolling it into semi-spherical shapes. He held up one of the balls to the light, eyes squinted as he studied it before grabbing some chocolate chips and carefully pushing it into the bald spots of the dough.

And then there was Marco. He was doing absolutely nothing, a plate of burnt-black cookies in front of him and a line of white powder—

"Marco? What the hel—heck are you doing?"

He shot me a droll look, not bothering to answer before proceeding to fake snort a line of the white stuff.

"Marco! Don't inhale the flour honey, it'll make you sneeze" Kieran's Mom pursed her lips with naive worry, hurrying over to clean up Marco's make-believe cocaine. Marco pouted but helped her dust it up. I caught his gaze and frowned when I noticed his red-rimmed eyes. He was definitely high. Of course. I wasn't even surprised at this point.