The following is an excerpt from a book I’m writing called, “Skittles for Breakfast”.
Chapter Four: Hot Pursuit
“You have really pretty eyes. I like the way they look when the sun shines on your face,” he said with that cheesy Disney Channel movie smile. I swallowed my first bite of cafeteria chicken wrap as he waited for my response from across the lunch table.
“Shut up, don’t talk to me.” I told him sassily. (Sassily. A word I didn’t think existed until my word processor granted me the right to use it by sparing the red squiggly line of failure).
“You’re so adorable when you get angry.” He stared straight into my cold soul, blackened by heart break and regret, with that smile, ever persevering through my not so subtle acts of rejecting his compliments.
“You’re so annoying, I hate you.” Which secretly meant: You’re so fucking sexy, marry me.
My efforts in trying to stray away from Jayden Tucker’s charm and keeping myself from further boosting his ego, which by the way, is as big as Kirstie Alley’s cookie jar (that’s not a euphemism), were starting to wear thin as the frigid ice which had formed around my soul started to crack. It had been a few months since I broke up with Landon, and it felt nice to get some male attention, even if it was from a guy who somehow managed the “interested in: women” title on his Facebook profile. I wasn’t quite buying the whole “straight” thing, mostly due to his constant desire to flirt with me at the lunch table during lunch every Thursday and the fact that he is just so pretty. Prettiness doesn’t exactly count as a sign of being gay, but it’s the prettiness that made me want to believe it did anyways.
Slender athletic build, blond swooping hair, crystal blue eyes, tan skin, and a smile that was like frosting on a cupcake, had presented me with a bittersweet dessert that I craved after every meal and regretted digging into the moment I counted my calories at the end of the day.
From his soft demeanor to his passive but super optimistic attitude, Jayden Tucker was different from every other douchey boy at Fairfield High. With a passion for creating art, whether it was through drawing, orchestra, or photography, he would be the one to move out of our little Arizona farm town to San Francisco and live in a studio apartment and go to art galleries. At least, that was my perspective on him. Jayden is…well…sensitive.
“All I want really, is for us to be best friends.” What does that even mean? I’ve never heard of a “best friend” pursuit before, and I definitely have never had the urge to make someone my best friend, but then again, I don’t really pursue much of anything unless it’s covered in powdered sugar or deep fried (If America doesn’t give in to the deep fried food industry, the terrorists win). My obsession with food outweighs my obsession with boys. I mean, here I am comparing Jayden to a dessert. A scrumptious one I might add.
“Well, I’m going to make you my best friend one day. I’m not going to give up on you.” He sounded serious. Not giving up on me? This is not a Rom Com buddy, I thought to myself. But to be honest, it felt good being chased, even if it was just to make me his “best friend”. The point was that he wanted me in his life, and that was good enough for me to feel wanted. A feeling that I had always felt since I was a child, longing to feel like I was important to someone. I won’t get into that in this book though, I’ll save that for the sequel: “Sarcasm for Breakfast.”
As the lunch bell rang, I tipped my head back and gifted Jayden a Marilyn Monroe laugh, sprinkled with a flirtatious wink, then gracefully sauntered out of the cafeteria, clutching my books to my chest while the open cafeteria doors let a small gust of wind blow my scarf up in the air, while still being attached to my neck. I looked back with an open smile and he stood there smiling back shaking his head at my ridiculousness that everybody found so charming (for reasons I can’t explain).
It was a hot pursuit, and I was a criminal speeding down the highway as Jayden’s sirens blared and his helicopter flew above me. I was on the run, running away from what, unknowingly at the time, would tear me apart in the end.
If I had known then what I know now, I would have never, ever eased up on the brakes.
to be continued…