Orange
We ate eight oranges, shared them, and each one tasted a little different, so it was almost like eating candies. I kind of thought it was better than candy, and you were diabetic, so you didn't know. We were nine years old and you had just moved in next door.
You were just the neighbor kid, so we were friends. We were friends because it was convenient for us to be friends, and so our parents made us play together Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. For three years we played together Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. And then we hit middle school.
I really don't think you understand what a disaster middle school was for us. I mean, you had all these friends, and all these girlfriends, and you always had plans, and you became a soccer star. But the pinnacle, the absolute cherry on the cake, was that time when, instead of giving me a ride home from school, you drove through that puddle to splash me.
By the time I got home, my hair had frozen to my face.
Then that one time you wanted my help with something. We were older, I held no grudge, but I was better at science than you were, even though you were fifteenth in our class and I took CP English. And you needed help with your Chemistry homework.
You went about it all the wrong way, but it really was the only way you knew how to deal with girls: you flirted. I wasn't like that, as you may have remembered if you thought about it, but you didn't, and so I gave you half-assed Chem help, even though I was in AP.
Sorry, sucker.
While I was teaching you about acid-base titrations, I took out an orange and offered you half. I knew you'd really changed for good when you said no.
Post a Comment