Cheeky

№ 9. Smashing

I was different.

Was that a good thing? Why should I be singled out when all I wanted was to just fade away. That sounded pretty damn good to me, but George's words kept pounding into my brain. Why did he say that? That one phrase, "You're different Cassidy," it was just, just so - unnerving. I couldn't decide whether I should be flattered or worried, or maybe both.

I have always managed to over think every little detail and analyze every scenario to death. It was one of my hardest habits to get rid of, but Emma told me it was just a part of my personality. Pretty shitty personality if you ask me. But that was just it - nobody was asking, and soon enough, I was going to be that girl, sitting in a corner and talking to an imaginary blue cat while eating glue.

Too bad that's what happened to my mom's sister's husband's secretary's dentist. Nice guy too, always gave me candy after cleaning my cavities - poor Richard. Something about his wife running off with the gardener sent him over the edge and from then on, Richard was in la la land. Literally.

The thought of ending up like Richard scared some sanity back into me, and I turned to my left to find that George was now lying on the tarp, fast asleep. I squinted across the room to Ernest, who in all his amazing robot glory blared 9:00 PM back at me. Glancing back to George, I frowned, wondering how long he would be asleep, especially in my room. On my floor.

But in a weird way, I liked it, well liked watching him sleep. Don't worry, I kept my hands to myself. But I did feel my chin tip slightly downward and my mouth go slack as I admired his slumbering figure. His tousled locks of chocolate brown hair fell over his eyes and his lips pouted in the cutest way, accentuating his sharp jawline. It's not natural for a guy to have lips like that.

I'm a girl, I should know. My upper lip was thinner than a pencil, and I puckered it underneath my nose in thought. Small, rough snores echoed as I watched his chest rise and fall, and I slowly trailed over the detailed muscle that rippled from beneath his tee.

Sweet baby Jesus, this is not good. I'm watching someone sleep. That has to be illegal, or at least I've reached a whole new level of creepy. No, I'm not going to let myself get that far. No binoculars in the bushes, let's just keep it to polite periods of uncomfortable staring - when the person is unconscious of course.

I got up from the floor, making sure to gather my limbs gracefully as to not disturb George. But he looked pretty comfy and rather dead asleep to me, so I didn't care to mind the crinkling of tarp gathering in bunches beneath my feet as I made my way out to the hall. So painting the walls hadn't exactly turned out complete, but we were three quarters of the way there. Almost.

Half an hour later, I was planted in front of the tv, hair constructed into a messy bun, and mouth full with one hand buried in a box of Jaffa Cakes. God damn these things were delicious, and as I pulled one tasty cookie out, I frowned as I thought about how many calories could be in just one. Calories. They are the enemy and they have targeted my thighs as their next mission. I hastily plopped the cookie back into the box as I pictured a cellulite war occurring on my legs, but licked my fingertips in sad longing.

Drawing my attention back to the screen, I watched lazily as that same lunatic with a bow-tie stepped into a phone booth and was suddenly whisked away through cheesy effects. That Doctor Why, right, the one George has a bromance with. This crap. But I continued watching, and watching, and soon enough I was yelling at the TV, wondering how on Earth a man could morph into a giant bumblebee.

"It's not possible!" I gestured dramatically, watching the flicking images with intense annoyance. Or maybe...I was actually starting to enjoy this show....

Brrriinnngg!

"Christ on a cracker!" I jumped nearly two feet in the air, my ass physically leaving the plush cushion of the couch as I whipped to my right to find the telephone ringing hysterically. I heaved myself off the sofa and scurried over to the phone, looking at it stupidly as I wondered who could be calling. Well you'll never know unless you pick up, dumbass. Right. Left hand. Grab receiver. Put to ear. Converse.