Eat For Two

"Yeah, me and my toes don't really see eye to eye..."

Dedicated to evilalien for being snazzy and liking peanut butter as well as my story :D

By the way, I first thought your username was some strange form of Evelyn, but now I realize it says evil alien (which is wicked)...I think I may have fried my eyes from being on Wattpad too much...

AND A SUPER GIANT RECOGNITION TO.... Nicole, for making me cry and being a great wattpad friend!

Little fact for you readers, my middle name is Nicole ;D

I have an excuse for not uploading, but it is really pathetic, so I won't even tell you. Just know that I AM SO SO SO SORRY. I REALLY AM! 

So, if you even remember Remy and company, congratulations! You won an invisible apple! Huzzah!

If you look that-a-way>>>>>> you will see the fabulous Aiden Emile! The song I really wanted to put on here unfortunatley cannot be found on Youtube. Seriously WTF Youtube? Do you not recognize perfect music? Anyway, so I put this one instead (just cause I like it) and if you guess what it's from, you'll bet the next dedication YAY:

I hope you have a supermegafoxyawesomehot day (more like night)!

Sorry I have no idea what is with the font down there...

Please comment, even if its just a smiley face, because then I at least know whether or not you actually like my writing!

Enjoy my dears

Chapter 11: “Yeah, me and my toes don’t really see eye to eye…”

            Paint is very hard to take off of wood floors. Especially with a toothbrush. I should know, as I have been on my hands and knees scrubbing back and forth along the slats. There is a particularly stuck chip of blue that I scratch off with my choppy nails. Grumbling to myself, I sit up, ignoring the ache in my knees, scouring the slats for any remnants of Cameron’s and my little skirmish, hiding in the grooves. Seeing the last spot of blue, pooling in a small, suspiciously shaped dent. I attack it with a fervor rivaling that of a starved shark in a pool of baby seals, channeling all my annoyance at Izzy, who is currently “supervising” Cameron and I. With a glass of lemonade, complete with an umbrella toothpick stabbed into a cherry and a swirly straw, she is reading a gossip magazine in a beach lounge chair in the corner of the room. When she climbed up the rickety stairs to the loft, to inform us that dinner was ready, she happened upon me simultaneously jumping on Cameron’s back and shoving a wet brush into his ear. To say she was upset is quite the understatement. I think the fact that one of her “prized” brushes lost most of its bristles in Cammy’s ear, bothered her the most. Our punishment was that we had to watch her eat dinner and then go and clean up the paint. After it has dried some. With toothbrushes. Our toothbrushes. And now she is lazing around, slurping loudly at her lemonade with her stupid, swirly straw.

            Giving a quick, cursory glance around my half of the room , I deduce that each speck of marine paint has been vanquished. As I stand up, heaving a little through the clammy air, three joints in my spine pop. Looking over to Cameron’s half of the room, seeing him furiously chafing away at a mean looking spot of paint, I turn to Izzy to hand in my figurative towel. He’s a big boy. He can clean up his own mess. Besides, where Iz is sitting, I have a generous view of his backside and straining biceps, so I can get my girly fill without his notice.

            “Oh,” Izzy looks up, her big eyes innocent and green, flecked with turquoise sparkles, “are you all finished? Because I’m getting a little sleepy, and it is…” Those eyes flick down to her wrist, where a steam-punk styled watch is clasped, “almost ten.”