Cops & Robbers

Chapter Eleven (Revised)

As close as we were to Ben, Alex and I never liked to pass up an opportunity to have fun. We gave him the most messed up marker mask I've ever seen in my whole life, Ben’s mom giggling all the while.

He woke up right as the pancakes were being served and cluelessly decimated his them without a care in the world. When Ben’s dad came and sat at the table to join us for breakfast, he choked on his coffee, his wife patting his back.

“You alright, Dad?” Ben had asked, his voice laced with concern.

His dad just coughed a few more times, thumping his chest with a fist. “Just fine, Son. Your mom just made the coffee a little stronger than usual.”

Alex and I just smirked into our pancakes, careful to avoid Ben’s eyes in case he used his natural knack for reading facial expressions.

I smiled to myself and found myself glancing at the refrigerator. It seemed like the Hallelujah chorus played in the background as an otherworldly light shone on the black dry erase marker that sat in its magnetic holder on the fridge. I’m sure if I bothered to look in the mirror, I’d see the mischievous glint enter my eyes as the idea took hold in my brain.

I tip-toed to the fridge, grabbed the black marker and carefully worked the cap off. It still made a squeak and I prayed that Ben was still a heavy sleeper. Luckily for me and not so luckily for him, he was, so I walked back over and reconsidered his face.

I imagined him with a black handlebar mustache and almost laughed out loud. The hair tie around my wrist was in my hair in the blink of an eye while I held the marker between my teeth. When I received no response from him after a light poke with the marker, I set myself to the task of drawing a decent sized handlebar mustache. At first I was slightly bummed that the mustache was going to be uneven, but it turned out that there was no need to be. Halfway through my epic artistry, the marker irritated him enough that he turned his head away from me to face the other side, allowing me free access to the other side of his face. Once my masterpiece was complete I tiptoed back to my room and went to bed, all thoughts of food forgotten.

**

He was gone when I woke up, which was slightly disappointing because I had badly wanted to see or at least hear his reaction. Writing on his face had brought on the most nostalgic feeling and I welcomed it because it was reminiscent of simpler times. Simpler times being classified as any time after I went to live with my grandmother and before I’d royally screwed myself over with Alex.

I had 20 missed calls by the time I woke up, most of which were from Tasha. She’d left a few repentant voicemails apologizing for prying and meddling in our relationship. One of her voicemails had begged me to call her because she didn’t like the fact that no one knew where I was and that for all she knew I could be in trouble. The apologies and the pleading only made me feel worse, because I could tell she was genuinely worried about me and had done nothing to deserve it. Perhaps that wasn’t true in her eyes, because she thought I was the truest type of friend. It made me feel like the worst type of person, the kind incapable of any act of selflessness.

Somehow I had convinced myself that I was doing the right thing by asking him to make things official with Tasha, but so far I’d done more harm than good. I couldn't even touch him platonically, try as I might. Lying to myself seemed to be something I excelled at.

To top off my mostly crappy morning, I realized I had a Zumba class to teach tonight. I couldn’t very well cancel because of my cowardice, but man was I seriously tempted. Dead set on being productive instead of dwelling on what I couldn’t change, I decided to do some homework on one Vincent Giuntoli. The fact that I knew his last name was evidence that I was at least making progress.