Thrill Rider

Chapter 4: Lunch and a Show

A/N Enjoy and Please Leave a Review. I hope this brings a bit of delight to your day and I also hope you don't mind the 'absents'. I have had a full plate lately and it is close to impossible to find time to write. Nevertheless, I did it.

Micheal Peterson:
"Mmmmm," I say, my mouth drooling as I look at my delicious burger with french fries and milk. "Nothing like a fatty lunch after a quick nap."

Thinking back to when I fell asleep during 4th-period biology class, snapping back into reality and hurrying to the lunchroom. Looking for a place to sit, I notice Ash sitting by her lonesome at a table.

"Hey Ash," I say, waving and joining her.

"Oh hey Micheal," Ash replies, waving back and putting down her soda. "What's up?"

"Since yesterday," I ask, "Hmm. Not much, unfortunately. Maybe tomorrow, something excitedly will happen and I can tell you all about it."

"Can't wait," Ash laughs.

"What about you? Anything to report in your life?"

"No, not really."

Setting my plate down, Ash reaches for some fries but I slap her hand away.

"No," I say, pointing a finger at her. "No. My fries. Mine."

Grabbing two and popping them into my mouth, I open my milk carton.

"Come on," Ash begs, reaching for another fry but my reflexes being faster than her, I slap her hand away.

"Again," I say, pull my tray further away. "No. Mine. My French fries. Mine!"

"Oh don't be selfish, Micheal. Please, I'm starving."

"How can you be starving? Lunch started like, ten minutes ago."

"Yeah, and in those ten minutes, I finish my mac n' cheese, my apple, and I'm already more than halfway through with my soda."

Grabbing and rolling toward me the core of her eaten apple, she then snatches a fry away from me and tosses it in her mouth.

"You want it back," she asks, smiling and revealing potatoes-covered teeth.

"No, but I will take a sip of this," I answer, stealing her soda and opening the bottle.

"No," she says, reaching for the bottle but stopping when I push her back.

"It's called a trade," I say, taking a sip before giving it back.

"I think it's only a trade if we both agree to it."

"Yeah, I didn't agree to give you a fry."

"You didn't 'what' to give Ash a 'what'," interrupts someone. Looking to our side, we see Brian standing there, a tray in his hands.

"I did not agree to trade a sip of her soda for one of my French fries," I answer, my eyes not leaving my plate. "We may have been friends since the day she glues one of my shoes to the floor but that doesn't mean I'm going to willingly give her my lunch. Especially if I'm hungry."

"Wait," Brian asks, "What? Ash glued one of your shoes to the floor. When was this?"

"The fourth grade," Ash answers, "When the teacher picked us to build a small California float together."

"Hmm. You know, it sounded a lot like how we became friends in the first place."

Hitting me in the arm, I flashback to the day when I first met Brian

Micheal Peterson (2nd Grade):
"I am Spiderman," I say, picturing myself in his red-and-blue jumpsuit. "I am Spiderman. I am Spiderman."

Opening my eyes, I turn my head to see all of the playgrounds, kids everywhere playing and running around. Meanwhile, I am clinging onto the railings of the playground's set, my toes being the only part of me still standing on the set.