Two Ways to Spell Blake

{Chapter 6}

"So no steak," Aaron asks and I shake my head.

"No ribs?"

I shake my head.

"No chicken?"

I shake my head.

"No chicken nuggets?"

I shake my head.

"Who doesn't like chicken nuggets?" Blake asks.

"Um, me," I shrug awkwardly.

"So you're a vegetarian?" Nolan inquires.

"No, I just don't eat meat," I sigh.

"Are you a vegan?" Jack whispers.

"No! I just don't eat meat. Or salad. Or a bunch of stuff. But that doesn't mean I'm a vegetarian or a vegan," I snap.

"Why? Wait, are you one of those people who's all about saving animals?" Dylan gives me a flat look.

"No, I think it's fine if we kill animals. I mean, I wouldn't want to eat or dog or cat or anything but as long as there's enough animals around, I think we should eat them. I just prefer not to," I shrug.

And that is why I hate telling people. See, they just couldn't wrap their minds around it.

"Add that to the pile of weird things you do," Blake mutters and I slap his arm.

"Don't damage the merchandise," he brushes himself off.

"What merchandise?" I scoff.

"Um, these," he starts flexing.

"I still don't see anything. Oh wait, you meant your invisible muscles," I laugh.

I hate to admit if but he does have muscles. I just wish he would put them away.

"Ha ha, very funny Tanner," he scowls.

"Pleasure doing business with you Price," I smirk.

"Are you guys on a last name basis now?" Aaron raises an eyebrow.

"Shut up," we say in unison.

"Stop that," we say again.

"No, you stop," we say again.

"This is weird," Nolan whispers.

"No chizz," I snap.

"Did you say 'chizz'?" Blake seems to be holding back a laugh.

"Yeah, I don't like to cuss. And my parent's don't like it. So I don't cuss," I shrug.

"Could we cuss-," Dylan goes to ask but I reach across the table and slap his arm.

"Don't even think about it," I bark.

"But if we did-," he goes to say again.

"If you did, I would break every limb in your body. Then I would tear off all of your skin and let my brother use it in a soup," I scowl.

"Wow, violent," Blake mutters.

"Blake?" a squeaky annoying voice says.

Both Blake and I turn to look at who called our name. And, of course, it had to be Olivia. Olivia was pretty good friends with Stacey. When they were little, I heard they did cheerleading together at the rec or something.

"What are you doing here?" she gushes.

"Eating. Obviously," I gesture to our food.

"I wasn't talking to you," she snaps.