Dear Principal

Chapter 11

Oliver's POV

We didn't make it to the stripping speedo dance, hunched over the kitchen table, barely able to move our chips on the board game, and mumbling and laughing at each other. Some hiccups would echo, and a roar of laughter catching it. I can officially say that it was the best graduation party I could ever ask for. Jo offered me cake after we decided it would be best to stop drinking and eat something before one of us threw up on his mom's clean floor. Jo had put away the board game and could hardly get the box on the bottom staircase, falling over and laughing hysterically at himself. I couldn't hold it together, falling off the chair and tumbling back against the floor, hearing Jo wheeze.

I woke up the following day with a massive hangover. My head pounded with every movement and sound I made. Jo was curled up in a ball next to me, holding his blanket tight to his chest and wincing as the sun peeked through his blinds. I rubbed my eyes, adjusting to the bright light in the room.

"What time is it?" Jo asked as he buried his face deeper into the blankets.

I glanced at the clock on his nightstand table across from him, squinting to get a better view.

"It's 1 pm." I arched my back and threw my arms in the air, stretching back and yawning, "I thought it'd be earlier, feels like I didn't sleep at all."

Jo grumbled and turned his back toward me, pulling the sheets over his head and mumbling something I couldn't make out. I don't know how he does it, staying in bed all day, not doing anything, not eating. It would only last me an hour after waking up with my granola bar hanging from my mouth.

"Jo," I whined, shaking him, and he groaned, "get up! I'm hungry."

"There's some leftover cake in the fridge. Go eat that." I frowned and swiftly pulled the sheets off him, watching him flare his arms in the air, trying to catch the blanket, "Oliver! It's cold!"

I chuckled while completely removing the blankets from the bed and letting them fall to the ground at the end of Jo's bed. Jo glared at me as he plopped on his elbows, his brows knitted.

Jo didn't have a chance against me, and he knows when I say I'm hungry, I mean it.

"Okay. Fine. You win." He rolled his eyes and got up, pulling a shirt over his chest.

"I always win." I presumptuously smiled as I walked past the doorway and down the stairs to the kitchen, tiptoeing on the cold floors.

Jo was just a little behind and doing the same around the kitchen island, stretching his toes as he opened the refrigerator and scanned over whatever was in it. He started by pulling out a carton of eggs, then milk and butter. Then he moved over to the cabinets, took out the flour, and placed everything on the counter. It was clear he was going to make pancakes, but moments later, I was beginning to have a different idea of what pancakes were to Jo.

There was a mixture of some sort in the bowl, clumpy and sloppy. Jo concentrated on mixing and placing a spoonful in the heated cooking pan on the stove. When he set it, chunks of flour floated around as the mixture bubbled. It looked like something out of the Gremlins. I grimaced, quickly shaking my head at the thought of those little green monsters melting in water. Thankfully, the mixture isn't green.

Jo side glanced toward me, placing the first pancake on my plate.

I suppose my disgusted facial expression wasn't gone because Jo frowned at me, crossing his arms.

"I'm not a cook. My mom usually makes me breakfast; if she doesn't, I gobble down a breakfast bar and protein shake." Jo sighed as he put the spatula aside and cut the heat on the stove.