10 Things: A Cody Simpson Fan Fiction

Twenty-nine

“I think we should probably head east.”

          Groaning fairly unattractively for the third time in the same argument that has lasted for about ten minutes, I stopped dead in my tracks, stopping to stare at Cody with my eyes narrowed down to slits. “No, Cody, west. Which part of that do you not get?”

          “Uh, simple,” he curved his lips downward and shrugged his shoulders. “The W getting in the way of the last three letters, obviously. I mean, pardon my smartass attitude right now but this place is huge—”

          “And you know that, so, we can’t afford to waste more time in finding my Dad, Cody! His shift ends at two in the afternoon before he comes back for his evening shift which is at half past seven”—I took a deep breath—“and it’s already a quarter past one.”

          “Okay, okay,” he sighed in defeat, cupping my palm with his very own warm one, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. We’ll do it your way in early PM but it’ll be mine in late, deal?”

          Loosening some grip on myself, I raised an eyebrow and carried on staring at him dubiously. “If that actually involves allowing you letting me lead the both of us to the right side from where we’re standing, then yes a deal shall be a deal but if otherwise then clearly—”

          “No,” he emphasized clearly for my sake, making me smile, “yeah, I get it, babe. Let’s go,” he said without hesitation, pulling me along when I grinned harder, tugging on his hand.

          “Good.”

          For a moment after that, neither of us spoke; we just simply walked down towards where we were headed in a comfortable line of silence, among the crowded park full of people on the greens—mind you, I’m only good at depicting this because I’ve seen this way too many times in romantic movies. You know, speaking in the most cliché way ever and simpler forms of words.

          However much nicer it could get, unfortunately I don’t suppose it would ever be good enough to snag my attention and throw my thoughts away—I couldn’t stop thinking about how my father would look like. I know he’ll look along the lines of Uncle Mitchell but they aren’t identical twins, so he wasn’t really the greatest help honestly.

          “Cody?” I timidly called out in the middle of nowhere while we walked. I dropped my gaze to the ground and stared at my feet with each step I took forward, and possibly nearer to my father and his ice-cream stall, oh. I sighed quietly.

          “Yeah?”

          “Do you think my Dad would recognize me?” I stopped short after, and decided to carry on speaking about the same topic because I was beginning to fear his answer and I didn’t really need it as soon as possible. “After all, it’s been many years since and I don’t think—”

          “Babe, I’m going to need you to do me a favor and breath because right now, what you’re doing to yourself is over thinking and most times experiencing over thinking leads to stress, then to insanity because of your deprivation over something. ‘Kay? You breathing deeply enough?” Cody questioned calmly, rubbing his hand soothingly down my back to comfort me.

          I followed his instructions and did what I’m supposed to, but that kind of only made me feel more nervous and I could only express through squeezing Cody’s arm, but I doubt he minds anyway. He didn’t utter a word or a sigh and neither did he make any facial expressions.

          “Yes, Merinda, your Dad’s going to recognize you, okay? Which father wouldn’t be able to recognize their own child? Might I say that, that person could just easily be the dumbest parent in the world, so stop worrying okay? You’re stressing yourself out over nothing and it’s kind of paining me to see you in that state.”