The Very Best

Chapter Three

I woke up to the sound of the smoke alarm going off. Not to say that my dads are by any means irresponsible or bad cooks, but the ringing of the alarm was a frequent occurrence in our house.

I ran out into the kitchen in my pajamas. My dads were wildly fanning the microwave. I rubbed my eyes groggily. "What are you guys doing up?" I asked in a raspy voice.
They eyed me warily. "Um, we were trying to make popcorn,  and we set it for too long," my Dad admitted.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed a new package out of the cupboard and stuck it in the microwave. I glanced back at them to make sure they were paying attention, before I slowly pressed two minutes, just for their benefit. When the thing beeped, I pulled the bag out and passed it to Daddy. He grimaced at the irony in the situation.

"What would you do without me?" I teased.
"Probably avoid a lot of messes and heart failure," Dad replied dryly. "Why did we ever pay so much for her?"
I slapped my hand over my heart. "Shots fired," I gasped. He rolled his eyes. He and Daddy shared a look.
After recovering, I eyed them warily. "I know you couldn't have paid more that much, legally. Unless, you'd like to own own up to breaking the law."
"What did we ever do to deserve this?" Daddy cried. I shrugged.

I sat down on the couch, making myself comfortable.
"I feel as parents, we should probably be telling her to go back to bed," He said to Dad.
"I feel as parents, you shouldn't be setting off the smoke alarm at one in the morning," I mocked.
"She doesn't have school tomorrow," Dad replied, ignoring me.

They seemed to decide it was easier to join me than to argue anymore, so they sat down on either side of me, passing me a handful of popcorn every once in a while.

In the morning, I woke up in my bed, not really remembering how I had gotten there. I had most likely crawled into my room in my sleepy state. It seemed that I had just fallen into bed, as it was still made with the blanket I had pulled over myself, now on the ground. I sighed at the chill and got up to take a shower.

Afterwards, I pulled on jeans, a tank top, and a sweatshirt. I braided my hair over my shoulder and went to go eat breakfast.

My dads were still asleep, so I decided to surprise them with a pancake breakfast. Absolutely refusing to even touch the syrup container, I pulled some strawberries and raspberries out of the fridge and cooked them into a sauce. I poured my creation into a container and set a pitcher of orange juice on the table. When the last pancake had finished cooking, I flipped them all onto a plate and set them on the table, just in time for my dads to come out of their room, looking exhausted.

Dad eyed the pancakes. "You're up early. And you made breakfast."
"It's days like this when I'm so happy you're ours," Daddy chirped.
"Because I made food?" I asked.
"Because you were thoughtful," he corrected.
I smiled contently. "No syrup," I told them, assuming they had already figured it out.
They nodded knowingly.
"I don't really understand the aversion," Dad said.
"Don't-" Daddy warned, but it was too late.
"It's disgusting. It gets in my hair and on my fingers. The consistency is all wrong. People put it on everything from waffles to ham! Who puts syrup on ham? It's messed up!" I ranted.
"We know how you feel about it," Daddy said calmingly. He shot a glare at Dad. Dad held his hands up in surrender.
"The people who put it in cupcakes are sick, sick people," I said a bit calmer. Daddy nodded and Dad kept his mouth shut, although he looked like he could have said more.

They sat down beside me at the small table and ate the pancakes. The pancakes were good, I'll admit, but the fact that I didn't have to watch anyone else eat them with syrup was relieving.

I finished up first and pulled on a pair of tennis shoes by the front door. "Hey," Dad called after me. "Don't buy anything today while you're out and about. No ruining birthday surprises for tomorrow."

I rolled my eyes, but nodded. "I love you," I called back through the door and left before they could reply. I stole the car and drove down to the coffee shop. Picking up my usual latte, I swung around the counter, pulled an apron on and starting making a mocha for the first girl at the counter. I handed it to her and moved on to the next person in line. I worked and worked all morning until my shift was almost up. Only an hour left. I served one girl a frappe and moved on to the person after her. Unfortunately, it happened to be Claire. I mentally groaned, but decided to serve her with a smile. She rolled her eyes at me, instantly making me feel self-conscious, more than I'd like to admit. But I plastered a stupid smile on my face and tried to push down my feelings about her. I didn't have to be nice. I just had to be professional.

"Carmel Mocha with two shots," she said. "Think you can handle it?" She asked condescendingly.
"Yep," I chirped. "I can definitely do that."
"Thanks," she replied sourly. She sat down again table to wait, not looking up from her phone the entire time. I sighed, frustrated.
She stood when I brought her coffee to her. She took it from my hand, just before squeezing it too hard, cracking the cup. She held it away from her expensive clothes, and it sprayed all over me. She fake shrieked. Once I was completely drenched in her hot mocha, she finally put the cup down.
"Oh, no!" She exclaimed mockingly. Did that get you? Silly me! Well, have a fantastic day," she drawled sarcastically before walking out the door, leaving me with with a broken cup, a mess, and ruined clothes.

A guy who had walked in just in time to see the damage she had done, rushed to my side. "Are you alright?" He demanded.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied. He scoffed.
"You are not. Someone just poured boiling hot coffee on you!"
"I know her. It's fine."
"It's not fine!" He exclaimed. "You can't just treat someone like that and then leave."
"She does this stuff all the time," I explained.
"Well, it's not okay," he said quieter.
He began to throw away the cup and put napkins on the mess.
"No! It's fine," I said hurriedly. "I can clean it up."
He stood back up. "Are you sure you're okay?" I nodded. "My name's Mark."
"Kaya," I replied.

Krissy, behind the counter, came to my rescue. She had seen the whole thing, and seemed incredibly annoyed. "You poor thing," she exclaimed. "Come on, I'll help you get cleaned up."

I followed her into the back room. She got out a wet cloth and helped me try and get the coffee spots out of my jacket. "She's a nasty little thing," she remarked. "I know she's Ian's step-sister, but they're parents need to control her."

"Ian hates her," I confided. She nodded, unsurprised. "I would too, if I had to live with her." Krissy smiled and her blue eyes looked happy.

Krissy had a huge crush on Ian, but he had no idea. He had always been super nice to Krissy, but remained oblivious to her interest in him.

I couldn't help but think about the guy, Mark, I had met. He was adorable- from his dark, messy hair to his blue eyes. Rolling my eyes at myself, I returned my focus to Krissy.

"Go home and get cleaned up," she insisted. "We've got things handled here."
I nodded appreciatively. "Thank you."
"No problem," she replied cheerfully.

I left the back room, still fully drenched, to find Mark gone. I went to grab my half empty coffee from behind the counter to find someone had wrote on it. Mark. He had signed his name across it along with his phone number. I smiled happily at it and continued out the door. I drove home to get changed and washed up.

When I walked through the front door, my dads eyed my stained clothing.
"What happened?" Daddy exclaimed.
"Claire happened," I replied, still frustrated.
"Someone needs to deal with her," Dad said annoyed. "Are you okay?"
I gave him a small smile. "It was boiling hot, but I'm okay now." I grinned to myself, remembering the coffee cup in my hand.

I had to take a shower just to get the smell of Carmel Frappe out of my hair. After changing into a new pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, I fixed my hair for the second time that day and left.

Some conflict with Claire and a new guy! Music video is an Audio of Northern Downpour by Panic! At the Disco. Thanks for reading!
~SupernaturallyAwkward.