Pinky Promise

3

During our lunch period, our school graciously allows us to go get lunch at nearby restaurants; if we miss the rest of the day, it's not their fault when our parents get thrown in jail for us missing out on school.

The main office is definitely a hotspot during our lunch period. In order to leave to go get lunch, students are required to sign out. You know, so the school doesn't get fined when you're marked tardy and you haven't been checked out.

I don't usually have the opportunity to do this, seeing as I am a sophomore who doesn't have her license yet (embarrassing, I know). Fabian, however, is a year above me and he has his own car and license.

Fabian is fairly easy to spot out in a crowd. He has a "rich boy" appearance: blazer, white shirt, and dress pants cover his body. Not many at our school take the time out of their day in order to look perfect for school. It's mainly the cheerleaders, but I commend Fabian for taking the time for his image.

Not that he needed to take time for his image, anyways.

"Hey," I greet him.

"Hey yourself," he replies back, overlooking the parking lot. "It'd be great if I could remember where I parked today."

After much walking around and a pleasant amount of time to talk to Fabian, we do eventually (unfortunately) find his car. Taking after the "rich boy" look, his car follows that demeanor. Of course, Fabian drives a black mustang. I don't know why I wouldn't expect such an expensive car.

I run my hand gently along the car's exterior. Yep, definitely an expensive car. It's kept unusually clean, and for parking in the student parking lot, I'd expect the car to be a little more dusty. However, I don't see a speck of dust anywhere on the outside.

"Are you just going to ogle over my car or are we actually going to go and eat?" Fabian jokes as he pulls out his car's remote. It beeps twice and I hear the sound of his car unlocking.

Getting in the passenger side, Fabian throws my backpack into the back, saying that there's no need to hold it and limit myself of leg room. I couldn't agree more.

"It's weird that you'd agree to go get lunch with me. We don't hang out that much, you know?" Fabian says, adjusting his rearview mirror. Backing in reverse, I wait until we are on the road to reply.

I wish we hung out more.

"Well, it's not like you're some complete stranger to me, and with your dad being at the head of some big business in town, I wouldn't expect you to do anything to ruin his reputation," I respond.

If my dead were always in the spotlight and everyone knew him, I'd probably be the model child myself, without having to even be told. Heck, I'd probably take too much pride in my appearance.

I glance over at Fabian for a response, and I notice that he's gotten stiff. Complete and utter silence fills the car, and it's almost deafening.

"Did I..."

"Can we not talk about my dad?" Fabian interrupts, not daring to look at me. Okay, maybe there's more than meets the eye about that whole situation. I decide not to test him further.

"Are you perfect at everything you do?" I ask, changing the subject. "Like, are you a professional singer and actor too? Or is it just the painting. No, it can't be just the painting."

Fabian laughs, causing me to smile as well.

"No, I can't carry a tune to save my life," he replies, "and acting? I mean, I've had to do a few commercials for my dad, but those are so cringe-worthy that I don't even try to watch them."