Short Love Stories

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Michael is sixteen.

I am thirteen.

Michael is in love.

I think he is horribly confused.

...

"How old is she?"

"How old is who?"

"Her! She is so cute!"

"Ohh...the annoying twerp, you mean?" replies Michael, and he jerks his thumb over at me where I've stopped in my tracks on my way to the kitchen. "She's ten."

I flare up immediately. "I am not!" I screech indignantly, arms crossed. Michael thinks it's so funny to tease me because according to him, I'm little. "I'll be thirteen next week, you big dummy."

"Oh, my gosh," his girlfriend says, really fast so it's almost one incoherent word. Suddenly, it's like I am a teacup Chihuahua on display at PetSmart. "You are so cute!" Only she says it as though it has two syllables. Key-yoot. Then she turns to Michael, tugging on his sleeve. "She's adorable. Is she your little sister?"

"We're not related," I say, crossing my arms.

"Thank God for that," Michael says, rolling his eyes.

"Is she your brother's friend?" the girl asks, and then her eyes widen. "Or is she his girlfriend?"

"GROSS!" I hate the way she teases me, and I hate that she's wearing so much pink. That's my favorite color, but now I don't think I like it anymore.

She looks pleased with my reaction. "Isn't she the cutest thing ever?"

Michael looks at me over her head with the ghost of a smirk. "Yeah, I guess so," he says, shrugging the shoulder that doesn't have a pink octopus attached to it. Or maybe his arm is just gone. Whoops, my bad. His girlfriend has it: she clings onto the hand of the arm currently wrapped around her neck. "She's the cutest troll I've ever seen," Michael adds, and it sounds like his girlfriend choked on her own swallow.

"Michael!" she exclaims, but she's laughing as she smacks him lightly across the chest, and Michael pretends to clutch at the spot, feigning a look of devastation and pain. I roll my eyes, fighting the urge to throw up now. "That's so mean!"

"Oh, don't worry about it," I interrupt so that I've got her attention once more. "I'm used to it. Michael can be such a jerk, but I know that's just his way of communicating." I smile brightly at her. "What's your name again?" 

"Jenna." 

"Ooh, so you're the one he mentions a lot." She smiles and straightens up. "You should hear the stuff he says about you, Miss BBNB," I say very seriously. Michael is looking at me with murder in his eyes.

Her smile slides off and a frown replaces it. "What's that?" she asks, eyebrows scrunched.

Michael is shaking his head at me, but it's too late. "Big boobs, no brains," I answer, and watch gleefully as her lip-glossed lips part and a look of shock forms on her face. I quickly shoot out of there before her wailing can be begin, and sure enough, as soon as I hit the stairs I hear her screech, "What the hell, Michael?!"

"Jenna! I've never said that. Come on, she's kidding. She doesn't know what she's talking about—"

I snicker as I hear Jenna shriek and stomp around some more, and finally a door slams shut, despite Michael's protests. A loud curse follows soon after, breaking the momentary quiet. I stifle my laughs and make my way up the rest of the stairs, giddy at my triumph.