“I know you are honey, we can talk later. You sound busy.”
But I don't want to stop hearing your voice.
“I'm sorry, Dad.”
He chuckled, “I know, you've said it enough times. I won't bother you anymore.”
“You're not a bother.” I said quickly.
“I know, we'll talk later?” he asked, still sounding so sad and disappointed.
“Yeah, we will. Love you, Dad.”
And then I heard the fatal silence on the other end, closed my phone and gave it back to Sophie for safe keeping.
"Who was that?" Sophie asked casually, nibbling on a bread stick basket that had been brought in my absence.
Sophie only shrugged at my avoidance, not being one to pry like Bria would have.
"Whatever, are you ready for next level sabotage?" she asked, moving to grab her clutch and not even seeing me nod in response.
Out of it she took a small, flat, Tupperware container that was solid white with a label stuck to the side. I questioned what it was for silently in my head, knowing I wouldn't have to wait long for Sophie to show me.
She discreetly opened the container and my sensitive nose immediately recognized the smell of mossy garden in the morning when the ground is upturned and wet. My parents were gifted with herbicidal thumbs and couldn't grow weeds, let alone plants. But the smell of wet soil was familiar. She hid the container contents from my view, setting it in her lap and removing something from it, her other hand reaching to grab a spoon and a napkin. Both of us cast sideways glances to be sure we weren't being watched, the minimal lighting was helping. Sophie scooted back under the table, her hand resting on the tabletop.
My hand held in a gasp as I saw, in the glistening candlelight, a spoonful of big, pink, wiggling worm. As a kid, they only slightly bothered me, now I was making a solemn promise to never come back to this restaurant by chance I might be given that very spoon. The hand that presently held in my gasp, also stopped a gag.
She brought a finger to her lips, gently shushed, I kind of felt like Katniss when she found the mockingjay pin on her clothes, and that worm was about to get me in big trouble. Sophie pivoted in her chair in the direction of Marissa, readied her spoon, about to catapult it like it was lumpy mashed potatoes in a high school cafeteria; until I cinched her wrist with my hand, yelling in a whisper “What do you think you're doing?”
One of her hands still held the spoon as tightly as I gripped her other, my face coated in desperation.
“Aiming.” she jerked her arm away and went through the same motions. I was stunned when she turned to me at the last second before launching, extending the spoon and asking pointedly, “Unless you want to do the honors?”
I grabbed, aimed, and shot the little sucker in one motion, sending it landing at their feet.
“Load me up,” I demanded shyly. Every step I took further into this mission was tentative, Sophie's encouraging smile assured me and then on I wasn't hesitant.
The next worm, to my greatest joy, was shot with the aim of Robin Hood and landed in Marissa's wineglass with a tiny plop. And all that was left was to wait in exciting agony. Five seconds passed before her dainty hand reached to the glass, bringing it to her lips- even I couldn't look away though my stomach was churning.
A piercing scream filled the restaurant, Marissa almost flung the glass, sending it tumbling to the floor. In her fright, all the wine had slopped out, taking the worm with it. Everyone sitting around us let out a collective gasp as Sophie and I fought back screams of laughter. I would never forget her face.
YOU ARE READING
I Write Romances, Not Live ThemTeen Fiction
Five-time New York Times #1 bestseller, Adelaide Maddox, is not like normal 21 year-olds for many reasons. Not only is she one of the most popular romance novelists, she's hiding something from her readers. She's never been in love, never even been...