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Honey Fried Chicken and Popcorn

"You know I just feel like you don't pay attention and validate my feelings enough. Why am I always the one putting so much into this relationship," Lucas says and takes a drag from his blunt while spinning in my desk chair. Since he came to my house and started smoking I've legit just been dozing off thinking about other stuff rather than listening to his high ass. At this point I don't even think he's talking to me or knows I'm here sitting on my bed. If he did he wouldn't be smoking right in front of my face knowing I don't do that anymore. "Bro did you hear me?" he asks tearing his eyes off the ceiling.

"You said something about validating feelings," is all I can recall.

He shakes his bright yellow dreads. "You don't validate my feelings is what my mom said to the guy she's fucking, and is what I'm saying to you." I scrunch my face all up. Hmm he was talking to me?

"What do you mean I don't validate your feelings?" I ask holding back an obvious laugh.

"Yesterday I texted you saying, 'I was depressed because I haven't got some sloppy head in a while', and you said 'go get some', instead having a long ass conversation not cool bro," he almost yells and lets out some smoke.

"What was I supposed to say?" Lucas disposes of his blunt and lets out a loud cough.

"Nevermind you said your mom is going to Boston for three days, and Angela is taking night classes right?" Night classes hmph.

"Yeah," I say hesitating because Lucas's eyes are screaming, "Let's take advantage." He's always taken advantage of my mom's work schedule, hell when I told him my mom left, and Sofia was in bed he was knocking on my door seconds later.

"Hmm interesting," Lucas says before getting all excited like some elementary school kid. "Ooh guess who I saw yesterday?"

"You know I don't fuck with the guessing game," I say.

"Man you're no fun, I saw Danielle Goodman, and let me tell you home girl aint playing hopscotch no more, girl looking' like honey fried chicken with some popcorn mmm," Lucas says smacking his lips. Danielle Goodman, the girl who lived across the street from me, and who I was supposed to hang out with because my mom was fond of hers. She moved away before 5th grade, and looking back her butterfly clips, zig zag parts, and pink animal crackers were intriguing to my dumb 9 year old self. Why Lucas is comparing her to a popeyes special, I don't know.

"Fuck you mean she's looking like fried chicken and popcorn?"

"Snack nigga, she looking like a snack." Damn this guy is going to get diabetes.

"What are you doing having fried chicken and popcorn together?"

"Living," he says too stern for what we're talking about. He gives me another look. "Okay I had munchies, that was the only shit in the house." Lucas and I share a laugh, and he goes on to tell me every detail about Danielle and how little she had on, and how much she has grown since kicking around a soccer ball in our dell. The conversation of Danielle and honey fried chicken of course leads Lucas to talking about Daya and I. It's been a good week since I was bold, and laid my hands on Daya's thigh, and even though we've been starting over a part of me feels like she could slip away which would suck.

"Daya's cute, but you can't be wasting all of your time chasing her," Lucas says as we enter the kitchen where he pours himself too much almond milk.

"I'm not chasing her," I assure him and take a seat by the island. As if Daya knows we're talking about her my phone buzzes with her name on top of my screen.

"That bitch spying on you," Lucas mumbles and downs his milk like I'm going to let him get another cup. Ignoring him I place the phone to my ear, and instead of being serenaded by Daya's soft voice all I hear is sobbing.