Banner by Lorimorris.
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Chapter 31: Benefits of the Aging Process
"Hey, Summers!"
Only one person called me by my last name, and that was Tyler. I turned around. He was casually walking towards me, his pace steadily--and painfully, I might add--slow. "Would you hurry up? I'm going to be late."
"Oh, relax. You have, like, two minutes."
"But my class is all the way down the hallway."
"If you run, you'll make it."
"Or you could hurry."
"Nah."
I shook my head and rolled my eyes in annoyance. "Whatever. Talk to me later, then."
"Charlotte, wait."
"If you're going to say something, then just say it!"
"A little impatient today, are we?"
"Bye, Tyler."
"Do you want to?"
"Do I want to what?"
He smirked. "Forget about it. I'll tell you later. I wouldn't want you to be tardy."
"You're impossible."
"I'm entirely possible, Summers. After all, I'm here, aren't I?"
"Stop that! You sound like the Chesire Cat from Alice and Wonderland. What were you going to say?"
He turned around. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"You're a jerk."
"You're the one who wanted to be Little Miss Schoolgirl."
"I'm going to be late anyways."
"Then I suggest you better start running."
Rolling my eyes, I decided that I'd hunt him down later. This would not be the first time I'd been tardy because of the boys, and Dad questioning my multitude of tardies was not something I wanted to deal with. I was proud of my attendance record before the school year started. It wasn't spotless (because lady problems did arise in between classes), but I attempted to keep the blemishes to a minimum.
I half-ran to my class, not wanting to run in fear I would look ridiculous and not walking to be any later than necessary. I avoided eye contact with the rest of the stragglers, most of whom didn't care if they were late. Half of them were probably skipping class anyways.
***
"How's your attendance record, Summers?"
"I don't know. She didn't mention anything about me being late."
"I suppose it all depends on what mood she was in."
"I hope she granted me amnesty."
"Good luck with that."
"Thank you. So what was it that you wanted to ask me?"
"I was wondering if you wanted to accompany me somewhere."
"Another birthday party?"
Tyler's laugh was a low growl contained with notes of amusement. He shook his head. "No. I was thinking something more private and less childish."
I smiled, tilting my head up at him. "What did you have in mind?"
"I was thinking we could go up into the mountains."
"Sounds romantic. Or something out of a horror story. You're not trying to kill me, are you?"
He laughed again. It reminded me of a quiet but still ominous rumble during a thunderstorm. "If I were trying to kill you, I'd be more sneaky about it. I'd also bring you somewhere other than a mountain."
"That'd be a good place to do it. Away from people."
"You're an idiot for giving me ideas, Charlotte. Your life could end tonight."
"I didn't agree to go with you."
"But you're going to."
"How can you be so sure of yourself?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You mean aside from my ruggedly striking appearance? I didn't know you wanted more than that."
"You're going to have to try to harder than that if you want me to go with you."
"I'm not going to grovel and beg. I'm not that desperate. If anything, I think you'd be the one wanting my company."
I crossed my arms and glared. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, nothing," he dismissed. "Anyways, are you up for this weekend?"
I subtly bit my lip, debating whether I should be stubborn or not. I couldn't bring myself to decline a Tyler opportunity, especially if it was a date, because they were rarer than my Dad's steak when we were barbecuing.
I sighed. Tyler took it as a sign of me giving in because he smiled triumphantly. "Friday night. I'll pick you up at seven."
Shaking my head and rolling my eyes, I walked away from him, satisfied that I had locked in yet another date. I wondered if the other girls got nearly as much attention as I did. Probably not. Their position in the game wasn't as high-stakes as mine. It probably sounded a bit conceited and superficial, but it was true. I was the last virgin standing, and I intended for it to be true by the time graduation rolled around.
***
It was eight minutes past seven and Tyler's car was nowhere in sight. I was all bundled up, much to my dad's delight, and peeking out the window every three seconds. I couldn't say I was surprised that Tyler was running late. He wasn't exactly the most punctual guy around. In his defense, it was only eight minutes. Eight minutes seemed like a long time for a girl who had been ready since 6:45.
7:20.
"You're still here?" Dad asked, quite shocked to see that my toasty self was still moping beside the window.
I sighed sadly, glancing out the window longingly. "He's not here yet."
"I think you've been stood up, kiddo."
"Maybe the roads are bad."
"I don't think so, Charlotte. Do you want me to make you a cup of cocoa? There's still some hot water in the kettle."
I shook my head. "No, that's okay. I'll just wait here in case he comes."
He put his hands in the pockets of his navy bathrobe. "If you insist."
He turned to walk away, when my voice caused him to stop. "But if he doesn't show up within the next ten minutes, I'd like whipped cream on top."
"Sure thing, kiddo."
"Thanks, Dad."
"I hope he shows up."
"Me too."
Tyler never showed up. I started peeling away my multitude of layers at around 7:50. I left the window around 8:30. Dad brought me the hot chocolate and insisted that I come watch The Office with him before I fell into a state of wintry depression. With each tick the second-hand made, I felt my heart sink a little. I don't know why it hurt as much as it did, but then again being stood up never made anyone happy. Perhaps the game was making me arrogant and causing me to think of myself as higher than I actually was. I was glamorizing myself. Even though Tyler never took me out, he left me with the check; a reality check, that is.
I didn't want to face Dad knowing that he was right about the "farmer". I decided to call the only person that would be there for me on a short term's notice.
"Come over."
"You sound demanding," Luke said.
"Would you hurry up? It'll take you like two minutes. And don't bother getting dressed. I don't care if you're in your pajamas."
"Okay, okay. I'll be there soon."
Soon wasn't soon enough for me. It had taken him five minutes, but at least he was here. "What took you so long?" I asked, ushering him in quickly as I wrapped my sweatshirt closer to my body.
"You didn't sound happy--"
"Because I wasn't."
"So I picked up these." He held out a container of cookies. "I know they're not homemade, but they're from the Walmart bakery."
"Thanks, Luke."
He nodded. "So what seems to be the problem?"
My eyes flickered over to the living room, where the light of the TV was shining brightly in Dad's face. "Can we go upstairs and talk?"
"Sure."
Once situated on my bed, I opened the package and stuffed a cookie in my mouth. "I love cookie therapy," I stated.
"It's just cookie right now. You haven't told me what's wrong."
"I'm supposed to be on a date right now."
The initial look on his face showed shock, but he quickly covered it up with an expression of concern. "With who?"
"Tyler," I mumbled, purposefully nibbling on the chocolate chip cookie like a mouse.
"Well, I can't say I'm surprised. It is Tyler, after all."
"I just thought it'd be different with me," I whispered.
"Why?"
"I don't know. Preferential treatment?"
"He's not a good guy to be around."
"He's had a rough life, Luke."
He scrunched his eyebrows. "Why are you defending him? He just stood you up."
"That doesn't mean you can go around bashing him!"
"I'm not bashing him!"
"Yes you are! You're smashing his exterior with a baseball bat!"
"What?"
I shook my head shamefully. I didn't even know what I meant by that. "Just...you're judging him without even getting to know him first."
"I don't have to know him."
"What's the difference between you and him?"
"You're both horrible human beings for participating in the stupid game."
I knew instantly that I had plucked a sensitive string for both of us. Luke pierced the veil of silence with his gentle yet deliberate voice. "I told you I was done with that." It was a simple statement.
"I know."
"But you don't believe me."
"I do!"
He shook his head. "You don't. I can see it in your eyes. We wouldn't be having this conversation if you believed me."
"That's not fair, Luke. It just takes some time to get used to, okay?"
"You've known about this for about four years now."
"It's just weird that we're sort of a thing."
"A thing?" he questioned.
"I don't know. I'm not putting a label on my relationships with the guys."
"So I'm one of the 'guys' now?"
I wrapped a tie blanket around my body. "Haven't you always been one of them?"
"I don't want to be grouped in with them!"
"You did at the beginning of the year."
"But things have changed, Charlie," he reasoned. "I've matured."
I rolled my eyes. "Sure you have. Don't be a baby, Luke."
He tugged the blanket away from my body. I glared at him, pulling it back. We ended up a tug-of-war style thing while we talked. "You're treating me like all the others! Maybe worse."
"I am not. I would never talk about Tyler standing me up with Alec or Ian or even Beckett. It'd just be humiliating."
"Let's get out of here," he suggested abruptly.
"What?"
"Let's go get something to eat."
"But it's cold outside and I don't want to put my coat on. Why don't you just go down to the kitchen and cook me something?"
"You want me to cook in your house?"
"Good point. I'll go with you to supervise, of course. You'll be doing all the work."
He snorted. "We'll see about that."
Once in the kitchen, we had to agree on something to make. I was thinking something along the lines of macaroni and cheese and he wanted to make something he couldn't pronounce. Simplicity was key in the kitchen, especially for a couple of amateurs like us. Luke's philosophy was "go big or go home."
"So go home, Luke."
"It's a saying, Charlie. Besides, who's going to do all of the heavy lifting if I leave?"
"What heavy lifting? The pots aren't that heavy. Besides, it's not like I'll need to use my non-existent upper body strength. They're on the swiveling cabinet thing."
"Fine, fine. You'll need me in case the smoke detector goes off."
"Why would I need you?"
"Who else is going to wave a pillow to get it to shut off?"
"Touche."
"The French are fancy. Do you know where we can get escargot? You know, snails."
"I know what escargot is, Lucas."
"Ooh, Lucas," he raved sarcastically. "We really are getting formal here!"
Rolling my eyes once again, I smacked him and told him to shut up. "How about a compromise?"
"And by compromise, you mean...?"
"Let's pop a frozen lasagna in the oven."
"That's way too easy! Give me a challenge, Charlie."
"But we make the garlic bread."
"No dessert?"
"We have the cookies..."
"I'm craving brownies," he informed me. "Let's make those too."
"Wanna do the easy way?"
"Do you have a boxed mix?"
I walked over to the pantry and pulled out a box of Betty Crocker's fudge brownie mix. "Of course I do. Do you even know me?"
He laughed. "Right. I forgot how much of a brownie junkie you were."
"Really? You forgot."
"I haven't been over in a while."
I kept a straight face. "That's not my fault."
He clapped his hands together. "Anyways, let's get started. It's late and I don't want to have dinner at midnight."
I preheated the oven and took the lasagna out to thaw as he gathered all of the ingredients for the bread and brownies. "Let's do the bread last," Luke said. "That way we can eat while we make it."
"Wouldn't it make sense to do the bread first and dessert last?"
"What's the fun in that? Wait. I've got it. We could just shove everything in the oven at once."
"I guess we could do that."
"Just put the lasagna in right now. It'll thaw faster in the oven."
In that moment, it made sense to me. I should've known not to take culinary advice from Luke, but I was particularly sluggish and not as sharp as I normally was, not that I ever caught on quickly.
I put Luke in charge of the brownies. Not even he could mess that up. How difficult was it to follow straight-forward instructions? That, however, proved to be a mistake. I had put too much confidence in him.
"Is that an eggshell?" I asked, peering over his shoulder and into the bowl.
"No," he scoffed.
"Then what is it?"
"It must be something in the mix. Like vanilla or something."
I fished it out of the bowl. "It's a piece of eggshell, doofus."
He recoiled, yelping, "Your hands are dirty!"
"I washed them before we started."
"But they're all tainted with garlic!"
"I haven't even touched the garlic yet, Luke. It's just dough."
"Still."
"If this is your way of making me forget your little eggshell misdemeanor, you can stop. It's not that big of a deal. It's gone. Problem solved. But for future reference, if you're going to bake, check for shells."
"Got it, captain."
"Now hurry up! I'm going to need help kneading this bread."
He grinned. "You need help kneading?"
"Oh, shut up and get to work."
"You better be nice to me," he said, "or I'll poison your brownies."
"Where are you going to get the poison?"
"I'll just spit in it."
"Aren't you going to eat it too?"
"I'll eat my own spit. I do it every day."
"You wouldn't."
"Are you willing to take that chance?"
Shoving my fists into the stretchy dough, I replied, "Go ahead and see what happens."
He made a move to. I proceeded to elbow him in the side. "Ouch!" he screeched.
"That didn't hurt, you baby."
"Aw, you called me baby."
"It wasn't a form of endearment."
"I'll take it as one, though. I always look on the bright side." He looked at the dough. "You know what that reminds me of?"
"What?"
"An old woman's stomach."
I wrinkled my nose in repulsion. "That's disturbing. Why are you telling me this?"
"You'd have to find out sooner or later. I just made the decision for you."
"That might not happen to me."
"You're absolutely right, Charlie," he said, stirring the brownie batter heedlessly. "If you take care of yourself--eat right, exercise, etcetera--then that probably won't happen to you. But you'd still get a little sag, gravity and all present."
I laughed. "We both know that I'm not going to exercise and eat vegetables."
He clicked his tongue and shook his head in disapproval. "I expected more from you, Charlie."
"You sound like my dad."
"Good. Mr. Summers, you're my role model!" he called.
I heard Dad holler back, "Pick a different one, son. You're in trouble if you stick with me."
"Good to know, sir."
After mixing and blending the batter to my standards, I allowed him to pour it into the pan and stick it in the oven. I instructed him to wash his hands, set the timer, and help me with the bread. We didn't need much of it. It was only me, him, and my dad eating.
"You did tell your parents you were coming over, didn't you?"
"Of course!"
"Luke."
He shrugged. "They'll figure out I'm gone."
"You didn't even tell them that you were leaving?"
"What's the worst that could happen? They'll figure out I left. They'll call me. If I do'nt answer, they'll come over here."
"You're so inconsiderate."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"That's a difficult task."
"Do it anyways."
"Okay, well, I can never use a full tube of ChapStick."
"Nobody can. Next factoid about Charlotte Summers, please."
"I don't know!"
"You have to know!"
"Get kneading, boy."
A decent amount of time later, our food was ready. The kitchen was filled with all sorts of delectable scents. "I think we did good," Luke said, removing the lid from the lasagna.
"Me too," I agreed, taking the bread out of the pan. "Dad! Dinner's ready."
"I'll get some later," he replied.
It was when we took our first bite that we realized that baking lasagna and garlic bread with brownies in the oven was one of the worst things we could've done. The brownies tasted Italian and the lasagna tasted like chocolate.
"This is interesting," I said, tasting the lasagna.
"Yup."
"I don't want this food to go to waste, but I also don't want to finish it."
"Your dad's a human trashcan, right?"
"I guess so."
"Let's let him eat it. All of it."
"Isn't that a bit cruel?" I asked hesitantly, poking at the noodles with my fork. It looked fine, but the taste was so exotic and the two flavors didn't compliment each other at all.
"I suppose, but it'd also be a crime to let it go to waste."
"So why don't you eat it?"
He patted his stomach delicately. "I'm watching my figure."
I leaned over and pushed him. "You need to do a better job."
"My new year's resolution was to lose ten pounds by June. I have to get in shape for bikini season!"
"Are you making fun of me?"
"Why? Was that your resolution too?"
"No."
"Then what was?"
"I'm not going to tell you."
"This isn't like a birthday wish, Charlie. You can tell me. In fact, I think you'd better. I can keep you on track. I wouldn't want you to be disappointed by the time the year's done."
"I'll tell you when I accomplish it."
"What makes you so sure that you will?"
"Self-control, Luke. It's the key to accomplishing anything."
"I hope to gain more of it as my maturing progresses."
I smiled. "Words of the wise."
"How so?"
"Well for starters, you're actually admitting that this is a trait you don't have."
He sighed. "I don't like this 'growing up' thing."
"You're going to have to do it eventually."
"But maybe not now."
I looked up at him. "What do you mea--"
The next thing I knew, a piece of brownie was being shoved in my mouth. It crumbled as Luke mashed it into my face. I heard him guffaw as I chewed rapidly. The faster I moved my mouth, the faster I could spit venom onto his face. That gave me my next idea. It was a rather revolting thing and I was positive that Luke wouldn't be happy about it. It only made me want to do it more. As I watched him double over with laughter, I pretended to choke, which only led to real choking. He stopped laughing, his face suddenly showing signs of concern. I had his undivided attention. "Are you okay, Charlie?"
I spit the brownie up on him. "I am now."
He reached for a paper towel and cleaned my brownie upchuck off of himself. "You're disgusting and immature."
"I learn from the best."
"At least my brownie wasn't coated in your saliva!"
"Oh, come on. You like that."
"You're right. Let's try a mimic technique. I'll do it first and you copy." And with that, he popped my saliva-covered, Italian brownie into his mouth.
---
Also, whoever boy she ends with, it'll be cliche either way. So, that's that.