A R I A
The week flew by pretty quickly, with no pranks from Miles. I find that suspicious since he looked so determined to take me down Monday night.
At least it's now Friday night, and all I want to do is lay in bed and sleep all day. But my lovely aunt decided we have guests over for dinner, more specifically, our new neighbours.
After I took a shower, I dress myself in a plain black shirt, ripped jeans, and an olive green jacket. My hair was in a high ponytail and I apply a bit of lip gloss and mascara. The Prescott's are supposed to be here in about forty minutes, so I rush down to help Paul set the table.
My eyes lit up when I spot a roll of Mentos by the sink. Since Miles and I aren't of legal drinking age yet, we'll be having Coke. Grinning like an evil genius, I grab the Mentos as soon as Paul leaves the room and place them in an ice cube container. After I fill it with cold water, I put it in the freezer.
And now, we wait . . .
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The doorbell rings, and Lydia springs up from the couch to open the door.
The Prescott's greet my aunt and uncle first, seeing as they already met each other earlier in the week. Miles' parents say hello to me next.
"You must be the famous Aria. Your aunt has told me about you, you're such a beautiful young lady. Isn't that right, Miles?" Mrs. Prescott smiles and hugs me.
Miles coughs awkwardly and so I jump at the chance to change the subject.
"Thank you. It's nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs. Prescott. Please, follow me." I instruct, showing them into the dining room.
When they take their seats, the food is already on the table. I help Lydia serve the guests and Paul, and while she pours the adults wine, I offer Miles Coca Cola. He agrees, so I pour him some and for myself too. Then I ask if he wants ice and when he shrugs in response I have to keep myself from lifting the corner of my lips upwards. I make sure to give him three cubes that have Mentos in them, which should react in about five minutes. I take my seat next to him and scoot my chair as far as I can away from Miles.
Miles chuckles and bites into his chicken. "I'm not going to bite you, Shortcake."
I sneeze. "Sorry, I just don't want to catch a disease."
He shakes his head. I keep glancing at the clock to see if five minutes has passed. Only four has, so I poke at Miles.
"Dude, you might want to use your napkin. We don't want those fancy pants to get ruined, do you?" I smirk.
He rolls his eyes but obeys and places the napkin on his lap.
"So Aria, do you and Miles share any classes?" Mrs. Prescott asks, taking a sip of her wine.
I nod my head. "We have English and-"
As soon as Miles picks up his glass and was about to drink the soda, it explodes in his face.
"What the fu-fruit cake!" He almost falls back on his chair, and I'm trying my best not to laugh like an idiot.
Instead, I jump up and grab a bunch of tissues and snatch the glass before it falls off the table.
"Miles! What did you do?" Mr. Prescott scolds, his face red.
"I swear it-" He is cut off by his mother.
"Miles, this is getting out of hand! Apologize right now." She says sternly.
Miles' glare is on me, wiping up the spill on the table.
"I am so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Brooks. I just don't know what happened. It was my fault entirely." He says, sarcasm dripping off every word. But no one seems to catch on. Thank goodness.
"Oh, it's alright dear. How about you and Aria clean this little mess up?" Lydia shoots him a polite smile.
He shoots me another glare before saying, "Sure, but do you mind if I run back over to my house and change first?"
I almost laugh again, his black dress shirt is drenched and so is parts of his hair. He takes a couple of tissues and wipes his face and hands.
"Of course." Paul chuckles.
Mr. Prescott hands keys to Miles and he heads out the door. He comes back within five minutes to help me clean up the rest of the mess. It's when I'm in the kitchen away from the adults washing a rag when he grabs my wrist.
"You better watch your back, Shortcake. I mean, really? In front of our parents?" He threatens.
They're not my parents. I thought he knew that already. No doubt Maya would have told him.
I smirk. "Or what?"
He frowns and hesitates. "You'll be sorry."
I laugh and take the wet rag, smacking him in the face with it.
"Well, I'm not." I stick my tongue out before returning to the dining room and finish up cleaning, leaving him stunned.
After dinner, I excuse myself and retreat to my room. The Prescott's are still downstairs chatting with my aunt and uncle, and Miles is probably bored out of his mind. Good.
Sighing, I shrug off my jacket and throw it under my bed, where most of my other clothes are. Since I have nothing to do, I sit on my bed and look around for anywhere in the room where I can paint over.
Nowhere.
I grab Stitch and curl up into a ball, hugging him close to me.
I wish Mom were here.
I wish Dad could look at my art and say: Wow, that's beautiful, my little artist.
But they're not here. I'll never be able to share my passion with them. My eyes start to water, and soon a couple of tears spill.
And that's when I hear the door creak open.
I figure it's Paul or Lydia, telling me the guests have left. So I remain in my position, knowing they'll leave me alone since I often do this.
"Shortcake?"
Miles.
Crap.