Chapter Ten: Lollipop

It was a summer dress Thursday. My pink, mid thigh dress was fluttering at the mercy of the malicious air conditioners. It was the first time I actually hated those things.

I'd finished up my cleaning with Lorraine earlier on in the morning. We ignored one another the entire time which was veery delightful.

You know what, Zayn didn't drop by once to check up on her. I was getting suspicious of their relationship.

If I followed my dreams of debuting my gossip blog, They would've been plastered to death with rumors, both true and false. Mostly false.

And I'd propose in a dismissive air that perhaps their relationship was farce.

Speaking of proposals, Cole's been planning one. The entire thingamajig made my head hurt so I excused myself when he told mom and dad and totally ommited the part where Holly was pregnant.

He was proposing today, reason for my ultra girly dress. I was dreading refusing Cole's proposal to Bring me a change of clothes instead of wearing them to school

I'd gotten a handful of compliments and unabashed gawking at my stubby legs.

Another new development in my life, Carson Walters was right next to me on a wobbly stool. His oogle was destabilizing.

“Can you stop staring at me” I glared at him.

Mad? No, I wasn't. I just didn't think I'd bump into him in the dress that barely covered my ass.

“Um, okay” He mulled it over, running a hand through his hair.

Said hair which was always unkempt and pointing in all Sixteen cardinal points. If ever I visited his house, I'd come with gel as a gift.

“You look nice today” Carson was back, smirking like his life depended on it.

Though, I was glad he wasn't staring at my bare legs underneath the apron, I was happy about that.

“In other words, I don't look nice other days?”

Carson flushed. “No. That wasn't what I meant. You look beautiful everyday. You just let out a bit of skin today.”

I reminisced the gala night. “I confessed to you with a naked back two weeks ago and you broke my heart. Don't act interested now”

I grabbed a brush, slathered it in blue paint and made to do something on the canvas. Just so you know, I don't know how to paint.

I joined arts and crafts because it was a better alternative to computer science.

Carson was a sputtering, red mess. “I didn't think I'd see the pretty lady in the black dress again so I didn't want to give you hope”

“Give me hope?”

“Yes. You had moon eyes and were craving my touch. I had to let you down slowly”

I squawked out loud, scarring anyone with ears. “Car, I'm sorry but I did that just so I could get some alcohol. It wasn't real”

“You played me?” His eyebrows drew together.

“I didn't think anything of it” I pouted but he wasn't any less annoyed. “What's got a panini up your strudel?”

Said a great woman.

Carson cracked, face splitting into a grin. He laughed haphazardly, shaking his spikey blonde hair all over the place. Including my face.

“What the hell?”

I jutted my chin to the heavens for such a great achievement. Carson was Genuinely laughing and not trying to get in my pants.

“It's a slang” I shrugged, Paying farce attention to my painting which was going downhill.

In reality, I was willing to pay a lot to have Carson opt for a conversation instead of doing real coursework.

“You and Davenport. Are you together?”

His blue eyes were sparkling, Literally. The sun was enhancing each and every blue hue in there and I unfortunately loved it.

The more I looked, the more complex the colors intertwined and blended and…oops, he was talking.

I nodded along, Wondering what the hell he was drooning on and on about.

“In conclusion, I am certain you were not listening to a word I said because Milan Mayfield's head is always on another planet”

I took offence. So much offence.

“That's not true. I pay proper attention and quite frankly nod at appropriate times during conversations”

“I asked a question and you nodded”

“It was a reply, who cares if it applies”

Carson and I were holding literary swords and we're about to charge when he sighed, rolling his crystal eyes.

“You're the worst”

I'm the worst? I'm the best feminine entity the world is yet to see.

“If you asked me, I'd say you're no better”

“I don't fight”

Low blow.

“I don't Make fun of girls I barely know” I returned to my painting. Carson didn't deserve my attention.

I got the sky right. All that was left was just a million more bite sized insulations in my rendition of high school musical with Milan Mayfield starring as Gabriella Montes.

“I don't kiss Popular Jock's asses”

“What?” My face scrunched.

I didn't know any popular jock except Zayn. Except Zayn.

I frowned. “I do not kiss Davenport's ass”

“But you want to?”

Carson was having way too much fun riling me up. I was fuming and ready to swing a canvas at his head. Or gel his goddamn hair with super glue.

“I don't. Though I'm sure you want to kiss mine. I know you like my ass”

Carson flushed and I was assured that carson did stare at my posterior when I was unaware. I felt an iota of pride bubble in my chest.

“Are you in love with me, Mr Walters?”

He was changing colors faster than I could fail at painting. It was awesome to know I had such abusable powers and also know that Carson Walters was head over heels crazy for me.

Carson sputtered a defense. I shushed him. “You don't have to say anything, i can see”

He frowned and turned in his stool to his blank canvas, grabbing his brushes in a hurry.

“What are you painting?” I peered over a few minutes later. I only caught a glimpse of brush strokes before he turned away his masterpiece.

Damn gifted people and covertness.

Giftless peasants like myself openly showed off our disabilities.

I reached for my brush, eyes cloudy in remembrance. The little shit slid off the table to the ground.

I contemplated giving up for a second before bending over to grab it.

Some evil thought made me look up, at Carson. His posture. His Legs. The Bulge in his pants.

***

Well, that day was less than perfect. At least, I got a free ride from Carson whereby I didn't mention his huge erection.

The entire Mayfield and Sanchez family were squeezed tight at a little picnic table. The older population were discussing politics while the extremely younger ones were playing in the sand.

You guessed right, we were at the beach, tanning and putting together sandwiches for dinner.

I excused myself from the table and scuttled closer to Cole and Holly. They were setting a much larger table in along the coast.

Cole stood to the side, watching holly Wipe the dust off the table top. His lips were partially risen.

“Ready" I shoved his arm lightly to get his attention.

He jeered lowly. "I think I am. Plus, It's way to late to back out" His stare didn't leave her.

I liked seeing Cole like that. Completely carried away and well…in love.

He looked much less exhausted by the thought of law school or his annoying little sister or of Taking over from when dad left off after his retirement. He just looked content.

“I think you are ready. I can see how much you like her”

And I've come to accept that, I ommited.

“Thank you, Milan” Cole finally spared me the first glance of the evening. “Thank you for accepting Holly”

I smiled. “I know that if I didn't you'd marry her anyways and render yourself an only child”

He faked hurt. “I would never do that. You're essential In my life, baby sis”

“Never call me that again” I shuddered. Cole ignored me and swung an arm over my shoulders.

We watched the waves wash the beach and recede quietly like two old people. The sky grew darker behind us. It was almost time for dinner. Time for him to do his bidding.

Cole sighed and pulled his arms limp beside his body. On cue, holly called everyone to dinner.

“I guess it's time to be a man. Wish me luck”

And just like that, Cole was walking away. His hair was being tossed by the wind, so were his clothes. His feet got stuck in the sand sometimes. He almost tripped on a rock. He walked right into one of the smaller Kids.

I chucked, feeling myself grow teary. The entire escapade felt eerily similar to a farewell party. Childish, unmarried Cole was going away. Far, far way forever.

The first runnels of tears fell when Cole walked up to holly and kissed her senseless, ignoring our dumb familes' whistles and catcalls.

“What're you doing over there alone, Creep?” He shouted when he was finished, smirking cruelly.

“Avoiding PDA” I shouted back and ran over.

I had my seat and caught mom and dad sharing excited glances.

Let the drama begin.

****

Okay. Cole was an awful proposer.

He asked Holly to dance with him and then all of a sudden, amidst a pirouette, he went on one knee and boom. Holly was bawling.

She said the easiest yes of her life.

After that, we returned to have an actual dinner without holding our breaths.

Holly was still a tad bit teary.

“I can't believe you all fooled me into thinking this was an actual dinner. I'm in Leggings for God's sake”

She wiped her eyes, leaning into Cole.

“What's wrong with that, Honey? I love your legs in leggings” His lips were suctioning hers by the end of the sentence.

I stared in irritated exaltation.

“Let's talk about Wedding plans people” Devine Sanchez, Holly's Doctor mother said in a clipped tone.

I was scared of that woman. She was the sort of mother I thanked God I didn't have.

Cole and Holly shared a look. “We're getting married when Cole gets back from school. In three months”

Devine's jaw ate the dust. “Three months?”

“Hold on everyone. You only just got engaged, we can't make wedding plans just yet” Mom's tone was like whipped cream on a Lemon Tonic. It didn't help anything.

“We know what we're doing” Cole said.

“Of course you do. Don't you think it's a bit too early to pick a date?” Gabriel Sanchez was nothing like his business only wife. Explains why they were divorced.

“I agree.” Dad's voice was final, something Cole despised. “Give it a month or two”

“Then again” That was a voice I had been waiting to hear. Hope Sanchez, a child of her mother. “It's their wedding and not any of yours. We should leave vital decisions to them, don't you think?”

Mom was appalled. Dad wanted to shove her opinion down a drain. Her parents looked indifferent.

I'm. Effing. In. Love. With. Hope. Sanchez.

****

My phone rung.

I looked away from my book for a moment. I hadn't looked at that gadget throughout the day, Being carried away by my brother's marital life, you know?

I didn't give it much thought and ignored it. I had a hundred more pages and less than twenty minutes before my body would succumb to sleep. Blinking wasted too much of my time.

It buzzed again. I was almost tempted to pick it up.

And there went Two seconds of reading time spent on thinking. I shook the thoughts of whoever texted but they came back with appalling magnetic force.

Chelsea might have gotten some gossip.

Lorraine thought up a peace treaty.

Carson was being social.

Gertrude needed something to cuss at.

Sarah never texted me. Ever. It couldn't have been her.

I groaned and slammed my Mint condition (the cover was hanging on by tape and hope) Copy of Love Hypothesis shut, reaching for my phone while I was at it.

I scowled when I read the oh so special message.

Zayn Davenport: I'm hungry.

My first thought was to ignore it but I thought better and sent an equally dimwitted reply.

Come have a bite of me. I've heard I'm tasty.

No one had ever accented to me being the least bit edible. Children bit my fingers and spat.

Zayn Davenport: On my way, beautiful.

I rolled my eyes and put down my phone.

It was Ten in the night and I was close to dozing off. There were way more productive thing I could do. Such as work on my literature project but I stuck to my novel.

I picked up from where I stopped but my attention had already been split.

Why did I have Zayn Davenport's contact again? Right, to insult and annoy him.

Yet, he always outdid me.

I smiled lightly, reliving thousands of aggreviated momemts I spilled my guts to him and almost punched his head In.

My train of thought crashed and burned to ash and debris when my window cracked open. I saw his brown hair and thin fingers holding unto the window sill before I could complete a thought.

I rolled off my bed and ran to his aid…or death.

“What the hell?” I muttered briskly when I tore the window open.

“Help me then I'll explain” Zayn was slipping.

It was my lifelong dream to push Zayn off a building. I hadn't purposefully planned it as opposed to my dreams, he put himself up to the task yet I wasn't deriving any of such pleasure.

Zayn looked up. There was a full moon. It's reflection marvelled in his eyes.

I reached out a hand and helped him up, under some sort of witchy haze.

When he'd successfully manoeuvred into my bedroom. By that, I meant he was standing straight and not bent over heaving, He occupied about most of my breathing space.

We stood there, staring at one another. In shock? Happiness? Surprise? It was a wide blend of all of them.

I grew a brain first, planting my hand on my hip. “Firstly, Why?”

“You practically consented to it” Zayn shrugged.

“I did not. I thought you were joking”

“I wasn't. You should learn to decipher when I'm being serious sometimes, sweetie” Zayn hooked a finger under my chin, stared me intensely and strutted away like nothing happened.

“This is my first time in your room this year, Sweetie. Don't you feel honored?” Zayn. Was. Sitting. In. My. Bed.

I wanted to scream and do a happy dance at the same time.

“I do not. Infact, I want you gone. You're making me go mad” I foolishly made to pull him off. He was sitting on my novel.

“I know I am. You're obsessed with me”

“Says the guy who's at my house in the middle of the night”

“It's ten, Milan, grow up”

“I'm only immature around you. Now, please would you kindly get your man ass off my book”

“Glad I bring out the worst in you, Babe”

Okay. I'd had it.

“What's with the gross nicknames?”

Zayn was searching underneath his derriere for my book.

“Because,” He finally found it and tossed it at my face. “I'm single”

I never caught the book. It fell to the floor, the limp pages going up in a flurry of paper.

Holy shit. I made Zayn break up with Lorraine.

“Um..why?” I wringed my hands.

“We weren't on the same terms and we agreed that it'd be better if we stopped seeing each other” He didn't look dejected or broken–up–with. His eyes were actually bright.

“Are you sure?”

Zayn looked me dead in the eyes, nodding. “Should there be another reason why I broke up with her?”

I scooted and sat in my own bed which suddenly didn't feel very welcoming. His entire frame was filling up a large third of my bed. I felt little next to him. In my own damn room.

I rethought my choices and made to stand. But that would look foolish. I could not look foolish when I was with Zayn. Alone. In a shrinking room.

“No. There's nothing. Why are you here, by the way?”

I crossed my legs, it seemed weird. I uncrossed them.

“Nothing. Nice Jammies. By the way” He added the last part with a quirk in his tone.

I'd never been self conscious (I'd been a million times) with Zayn. I always had something to say when he commented about my clothing. I'd poke an insult back or I'd cache it in for future references.

It was the dawn of my speechlessness with Zayn. I hated it and wanted to shrivel up and die and decompose on my pink carpet.

When I decided to send femininity the bird and soldier up in my ugliest, two sizes too small pajamas that had holes everywhere–Everywhere– i hadn't thought about the possibility of midnight visitors.

It was once pink. Now Light brown.

Thank God for the vest I wore underneath, else, my areola would have been Zayn bathing.

I don't look too bad, I cheered myself up. Or, did Zayn just look too good.

His hair was fixed. Clothes were appropriate. My hair was in a flustered ponytail and I'd already lamented about my outfit.

“Thank you” I managed.

Zayn was stifling a laugh. I didn't want to provoke him but I was sitting next to him. His altitude was annoyingly helpful in analysing my awkwardness.

“you don't look bad, though those shorts should be burned”

I snorted. “I'll never, now that you mentioned it. They've become historic.”

In a few years, their seams would rip and the cotton would fray and I'd still smell them and have just a hint of Zayn's perfume.

“When did you get them, they look a milion years old” Zayn was up and walking around, filling my space with his scent. It almost felt as though he was dominating me.

“Three years ago. Christmas present.”

I was leaning back into my pillows, watching him walk around and fiddle with my things. Worst part was, I felt at ease.

Not like Zayn Davenport was making himself comfortable in my most personal space where I cursed him and used most swear words known to man.

“I see” He eyed my pile of homework. I suppressed a giggle. “Your room is…minimalist”

In other words, the most poised iteration of teenagering

I didn't have posters. Framed pictures on the wall. Trophies. It was very bland to my liking.

“I know. I don't like hoarding like some others who keep Sweatshirts in their lockers for entire soccer seasons”

Oh no. I didn't mean to say that. Zayn was smirking. I was dead. For sure.

“Do you sleep in my sweatshirt?”

Sweat trickled down my spine. “No I don't”

I only slept in it once. I swear.

“Do you think of me when you put it on?” He was becoming husky and maybe I was just imagining him slowly, seductively treading towards me.

“I would never” I waved a dismissive hand. Zayn was not dismissed.

“So, you do. Do you dream of me?”

Zayn would be the end of me. He was getting closer to my bed. I was sinking further into the pillows.

He climbed on from the other end on fours like a pouty little stripper…what the hell Milan???

“What are yo…?”

“For your information, It was only in my locker for so long because of winter”

“As if. You're a gross hoarder. I had to wash it over three times”

*You're exaggerating. There wasn't one stain on there that couldn't be scrubbed off with some detergent”

Milan Mayfield.

“Want proof?”

Was.

“Yes. I do.”

Setting herself up.

“Then I'll oblige and show your dumb ass”

For.

“Fine. Where is this proof you speak of”

Doom.

I stuck my hand between my pillows and tugged at the loose fabric i plunged in there after a chaotic night following a steamy dream.

Zayn's grey sweatshirt had lost it's scent. It smelled a lot like my shampoo.

“Aha” I mewed, throwing the material in his face.

Only when I recognized that egotistical smirk of his did I know what I had done.

“Touche. You do find me alluring. So much so, you sleep with my sweatshirt underneath your pillow”

I flushed. “It was a one night thing. I was hot so I stripped from it and pushed it there. Don't feel too special”

“Really?” I nodded. “What night?”

“Last night”

“It was 25 degrees last night”

Shit.

“The Air conditioning in my room is broken”

The lies kept coming.

My nose would have been smouldering his if I was Pinocchio. I needed to stop. But, how?

“What's your favorite color?”

Smoothe like butter.

“Don't have one”

Typical.

“Aw. That's a shame. I though it'd be black. Like your soul” I was on my A game, grinning in glee.

Zayn smiled, easing into the mattress further. I almost forgot how close we were. The distance between us was dinner plate sized.

“What is your favorite color, Milan?”

“Beige. Which is light and angelic like my–”

“–Heart. I thought as much. What's your favorite genre of music?”

And suddenly, we were transported to a world of question and answer. For hours and hours. We laughed, Play fought and almost killed one another.

It was a little over Five o'clock when Zayn yawned and dozed on my pillow. It was interesting to watch his breathing slow and mouth go slack.

I could almost touc–

His eyes snapped open, roaming. We stayed, locked in that moment for barely ten seconds yet it stretched on and on. I could almost see every good feature people praised Zayn for—if i squinted.

His stark blue eyes. Set Jaw. Dark brown eyebrows which were kissed by light hair. His lips. Those lips…

“I should go now” He broke the spiel.

Zayn got to his feet, shrugged on the hoodie he dumped about two hours ago, along with his shoes.

“I can't believe we stayed up all night” I chuckled, pulling down my awful ponytail.

His eyes lingered on me as my hair fluttered down in messy tangles.

“On a school night. We're going to be in deep shit tomorrow” Zayn was rubbing His eyes, still sleep ridden.

I didn't trust him driving in this state. He could doze and end up in an accident and die and who would I fight with?

“You should wash your face?”

His eyes widened. “Is there something wrong? Do I have drool on me?”

Zayn looked dead serious, running his hands up and down his face. I broke out in devilish laughter, pointing at imaginary drool.

“There nothing” I managed when I was calm. “You might fall asleep while driving so I thought it would help jerk your senses awake”

A ghost of a smile graced his face. “Good call”

****

I'd survived 3 unlucky years with Zayn Davenport. The key word there is survived, meaning he tried but didn't give me cardiac arrest.

I believed, I'd be the one ending his life soon.

Early in the morning 7o'clock i presume, there was a shiny bronze Car in my driveway. I knew the car and it's expensive brand too well to take my time being choosy with clothing.

I threw on anything wearable and ran down the staircase to put out literary fires.

The living room was empty. I could also hear loud chitchat coming from the kitchen. I swore and redirected.

"Good morning" I said to no one in particular.

Zayn was sitting with Dad at the breakfast bar, they were talking over breakfast while mom was chipping in from the kitchen.

I hated myself and Zayn there and then.

"Good morning Milan" Mom was too cheerful. Oh. Oh no, I was too late to save my poor mother from Zayn's stupid charm. "Your friend here came over to drive you to school”

Zayn smirked. I was thankful enough he said friend and not anything devious.

"Friend? That's the wrong word" I seethed.

Mom looked intoxicated, her lopsided smile widening by the second. "You never told me you had a...."

Oh no. Oh. No. No. No. No. No.

"That wasn't what I meant" I shrieked. My face was hot. By all costs, I avoided looking Zayn's way. "I meant, we're not friends"

Dad who once ignored the conversation got interested all of a sudden and interposed. "That blush says otherwise"

Mom nudged me forward a bit supporting her husband. "Why don't you two get to school. I made you both Lunches"

Zayn was ready. I definitely wasn't in my grey leggings, Burnt orange shirt and Goddamit, Zayn's Sweatshirt. It explained his smirk. He got to his feet, already holding both paper bags.

"Thanks Mr and Mrs Mayfield for breakfast, It was amazing" And the wizard was at it again.

I muttered goodbyes to my parents and walked to the car. I spared my own car an apologetic glance as I openly cheated on her with Zayn's Porsche.

"I didn't get a good morning, Millie" He smiled and unlocked the doors, balancing both bags in one hand.

“Do you deserve one Zayn? Do you really deserve one?”

He was bobbing his head up and down.

“I thought you'd be too tired to drive after last night so I offered a free ride”

“You gave my aged parents ideas. I'm never ever going to live this down”

Zayn started the car and pulled out of our lot.

“You can. If you go with the flow”

Zayn was high. On crack. Most considerately, tired or just Mentally impaired.

“I will not be doing that. Dating my alleged worst enemy sounds wxay worse than what they're thinking”

“Isn't that already what they're thinking?”

I mulled it over, face palming.

If Cole ever found out, I'd be done for. Finitto. Finished. Gone.

“I hate you, Zayn” I muttered.

“Your parents won't like you referring to you boyfriend as Just Zayn would they? How does Babe sound?”

I gagged. “Could never be me. And they don't care what I refer to my boyfriend as”

“Aha.” Zayn was shaking with laughter. “You just called me your boyfriend. I don't like the sound of babe either, lollipop. It's old fashioned”

Lolli–effing–pop?