Soda Pop

Chapter 26- The Accident

The doorbell rang sharply at at 6:53.

I quickly take one last look in the mirror, before walking over to the large door and opening it.

"Hey Casey!"

"What are you doing here, Courtney?"

"I need your help."

"With what?"

"I burnt the cookies I made. I made them for Soda Pop, to show my appreciation. But I burnt them. How do I un-burn them?"

Is she being serious? Did she seriously just ask that? How to un-burn cookies? Wow. That's a whole new level, even for her.

"Hun, you have to not burn them to begin with. Now, can you ask Della for help or something? I have company coming over," I push her towards the door.

I look at the clock. Not too long until Brett gets here. I have to get rid of her.

"Wait, why are you wearing your Armani dress? That you said 'shows off to much cleavage'?"

"I just felt like wearing it," I say awkwardly, turning around to go into the kitchen and get a glass of water. Hopefully she doesn't figure it out. She may not be booksmart, but she can tell a lie when she sees one.

"Or, you have someone special coming over. Who is it? Are you going to make out? Tell me everything."

"Can I tell you everything, but tomorrow, He is going to be here in-" I start, but the doorbell rings.

"Now," I sigh.

"Fine, tomorrow. Cya," she says, grabbing her purse.

I open the door to see Brett standing there. He is wearing a really cute shirt that is more tight fitting, and dark jeans.

"Casey, you look-" His eyes grow wide.

"Hi, I'm her best friend, Courtney," She appears next to me and I see Brett's eyes grow wider. Courtney let's out a little gasp.

"I have to go." She says briskly and awkwardly before just walking away. "Bye Case. Cya tomorrow."

What was that about?

"Hey," I say, showing a slight smile.

"Hey there Ms. Carson, how is your fine Sunday going?" Brett asks with with a totally bad British accent.

I decide to play along. "Well, Mr. Jenkins, it's going just fantastically. May I ask what that whole thing with my friend was about?"

"It was nothing." He says a little to quickly. "I've never seen her before."

"Oh, okay then. Come on in," I show him in.

Can I just say, I made sure our maid cleaned the house extra good this morning just for him. I couldn't have a guest over with the house looking like a trash dump.

"So where are we studying?" He asks, sort of in awe of the whole big-fabulous-house thing.

"In my room."

"And where would that be?"

"On the top floor."

"So I will get some excersize just going up to your room? What there's no elevator?"

"Eh, it not that bad. Besides, it's a good workout," I chuckle, leading him up the giant mahogany staircase.

"Your house is-" He starts, and stops as we near my room.

"Huge. I know," I say, opening my door, that has a quote by r.m. drake on there.

It reads: Trust, is a luxury. In swirly calligraphy. R.m. drake is by far my favorite quoter(Quotee? I don't know...). Whatever he is though, all of his quotes perfectly describe me, and I feel like his quotes help me when I'm down sometimes.