ZaDR-Oil and Water: The Stars Align

Making Plans

"Does the Dib want the ZIM to make the FOOD for this marathon of SCREEN?"
Dib chuckled. "And eat a plastic bag covered in ketchup? No thanks. I'll just order pizza again."
"AHA! The DIB has underestimated ZIM once more! ZIM has been studying human COOKING! I have made many of the PASTA!" ZIM boasted loudly, shifting the phone to his other ear.
Dib held his receiving ear. "Ugh, ZIM! How many times do I need to tell you to put your phone on speaker on the floor? You're gonna make me go deaf right before the season finale of Mysterious Mysteries.
"And dim the AWSOMENESS of my surperior voice?!"
"Zim...!"
"Okay, okay." Zim said in a lower voice
"Good." Dib smirked. "What time are you coming?"
"That DEPENDS if you dare let me make PASTA in your kitchen!"
"My father's kitchen."
"What's wrong, Dib-stink? Chicken?"
Dib rolled his eyes. "Am not. You know that better than anyone. If one of us is a chicken, it's you."
"Oh? Prove it. Eat my PASTA!"
Dib tapped his fingers against his desk loudly. "Fine. But if it's gross, I'm ordering pizza."
"HAHA! Victory is ZIM's!" He stood triumphantly on top of his desk.
"Get down, Zim. I know you're standing on your desk again."
"GASP! The Dib must have hidden CAMERAS in Zim's bedroom. How SCANDALOUS!" ZIM's squeedily splooch pounded at the thought of Dib watching him all hours of the day. He smiled as a light teal dusted his cheeks.
Dib flushed, huffing. "Shut up, you're not dangerous enough to have 24 hour surveillance installed." His squeedily splootch dropped when he said that, his face paling.
"Zim is plenty DANGEROUS!" He said, sporting a crack in his confident tone.
Dib snorted. "You wish."
"If Dib has not hidden cameras like a PERVERTED old man than HOW does he know what Zim is DOING?"
Dib rubbed his temples as his ears flushed as well. "Stop making me sound gross, Zim. I know because you do it all the time. I've seen you. And like I told you the last time I was over: that's not what desks are for."
"The Zim shall escevate the ingredients for PASTA from the kitchen!"
"Focus on cooking. I'm hanging up."
"Noooo! The Dib cannot LEAVE at such a stupendous moment!"
"And have you blame me for burning your pasta? No way. Besides, I have to go get more snacks for the marathon. I'll leave my window unlocked again so if you get there before me, just let yourself in. Dad's out on a business trip and Gaz is probably still playing that new game she got yesterday."
"Okay."
"Okay. I'm hanging up now."
"Wait, Dib—" Beep. Beep. Beep. Zim looked down. Would he ever have the courage to ask Dib any of the questions that swam around in his head whenever he laid awake at night? Probably not. Zim dragged his feet, gathering the ingredients for the pasta he planned to make: spaghetti noodles, onions, garlic, cinnamon, sauce, basil and garlic bread.
Meanwhile, Dib went to the corner store, walking with his hands in his pockets. "Welcome to Olly's! Let me know if there's anything I can help you find!" called the teenager behind the counter. They wore blue eyeliner and had a half buzzed hair cut. Wait! This kid was in his art class! Dang were they cute. Dib nodded jerkily like a robot. Focus, FOCUS. Snacks, for the marathon. That was Dib's mission which had nothing to do with attempting small talk with his classmate or wondering what they were doing when their shift ended. He forced himself to focus on the shelves in front of him. Doritos, Cosmic Brownies, Star Crunch, Tostitos, salsa,  M&Ms, Fruit Roll-ups, Gushers, Kettle cooked chips. Now drinks. Gatorade, Monster, Cola, Starry.
Okay. That was enough.
He brought the pile of snacks and drinks piled in his arms onto the counter.
"Movie marathon?" The bluenette behind the counter asked.
Dib almost dropped his wallet as he chuckled nervously. "Mysterious Mysteries actually. They're playing the whole series to refresh before the new one airs tomorrow."
The teen's eyes grew wide. "Wait, I know you. You're in my art class, right? You're Dib, your dad's that famous scientist guy, right?"
Dib was surprised that this person remembered him let alone his name. "Right, yeah, that's me!" His voice was cracking and he hated it.
"Hope you enjoy your marathon. Your total is $50.35."
"Th-Thanks." Dib dropped coins all over the floor while counting out his money. Dang. He felt like an idiot picking them up but Cobalt helped him. His heart was pounding in his ears. "Sorry for the mess."
"No problem, trust me. I've been standing behind that counter for an hour without anyone coming in."
"That sounds really boring."
"Oh, it is."
Before he could stop himself he asked: "When's your shift end?"
Cobalt raised their eyebrows. "Ten, why?" They tilted their head with a smile. Dib was about to answer when his phone rang. He ignored it. "Aren't you gonna get that?"
"They can leave a message." Dib held eye contact. This was it! This was Dib's chance to hang out with Cobalt...! He wouldn't let whoever was calling ruin that. But it just KEPT RINGING, stopping for mere seconds before resuming.
"Maybe you should get that?" Cobalt suggested as another customer showed up.
Dib groaned before walking outside with the phone. "I SWEAR TO GOD...!" Dib yelled as he answered the call. "WHAT THE HECK DO YOU WANT?" Silence. "If you don't answer after ALL THAT I'm—"
"Do you prefer garlic BREAD or KNOTS?" Zim's voice asked.
"You rang my phone nonstop to ask me THAT? I don't care! It doesn't matter!"
"AHHH...!"
"What is it now?" Dib dimmed his eyes as he walked home.
"Burned my HANDS!"
"You're an idiot." Dib chuckled.
"So is DIB!"
"Suuure, keep telling yourself that." Dib smirked. "That was it, right?"
"Yep."
"Bye."
"Farewell, HUMAN! Prepare to be AMAZED by my FOOD skills!"
Dib laughed. "Okay, I'll see you later." Click.