Holiday His Stories (BXB short stories)

Magically Delicious

Magically Delicious

A/N:  This story mentions Halloween and Christmas, so it counts, right?  

Sixth Grade

Frick, I'm gonna be late to my first day of middle school.

My mom takes the corner a little faster than she should have. My seat belt pulls tight, locking against my chest. A kid, standing by the bus stop, jumps back. As our car sped away, I whip my head around. The guy holds a bowl, but by the look of it, he might be wearing whatever used to be inside it.

But that was all I saw, a microsecond glimpse of a guy around my age, waiting at the bus stop, thankfully not dead even though it was kind of close.

Wearing his breakfast.

===

Seventh Grade

"Mom, mom! Mom! It's fine...! Fine, okay! I can be ten minutes late. No one cares!"

The car zooms around the corner. By this time, I'd learned to grab the handle above my seat, bracing myself as she takes the corner at forty five miles an hour.

The guy stands on the porch, like he does every day. Eating from his bowl. He'd definitely learned the lesson last year not to wait at the actual stop. Must enjoy his life, or something.

===

Eighth Grade

It is almost June. Already starting to get warm. It isn't too bad. I have on my favorite short sleeve gray shirt, the super soft one. Comfy jeans, ripped in the knees. My red hair is still a little damp, making it look closer to cinnamon, according to my twelve year old sister. She's brat, but it still doesn't hurt to have a girl's opinion. She got a ride from her bestie, Sienna, but I wasn't going to be caught dead in the car with sixth graders.

My mom zooms past me and honks, hell bent on getting to work on time. She is always running late. Always.

Not me, I am sitting pretty (literally), riding my bike casually to school, with a half hour to spare. I hate like fuck to rush, so I was super happy to get up early enough to eat, shower and make my way to school slow enough to not break out in a sweat.

Just as I ride past, he comes out of his house, the same purple plastic bowl in his hand, eating whatever. I catch his eye, and nod my head. Hoping. My stomach does cartwheels. But he just turns his back on me, looking at his neighbor's yard. Like I don't exist. Like I hadn't passed his house every day on the way to school for the last three years.

Whatever. He must be a dick.

I have tons of friends. I don't care about some fucker who eats the same fucking breakfast every morning.

Not at all.

Asshole.

===

Ninth Grade

Mid August

I walk slowly to the bus stop. Stand there, my foot doing a jittery dance. Looking at the ground, then at his door, then at the ground. Check my phone. Five minutes until the bus to the high school comes. Maybe his parents drove him. It's way too far to ride a bike. But..

His door opens and he steps out, still holding that purple bowl. He's gotten taller over the summer, but is still a few inches shorter than me. His brown hair is a little longer, almost to his shoulders, but not quite. Maybe he'd used some product because it seemed...fuller, like fluffier, than it normally did.