Sweetish

Chapter 7

They rode down the cobblestone hills on a hydroelectric bike Sammy rented, with Sammy taking the lead. On the other hand, Dulce was behind her, gripping tightly to her lean but growing waist, desperately trying his hardest not to fall off and embarrass himself around his new friend. He was honestly surprised when she told him that everyone in her part of the city just knew how to ride them, to activate them since childhood.

When he saw her show off her glowing tattoo and rent it out without even reaching in her purse, he felt a sense of shame wash over him like a slow, growing flood. Here he was inviting her to FORAGE of all things, when it's clear she's never touched dirt before.

As he looked up at her from behind, he took notes of so many details he had noticed but never realized we're a direct result of her class.

Her hair smelled and looked synthetic, clean and softer than cotton. Without gel it flowed like flower petals in the wind. Her clothes always looked new, even if he knew she's worn them before. They felt like they were made of starlight, warping and reflecting every light that zoomed by, like the lakes of his home.

She smelled like ocean water.

He closed his eyes. He reminisces on the days back when he was just a child, before puberty when he still had his tail, when he and his father would go to the beach and collect sugar crystals and counterfit Sellshells to survive. The war seemed to only effect those who chose not to participate.

His father said it was on purpose. A sacrifice.

His childlike mind could only understand it as more stupid rules.

As they dunked the pan into the water once again, he felt hot frustration well up in his cheeks, knowing that no matter what, he and his father will only be left with the crumbs of their labor.

But he didn't let himself cry. Big boys don't cry. And he was a big boy.  Un niño grande. GRANDE.

He wanted to cry.

Of course, back then everyone else did too. Of course they wanted to. But they needed to focus.

To feed the beast.

This lead to a much more recent memory of him working in his shop. Organizing treats by size, flavor and color. Every little truffle and lollipop was perfectly placed, ready to be sold and enjoyed bite by mouthwatering bite. If it weren't for him losing his appetite on them long ago, half because a good chef always tastes his recipes and half because of him having to eat his own candies to survive the first few months he left home, he would have eaten them all himself.

Every tool and pictureframe shined like new.
The decor was perfectly preserved and presentable. Anything important had at least 12 replacements, and if not, he was finally in the place where buying another didn't mean starvation or ignoring illnesses. He even had a fresh new pack of protective gloves he kept in case his sense of touch came back. It won't, but his father has been...wrong... before. At least once.

From across the shop he heard the deafening but necessary ring of the bell, and two rather young customers enter the shop. Or at least he thought they were customers.

"That war didn't happen dude, I'm telling you it's all a conspiracy!"

Oh no. No no no.

"Oh really? And what would they have to gain over pretending they have no food, no water, and literal gas scars all over them."

"Sympathy Ryan! Those M*dskippers..."

M*dskippers. How bold. Of course he says that out loud, directly across from him in HIS shop. These conspiracy theorists are always that of two kinds. The ones who want to "civilize" him, and the ones who think he's a literal fish person.

"Those M*dskippers want us to feel bad so they can take all of our shells through 'reperations' for some made up war that never even happened." The boy pointed to his temples as if he were making some smart argument. "If it did, why didn't they show it on the the screens, why aren't there lessons about it in school?"

He wanted to take the molten chocolate and throw it across the room.

His friend seemed to have some sense, though. "Because that's how winning a war looks like Kevin. We weren't effected because we WON. Dumbass."

Dulce changed his mind on the molten chocolate.

The one named Ryan crossed his arms. "Look, when Brittany gets here, we'll just go up and ask, and you can stop being stupid!"

Oh great. There's going to be a third one.
And right on cue, like a bad sitcom or a book who's writer has a big dictionary and very little experience, the supposed 'Brittany' opened the door, causing another ring of the monsterous bell. Necessary. It's definitely necessary

All this ringing made him feel like he was going to have a migraine.

Their blue eyed friend entered the conversation seamlessly.
"Hey guys, did you buy anything yet?
Oh my masters, is that the GUY?"

Dulce turned around to re-re organize his stock. As long as they didn't look at his face, perhaps he could make it out of this.

"They really DO have those burns! To be honest I always thought they were all dead!" She seemed very proud of that sentence.

"Brittany!!!" The first two shouted in unison.

"No no I mean it looks cute! Like in a sexy golem or a zombie in one of those movies you hide under the bed. I wonder if our kids would have those."

"Brittany, GROSS!" Ryan cringed at the suggestion. Dulce found this offensive, but he didn't want to stir the pot. He's not even sure he knows how.

Kevin on the other hand found this completely hilarious but, Dulce had a feeling that the humor he found in this wasn't about him being twice the girls age.

Three. There are three kinds.

Suddenly his memories echoed and shook like an earthquake to a loud but familiar voice.

"Okay D., we're here! Where is this cave you wanted to show me?"

Samuela.