Dude, I Kissed Your Mom! (DISCONTINUED)

19. 💋

" God, you look like you got hit by a make up truck!"

Roxie doesn't hesitate to throw a sharp punch on my shoulder at the insensitive comment aimed at her lack of make up applying skills. Honestly, even a clown make up was far more impressive that whatever she had on her face, in the name of make up.

" And you look like you buy your clothes at the school's lost and found section," Her pathetically drawn eyebrows shoot up, seemingly impressed by her below average insult at my clothing option of a sky blue button down shirt that was well tucked in inside my brown khakis, black loafers snugged under my feet, no socks because my pigs were sweating like mushrooms.

" Hey!" Mom shouts from above the stairs, putting on her golden loop earrings on her left earlobe, gingerly descending down the flight of stairs. " no fighting tonight. Or else I'll be forced to ground both your asses till you graduate."

Once she reaches the last staircase, she takes one look at both of us, a halfhearted smile on before dismissively waving us off as she bustles into the kitchen. Either she doesn't like my outfit or Roxie's. I'm gonna go with Roxie's. Her white pleated dress made her look like a 40 year old Sunday school teacher and her badly drawn eyebrows? A cocktail for fashion disaster. Still, I never understood why we had to dress up like some cheap novelty act every time the Dawson's showed up for dinner at our house.

We always have dinner with the Dawson's every Saturday evening. It's a ritual as old as time, a night of cheerful conversations, bashful laughter and welcomed comfort. An added bonus of mom stepping away from the grill/cooker meaning she won't cook her peculiar dishes. The house was spotless, polished to perfection, mom had put out her fine china and the crystal flute glasses were sparkling with the best champagne money could buy.

This was a banquet. A beautiful feast of the elite, except, we weren't as elite as the so called 'elite'. But today and every other Saturday, we dine like them.

" Roxie, Max , could you guys come help me in the kitchen please!" Both of us groan reluctantly before shuffling our exhausted feet into the kitchen. Mom looks overwhelmed, opening and closing cabinets, counting cutlery to ensure that it's enough to cater for the number of guests we were having. " Set the plates and cutlery on the table, make sure there's enough seats set around the dinner table as well, I don't want any sort of embarrassment tonight."

Roxie dives into grabbing the porcelain white plates that were stacked one on top of the other while I reach for the cutlery , carefully trailing behind her as our feet carried us to the dinning table that was neatly spread with an ivory linen table cloth, with leaf embroidery designs on the edges.

" Looking forward to seeing Charli tonight?" Roxie attempts small talk as she gently placed the China plates on the respective places.

" Why would I be looking forward to seeing her? She's not that important to me," I sneered, setting a dinner fork right beside one of the plates she'd already set down.

" That's not what the internet says," I glance at her from across the table, she's wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at me , bringing me into a cloud of confusion on what she was alluding to with her secret talking code.

" Huh?"

" Oh come on! Don't act as though you haven't already seen the picture that's circulating around social media,"

" What picture?"

" Of you, and Charli, kissing,"  I almost swallowed my tongue, don't even know if that's biologically possible. I'd spent the entire day excessively absorbed in my endless thoughts concerning the unannounced 'date' Amanda was going to with that Chicken Alfredo guy that I stupidly forgot to ask Jeremy Smuthers to delete that pic he took of me and Charli yesterday. I'm sure by now it's probably accumulated over 300k likes. The worst type of fame is internet fame.