A Recipe for Disaster

fuck you

Three weeks later, everything was running smoothly for me.

Well, not this one specific part. Graham and Maya.

We were chill and all, but Graham kept talking about his girlfriend, Maya. I sort of asked for this, but not for every damn second!

As I entered English class a little late, Mrs. Mofrent looked at me with disapproval, like she'd caught me doing something wrong.

"You're late!" she said, clearly frustrated, her arms crossed and a small mole on her left cheek moving like an ant. Ew.

"I'm sorry, math was upstairs and—"

"I don't care; I get to choose your partner," she interrupted sternly.

I let out a small sigh of defeat as I made my way to my seat.

Looking back at this day, I regret not arguing with Mrs. Mofrent. I should have said, "I was only 20 seconds late! It's not like I was three hours late!"

But I was friends with practically everyone, so I thought it wouldn't be a big deal.

As I took my seat, I glanced at Graham and gave him an apologetic shrug. He was partnered with Cole, a short kid who's really nice but has the dirtiest jokes.

Everyone was choosing partners while I stayed seated, reading through the assignment. When I finished, I looked up to see that everyone was paired up, and I was left alone. Honestly, working by myself was better than working with anyone.

"I guess you're working with—"

Just then, Ryder walked into the classroom at the slowest pace possible. Did he not realize he was three minutes late, not three minutes early? But you can guess what happened next.

"Ryder," Mrs. Mofrent said, finishing her sentence.

No,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no, no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,nonono,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no,no.

I looked at Ryder, knowing no matter how much I begged and pleaded, Mrs.Monfrent would not change my partner. He glanced at the teacher, then at me.

"What's happening?" he asked, confused.

"You're working with Amy for the project." Mrs.Monfrent informed.

He let out an exasperated sigh and gave me an up-and-down look. "Can't I just work by myself?"

"No, this is your consequence for coming to class late."

He glared at the teacher, as he walked over to my desk and slumped into the chair like a piece of macaroni.

"So, what's this project about?" he questioned.

"We have to make a video about something we really dislike, then show ways we can change it using allusion, metaphor, or rhetorical questions. And—"

"Okay, sure, whatever," he waved a hand, dismissing it. Well, not to him, probably. "I'll film you today, and we can get it over with."

"We have to choose a topic first."

He leaned back in his chair impatiently. "How about the media or climate change?"

"We need to do something different from what everyone else is doing," I pointed at the board, where all the instructions are, and what group is doing what.

"You would have known that if you let me finish my sentence," I grumbled, annoyed at how rude and impatient Ryder was being.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever, we can do sexism and gender equality."

I nodded, surprised he thought of that. "Sure, so we can write it and film it next class."

"We could just use ChatGPT," he suggested.

The hell? 

"No, we might get caught and get in trouble," I pointed out.

He sighed again. "But it's too much work, and I have other things to do."

"I have a life too, and I can't do this all myself. Maybe you can stop being so unhelpful!" I said, feeling frustrated with Ryder's laid-back attitude.

Ryder glared at me, his deep blue eyes piercing mine as he straightened up. "Look, bitch," he started, his voice rough and vexed. "We won't remember this shit in three years, and neither will you. So what's the point of trying?"

He was trying to stir up trouble, and I knew it. But his "smart" comebacks were just plain annoying.

"Well, maybe you won't remember because you'll have a kid from Matilda," I shot back.

Surprisingly, he wasn't a dad yet at the raw age of 22, didn't even get an abortion. 

"You're just upset that I'm popular and fuckable while even Graham doesn't want to fuck you, let alone date you," he retorted, his blue-grey eyes piercing into mine.

"Friends aren't supposed to date, you know!" I said, my voice cracking a little in frustration.

Ryder smirked as he slid deeper into his chair. "Well, actually, they can. Ever heard of friends-with-benefits?"

I wanted to scream, but there were people watching, so I had to keep my cool and not embarrass myself like last time. "That's not what friends-with-benefits are, dumbass."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, it is!"

"No, it isn't," I shot back, my voice harsh as I glared at him, my brown eyes now piercing his. "And I'm not going to argue about this when we should be working."

"Then let's use ChatGPT!" he insisted, repeating his terrible idea from earlier. "It's too much work, and I'm sure you have other things to do!"

"I do have stuff to do, but I'm not going to cheat my way through it!" I felt frustrated with Ryder's "I'm too cool for this" attitude. "Maybe that's what you like to do, but I'm not that type of person!"

"I don't care!" he grumbled. "I just want to finish this!"

I let out an annoyed sigh and briefly ran my hand through my tangled hair. I felt his gaze on me, making me uncomfortable.

I hated my hair. I still do, and I think I always will. You'd think I would love it because of social media, but I genuinely hate it. I hate how hard it is to comb, how hard it is to style. No matter how many moisturizers I use or how many shampoo and conditioner brands I try, my hair looks and feels like a mess. That's one of the reasons I usually wore braids; it's easier to control, and I know no one is judging me. At least, not that I can see, and that might not be great for some people, but for me, it's enough.

"Fun fact, Ryder," I began, snapping his eyes away from my hair, "I want to finish this stupid project too. But if you keep saying that, it won't change a single thing!"

He rolled his eyes once more and said sarcastically, "Oh, I'm so sorry! I will work—"

Before Ryder could finish, Ms. Mofrent interrupted him, reminding us to focus on our project instead of talking. You'd think this would annoy me, but it didn't. This was what I liked to call an "ironic moment" because now Ms. Mofrent has her own My 600-lb Life show on TLC; it airs every Tuesday.

I love ironic moments.