Ready

Eight~*

When I wake up, I remember everything that happened last night. I sit up, a silly smile stuck on my face. I wrap myself up with my covers, trying to control my shivers. Darren wants to watch a film with me again! That means he likes me ... right? Well, he must like me a tiny bit, else he wouldn't have let me watch a film with him last night.

Or ... He's just trying to be nice, because his Dad's my Godmother's Husband-To-Be. I feel my face fall. What if this is all fake? I let out a frustrated groan, shoving my head back into my pillow.

I look over at the clock hanging on the wall, and bolt up. It's almost 11am. I scramble out of bed, and pull on some pyjama shorts. I open the bedroom door, peering out to see if there was anyone out there.

I go down the stairs, and hear someone in the kitchen. When I go in, I see Darren cooking something. I make an effort to bang the door into the worktop. He turns around, his black hair sticking up everywhere. His blue eyes focus on me. "Good morning." I say to him, going to the fridge to get out the apple juice. Only to find that there isn't any apple juice in there.

"Morning, Lilly-Mae. If you're looking for apple juice, it's already out. Debbie said that you like it, so I kept it out for you." Then he looks back to the food. "No big deal, or anything." I bite the inside on my cheek to stop myself smiling.

"Thank you!" I say, getting out a glass, and pouring apple juice into it. "What are you making?" I ask. He lifts up the pan, and I see that it's an omelette. "Can I have some?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm making it."

I make an angry noise. "And? It wont kill you to give me a bit."

"I don't care. If you want an omelette, make your fucking own." I huff, and go and get some eggs out of the fridge, and the extra frying pan out of the cupboard. I claim the hob next to the one Darren's using.

I start making my omelette, and I'm all too aware that Darren's watching me. I glare up at him. "Why are you looking at me?"

He barks out a laugh, which I frown at. "Don't frown, Darlin'. It messes up your looks."

"You frown all the time." I reply, turning my attention to my omelette. I add bits of cheese and ham to it. He's frowning.

"You don't know anything." Darren snaps, taking his omelette off the hob, and putting it on a plate. The frying pan goes into the sink, he takes his plate out of the kitchen without another word. I sigh to myself.

I need to learn how to talk to people like Darren. One wrong move and BOOM! You've been exploded. I shake my head, plopping my omelette on to a plate.

I pull out a chair, and look out to the back garden, while I start my omelette. I'm about a quarter through it, when Darren walks through the kitchen, wearing black track bottoms and a white tank top. He has his back to me, as he bends down to pull on some black Nike's and walks out of the kitchen, into the back garden, without giving me a glance.

I sigh, pushing some of my omelette around my plate. I don't have much of an appetite anymore. I see Darren through the kitchen window, and he's kicking a football at the wall, kicking it harder and harder each time. I get up from the table and empty my plate, putting the plate into the sink.

I pause, looking out at Darren again. It's seriously going to take me ages to get on an even level with him. He's the world wide singer in a famous band, and I'm just an average high school student. There's not really a lot of common ground with that sort of combination.

I walk into the hallway, and I'm about to go up to my room, when Debbie stops me, tears streaming down her face. This makes me stop instantly. "Debs, what's wrong?" I ask, holding her arm. She looks up at me, eyes wide. When she looks me in the eyes, fresh tears brim over, and she clutches me to her.