Project Fat Suit

Thirty-Seven: Being Cupid

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Being Cupid

“Mam, if you’re not going to buy anything, I’m afraid you have to leave.”

I glared at Uranus. He was equally as annoyed as I was, if not, more. I could tell he wanted nothing more than to yell at me, but he couldn’t just shout at me while he was on the job.

 “There, I’m buying a freakin’ Snickers bar,” I told him while grabbing some random candy bar from behind me. “Now tell me why you did it,” I demanded and threw the candy bar onto the conveyor belt.

“That’s a Kit Kat,” Uranus told me, trying to change the subject and avoided looking at me by ringing up my candy bar. “And I didn’t do anything,” he muttered. “One seventy-five.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem! You didn’t do anything!”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“You didn’t do anything. We had this whole thing planned out…and you skipped. You freaking skipped,” I seethed.

Today was Valentine’s Day. It was the perfect day to get people back together because everyone seemed to be intoxicated by Cupid’s love diaper fumes. And Uranus and I (mostly me) had planned something so romantic and adorable it almost put puppies to shame.

Uranus was supposed to bring in his keyboard into Holly’s homeroom and play for her. And then give her flowers and chocolate. It was supposed to be awesome, but being the asshole he is, he didn’t show up.

“I was feeling sick!” he tried excusing himself. “One seventy-five,” he repeated the price of the Kit Kat bar.

“Yeah, and I have an Aunt Petunia,” I said sarcastically, searching my hoodie pockets for my five dollar bill. When I realized it wasn’t there, I panicked slightly, but played it off coolly.

“So you do have one?” Uranus asked me, not surrendering his excuse of being sick.

“No, I was being sarcastic because you were lying,” I said, frustrated. “Don’t change the subject. It’s still technically Valentine’s Day, so you can still do something!” I urged.

“It’s nine in the evening, Serena.”

I was about to tell it that it was never too late, but the guy behind us rudely interrupted us.

“If I wanted to hear all of this shit, I would have just stayed home with Mother and watched that stupid soap opera with her. Hurry up!” the man said impatiently and crossed his arms across his chest in annoyance.

“I don’t have money,” I told Uranus.

“For the love of God!” the man suddenly lost it and began throwing things back into his cart. “’Chase your dreams,’ they said. ‘Nothing will go wrong,’ they said. Yeah? Well, I’m a nearly bald, thirty-six year old living with his mother and now I’m fucking waiting around for some stupid melodramatic teenagers just to purchase some goddamn gluten-free mayonnaise for a stupid casserole.” The man kept up his discursive spiel as he grumpily made his way another cash register.