A Romantic's Guide To Tears And Chocolate

Mrs. Fields

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Furiously flipping through the pages of my textbook, I scanned the increasingly blurry pages to find anything that could help my essay. My stress levels were off the roof; this was the hardest assignment my teacher had ever given us. The essay was worth fifty percent of our grade, so it was vital that I did not fail it .The soft sound of some of my favorite classic songs came through my radio as I tried my best to focus, although the task was becoming extremely difficult because of-

I LIKE BIG BUTTS AND I CANNOT LIE!

YOU OTHER BROTHERS CAN'T DENY.

That.

Growling in frustration, I continued working, trying my best to ignore the blaring music. However, the music wasn't getting any quieter and it was becoming impossible to get anything done. I stood up from my bed and looked out my window, staring at the house next to ours. Lights were flashing through their windows and the yard was filled with people and abandoned cups.

It's like they pulled their party right out of a hormonal teenage romance novel.

I sighed in annoyance, remembering the good old days when they didn't live there. Before, the house was occupied by this adorable old lady, Mrs. Fields; and no, I'm not talking about the cookie lady. This Mrs. Fields had an obsession with bread. Pumpkin bread, banana bread, cinnamon bread, you name it, and she'd made it.

She was a very kind and very smart woman, which is why I spent so much time at her house. When I was little, she used to babysit me when my parents were out. Then, when I was old enough not to need a babysitter, I would do my homework over there while we shared her bread of the day. Mrs. Fields was more of a grandmother to me than my own, who thought 'quality time' consisted of me cleaning her house while she knitted.

Mrs. Fields passed away about six months ago. It was extremely hard on my parents and me because we had all thought of her like family. My mom and I cried for days, especially at her funeral. Then, all too soon, the house had its new owners, and we've been dealing with these insufferable parties for months.

Turning away from my window, I retreated to my bed and tried looking for my headphones, hoping to block out the noise. I cursed as I remembered my pug, Hermione, had gotten to them and practically obliterated them.

Yes, I named my dog Hermione, and yes, I may be slightly obsessed with Harry Potter. Don't judge me.

Finally having enough, I decided to channel my inner crazy old lady and go over there to complain. Grabbing my jacket and my moccasins, I stomped my way down the stairs and towards the front door.

"Where are you going, Casey?" my mom questioned from her spot on the couch. She was currently cuddled up into my dad's side, reading a book.

"I'm going next door to scream my lungs out at Tim and possibly murder him," I growled, causing looks of amusement to spill across my parents' faces.

"Alright, have fun and don't stay out too late," Mom replied as I hurried out of the front door. "Oh, and no drugs, drinking, or sex!"

I turned around with and stared at my mother with disgust. "Mom, we go through this every time. Do you even know who I am?" Dad snorted as he continued tapping away on his laptop, one arm around my mom. I'm so lucky to have parents that actually still love each other, even if their lovey dovey stuff gets a bit...disturbing.

Mom held her hands up in defense. "Just being careful."

Rolling my eyes, I mumbled out a quick goodbye and shut the door behind me. Angrily marching across our yard to their yard, I wondered how their incessant noise hadn't bothered anyone else on our street. Our neighborhood was mostly inhabited by old people who went to bed at nine o'clock, so I was surprised nobody had called the cops.