Hooked On a Feelin'

Sprite Sputtering, Ego Bigoted Jackass. And Johnlock.

     The next few days passed me by with little mercy, for apparently the teachers had decided that they would give a fuck-load-over-abundance of homework that week.

    By the time Saturday finally popped up, I was ready to curl up in a ball and die, while staring at the pile of homework on my desk as thick as two copies of The Complete Adventures of Sherlock Holmes stacked on top of each other.

   But instead, I had to attend a barbecue put on by the Brown's. To say I was unenthusiastic about going was an understatement. And Gemma experienced the full on twenty minute rant everyday after Parker had told me of this event. I contemplated not telling my parents, but when I got home, my mother informed me that Mrs. Brown had texted her some information about the barbecue already.

    We were making pasta salad.

And let me tell you...my mother makes some damn good pasta salad...but not good enough to withstand going to a barbecue consisting of lawyer's and Parker Brown.

    I made this perfectly clear to my mother, and she understood perfectly. She told me I could stay home, and watch Supernatural until three in the morning.

Nope.

    We arrived at the Brown's at four O'clock in the PM, me holding a big tupperware of pasta salad, and trying not to look like I would rather be dead than at that barbecue...I failed...intentionally.

    My mother rang the doorbell, and not four seconds later the telltale tap, tap, tap of Mrs. Brown's high heels sounded from inside the house. The woman was wearing fucking heels. Heels. To a barbecue.

   The door opened, and Mrs. Brown's perfectly groomed appearance appeared in front of us. She smiled at us, and invited us in, directing us to the back door, which were actually double doors. Glass. With brass handles.

   There were already a few people there, mostly stuffy old guys in suits, and up-tight looking women in their thirties and forties.

    And standing under a tree, wearing cargo shorts, and a stripped crew T-shirt was Parker, in all his blonde haired glory.

   "Sawyer, Parker is over there if you want to say hello, and Charlie is cooking the burgers and hotdogs!" Mrs. Brown said. I froze suddenly. No. I thought. No fucking way. I turned my head slowly to look at Mr. Brown. His name....his Charlie...Brown....

I almost lost my shit.

"We brought pasta salad!" My mom said. Mrs. Brown smiled.

"Great! Follow me, I'll show you where to put it." She said. Mom took the container from me, and followed Mrs. Brown over to where the table full of deserts, and side dishes was.

Dad wandered off to where Mr. Charlie Brown was cooking burgers, and is told awkwardly in the middle of a backyard that would put The Princess Diary's to shame.

I lingered over by a fountain, as far away from possible as the baby angel statue on the other side of the yard, multiple episodes of Doctor Who invading my mind, when Parker saw me and started walking over, grinning.

"Hey." He said once he reached me. I didn't say anything.

"So..." Parker started awkwardly, digging his Nike covered toe into the ground. "Packers really blew it last night, huh?" Parker asked.

"No idea." I said, my mind wondering back to last night. I watched Arrow until four in the morning. Olicity bitches.

"Ah, right, you don't like football." Parker said, remembering that little fact from when my dad said it at dinner two weeks ago.