Punch, Cut, Kiss

PCK Chapter 27

"What song are you picking?" I asked Max as I threw my backpack onto his bed.

"It's a secret. Ray and I, plus a few other guys are doing a little number together. It's going to be great," Max said. He had a big grin on his face.

I laughed at him. "Alright then."

"What are you picking?" Max asked me, exiting the room.

I followed behind him. We walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. He threw me an orange. "I have no idea," I said, throwing the orange up and catching it again.

"Are you going to dedicate it to Ni-" Max started to tease, but a knock on the door interrupted him. He gave me a puzzled look and walked to the door. I stayed in the kitchen.

A few minutes later he was back. "Who was it?" I asked him.

Max shrugged. "It was just," he waved his hand. "No one."

"Okey doke," I said, peeling my orange. "What do you want to do today?"

"Well, when are the parents arriving?" Max asked, opening the refridgerator.

I glanced at the schedule they left on the counter for Max. "Looks like your mom will be here at ten, and your dad will won't be home until nine tomorrow morning."

"Ah, so we have an abundance of time together, my dear," he said, pulling out ingredients. "Shall we prepare dinner?"

I rolled my eyes. "We can't cook," I told him.

"Oh come on, it can't be that hard. We made that one thing for my grandma that one time. Remember?"

"Yes," I said, smiling. "I remember, but baking is different from cooking."

"I don't want pizza or instant crap tonight, Kye. Let's just try. What's the worst that could happen?" he asked me. He put the puppy dog look on his face. "Pwease?"

I sighed. It was hard to say no when he looked like that. I ruffled his blond hair. "Fine, but if we burn the house down, I'm blaming you."

He smiled triumphantly. "I wouldn't have you blame anyone else."

He went around the kitchen, pulling random things out of cabinets. He placed them all on the kitchen table. By the looks of it, he wanted some kind of pasta. He'd laid out noodles, chicken, a tomato, some kind of green thing, and a can of sauce.

"Chicken Alfredo?" I questioned, looking at all the things he's placed on the table.

"Mmm, my mouth is watering already," he said.

I wiped his mouth with my sleeve. "Um, okay, but why do you have a tomato and those green things?"

"Those green things are onions," he said, giving me flick on the forehead.

"You don't put tomatoes and onions in Chicken Alfredo, Max," I said, picking up the items and putting them back in the fridge. "Let's get started," I said, returning to Max.

He nodded. I grabbed a pot and Max got a pan. I cut the chicken while he complained about how nasty it looked. I threw the bits into the pan and turned it on. It couldn't be that hard, could it? I stirred it around until it looked a little more white than pink.

"Should we put the noodles on now?" I asked Max.

He reached around me and grabbed the pot. "I got it," he said. He took the pot and put some water in it. "Wait, how much water do you put in?"

"I don't know. Don't fill it up all the way, though. It'll boil over," I said, moving the chicken around some more.

Max came back with the pot filled two thirds of the way filled. I figured that was okay. He turned the burner on and looked into the pot. "When does it start boiling?" he asked.