On our way to the cafe, I count all the stops we take: 19, Same age as I am. Plus five guys from One Direction: 24, the age dad was when he invented Yeti Hunt, which has 20 ways to catch the Yeti, which if you divide by 24 is 1.2, which is how much money we had to pay to get back into Normal, subtract this from One Direction's salary per minute, which based on a rough estimate of money is $8.80-
"You're doing that thing again," Jamie says.
"What thing?" I ask her.
'That thing where you zone out. I still don't know what you're doing when you do it!"
"Math"
"What?" she asks, getting out of the car.
"Nothing," I say, following her.
As we walk into the cafe, I notice the boys getting out of their car. I wave, and Zayn immediately, as if he was looking at me the whole time, waves back. Jonas Brother. "Je suis nique"
"Don't say that," Jamie scolds, "you are not fucked."
"Just look at him, though," I whisper yell, pointing to Zayn, who's talking to Harry, smiling, "look at him with Mr. Nipples over there!"
"Mr. Nipples?" she laughs.
"Don't judge this llama," I growl. Oh god. She's not even listening to me anymore because- oh. Well. Looky looky. Louis just got out of the car.
"Oh, fils de pute. Son of a bitch. JAMIE! Stop looking at the Jonas Brothers and get inside!" I yell, pushing her into the cafe.
"Right, right," she says, snapping out of her second trance of the week, "Jonas Brothers?"
We seat ourselves at a booth by the window, and not too much later, the boys join us.
BANG!
Retard mode.
I put my head in my hands and slap myself
"You okay?" asks Harry.
I nod. "Poptarts. They frustrate me."
"What."
"Hellooo," a voice comes from nowhere. A voice I know all too well, unfortunately. "I'm Jeremy, and I'll be your server today. But I could be a little more for you, Rumor."
"God. His flirting is terrible. I look up and smile sarcastically at him. "Will you be my server tomorrow as well?" I ask, looking into his eyes. His eyes are ugly, which is weird because eyes are supposed to be attractive. But his are a gross mix of brown, grey, muddy, foul, green. Unlike Jamie's and Harry's, theirs are a beautiful green.
"If you like," he smirks.
"Of course I would, in fact, tomorrow I'll take a big slice of 'NO' with a side of 'IN YOUR DREAMS.'"
He's silent.
"Oooooo, burn," Louis and Harry chorus.
Embarrassed, Jeremy leaves.
"And then the world questioned whether One Direction were seventeen years old or pre-release," I say.
They laugh awkwardly. I cough and change the subject.
"Soooo..."
