Written in the Food

Chapter One

I stomp to my room and shut the door. All the wind that I produce almost knocks all of the sticky notes off of my walls. My friend Trevor Hanley and I have this system in which we take different colored sticky notes and put down our inside jokes or inspiring quotes on them and stick them to the walls in our bedrooms. Mine are organized by color and date and neatly pressed to my wall.

But right now I’m kind of frustrated- especially with Trevor- so I don’t notice when a few of them fall slowly to the ground. After a moment or two, this really bugs me, so I push them back to their rightful spot on the wall.

I have been pining after this boy, you see. This is so cliqued in every teenage girls’ life; seriously! Except I think that the typical guy that a girl likes is tall, dark, and gorgeous, whereas my crush (and very best friend) Trevor is average height, fair hair and on the chubby side. He’s no Jared Leto, let me tell you.

Looks really are deceiving because he’s incredibly sweet, always looking out for me and can make me laugh. I’m pretty much comfortable around him at all times. It really sucks to be in love with your best friend.

I really wish that I could have some other friend to rely on. The only problem is that I don’t have friends who are girls because for some strange reason, I can’t really relate to a lot of girls. I understand boys. Except for right now.

I have been hinting for a good two years that I like him and he still doesn’t pick up on any of this! Is he really that dumb?! Today I tried to just straight up tell him that I like him, but right as I mustered up some courage, some girl named Tiffany drops her pencil and bends over. The moment was totally lost.

I think that I should just give up. On boys; on Trevor. He is a lost cause. I convince myself that I can do a lot better, pretending that I am my own friend. Friend says that I deserve a much better- and hotter- man to love.

Silencing my thoughts, I turn my focus to my homework for the next hour or so until I hear the doorbell and see that Trevor is standing there all innocently. This doesn’t help the stop-liking-him process.

It’s almost time for dinner, so I set him in the right direction.

We are in my kitchen and I’m chopping up the ingredients for a salad. As I stand there slicing away, Trevor is leaning on the island, sneaking some of the condiments onto his mouth. Conspicuously, I might add.

“Why don’t you make yourself useful? Go get a mixing bowl for me.” I command, not looking up.

“Fine, fine. I get it,” he threw down a piece of celery and emerged from the island, moving behind me to get the bowl. He’s taking longer than it would normally take to get it. I know he is up to something.

“Put them back,” I said over my shoulder.

“Awe, come on. You didn’t even see what I wrote you.”

He had moved the alphabet magnets around. I know that he probably wrote something inappropriate about his body parts. “I don’t care what you have to say about your appendage.”

He sighed then put the magnets in a disorganized fashion. “you know that you want to fix it.” he eggs me on. “Madison’s gonna put them in alphabetical order!” my finger twitches and my grip loosens In the knife. I glance at the clock; I don’t have time for this, but it won’t take me long.

I sigh in defeat, putting down the knife, pushing Trevor aside and arranging the letters properly. I do this quickly and catch Trevor eating a carrot. I wonder why he’s eating so healthy all of a sudden.