Teen Idols And Happy Meals

French Fries And Night Shifts

Nikki's POV

I must have repeated the story of my encounter with Jacen Sage at least fifty times, yet I hadn't tired of telling it. Every time I told the story it just seemed even more fanciful. Mostly because every time I told it I added another embellishment. The most recent version was moderately distorted, but much more interesting.

"And then he spilled soda on his shirt so he took it off. It was amazing. I mean, he was wearing a shirt underneath it obviously; a wife beater. But oh my God it was still so sexy. His arms . . . God they're delicious!" I lied to my friend Caddie.

"Sylvia didn't mention that part!" she exclaimed, her loud voice crackling through the phone.

"That's because she was working the drive through then," I smoothed over that plot flaw effortlessly; "She missed out."

"Did she ever!" Caddie agreed.

"Yeah, it was pretty life changing," I bragged.

"I bet. Oh my God, I would've died if I was there," she said, "Do you think he'll come back?"

"I don't know," I said honestly, "I don't even know why he was here in the first place."

"Cause they're shooting his new movie here," she said, her voice excited but holding a faint trace of 'duh' at the end.

"What?" I demanded, "Why haven't I heard about this?"

"Wait, you didn't know?" she sounded appalled, "I thought everyone knew! There was a rumor going around that they were shooting here because the book version of it takes place here. But nobody believed it until last night when he showed up at McDonalds. Now everybody's talking about it."

"Why am I always the last to know about these things?" I asked, my voice a sigh of exasperation.

"Because you're always working," she explained and I swore I could hear her eyes rolling, "I mean, you're taking like five AP courses, and you have play practice every day, plus you have two jobs. This is the first time I've talked to you in like a week!"

"That's because we have no classes together," I clarified, "Because, as you pointed out, I'm taking five APs and you're taking . . . How many was it? Oh right, none."

"Meh," she said nonchalantly, "There's plenty of time for APs next year."

I sighed. Typical Caddie; slacking. "You mean in college?" I retorted, laughing, "I don't think they're considered Advancement Placement at that point."

"Whatever. So, I'd love to keep talking but I'm so freaking tired," she lamented, "I'm going to bed."

"It's okay. I still gotta do my macroeconomics homework anyway."

"Do it in the morning," she suggested, "You should sleep."

"I can't," I said, "I'm at work."

"Work?" she repeated, as if it was a foreign word. I supposed it was, to her at least.

"Yeah you know, work? That place where people go to make money. Either in an office, or a cubicle, or even on a street corner . . . or in my case, behind a counter."

There wasn't a doubt in my mind that she was rolling her eyes. It was her signature move. "What are you still doing at work?" she asked, ignoring my rambling as she often did.

"I'm teaching acrobatics to an Arabian astronaut," I replied, noting how the couple in the back corner each gave me weird looks. They must have popped out of their lovers' bubble long enough to actually notice their surroundings. Kudos to them.