YOLO

Carl Davison, Age 23

Life stinks. Well, all I do is the same thing everyday. That gets really boring after a while. At least I have a weight set. With that, life seems pretty dang awesome. I may be a stupid guy that works at a fast food restaurant because I didn't go to college, but atleast I'm muscular. Oh, and speak of the devil: gotta go to work. Yeah, I just sighed.

"One Big Burger, no lettuce or onions. Extra pickles. Three large fries. One Double Dunker Burger, only mustard. Two eight piece chicken nuggets. A large Sprite, a large diet, and a large Dr Pepper. Five Cocoa-Chip-A cookies." Gosh, that's a lot a food for a drive-thru order, in my opinion.

"Will that complete your order?" I ask. It's my job. I couldn't care less about these orders.

"Yup," the man says, and I swear he burps into the microphone. Ew.

"All right, that'll be twenty-nine sixty-eight at the first window." Again, just my job.

I shake my copper-colored hair as I examine the people in the sharp-white, brand-new-looking Chevy when the man pulls up. He is atleast in his late forties and he has gray, thinning hair and stubble scattered on his basketball-shaped head; a pudgy kid sits in the back playing a 3DS with the sound turned up all the way, and a sleeping mattress of a lady is next to the driver in the passenger seat. The man's hand is sweaty when he gives me the money. A twenty and a ten dollar bill.

I give him his change and a receipt and am too happy when he leaves. My day drags on and when my shift is finally over, I head outside and trip over a medium-sized drink that someone spilled on the sidewalk. I stumble over the cup and slip across what I think is lemonade.

I hit the sidewalk. No...wait...I DON'T hit the sidewalk. A hand wraps around my left forearm and another grips my right hand and pulls me up. I mumble a 'thanks' under my breath and look up when I hear a soft, girly, "You're welcome."

Yes. Definitely a girl. A dang beautiful girl. I feel the soft touch of her skin because she is still holding onto me even though I am fully re-balanced. I look down at her hands and she lets go abruptly and blushes. A faint embarrassed giggle escapes her lips. She is getting cuter and cuter by the second.

"Hey, I'm Carl. You can call me C, though; it sounds less nerdy." That's my signature pick-up line, but I am really hoping it works this time.

"Hi, C. I'm Brooke. Brooke Ylvet. I'm twenty-two. My birthday is next Wednesday. I don't know why I'm telling you all this..." Her voice trails off and she giggles again. Yeah, super cute.

Brooke has light red hair that falls around her thin shoulders in needle-straight strands. Her blue-gray eyes are the same color as mine and she has a slight sunburn even though it's mid-September. She's wearing a light pink tank top and yoga pants and gray Nikes and sunglasses are propped on top of her head and her teeth are perfect and sparkly and she is stinking adorable.

I smile. I'm at a loss for words but she smiles back, seeming to have the same problem.

An awkward moment passes before I say, "Um, you wanna go get some food at a good quality restaurant?"

She laughs a little and says,"As long as you are currently single." She leans in and whispers right in my ear, "Because I totally am." She has a slight southern accent even though we are in Indiana, and I take her hand. She suggests we go to Capello's, a new fancy but country-ish style buffet down the street, and we drive there separately but we walk in together and eat together and talk and laugh and I know that we will be together forever.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" I ask, while we share a slice of pecan pie with vanilla ice cream.

She puts her spoon in her mouth, squints her eyes and burrows her eyebrows. She swallows, pops the spoon out, and says, "Yeah, I think I do. You?"

I don't even pause to think about. "Yes."

She doesn't reply and I get nervous because she is standing up. Oh, gosh, please don't leave. Please, please don't leave.

But she isn't leaving. She comes around to my side of the booth and sits so close to me that our thighs touch and I can feel her shoulder just above my elbow because she is much shorter than me. We nudge each other with our feet and she leans in again, this time whispering, "Good."

Her kiss tastes like pie.