Timeless

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

            “I don’t get people. At all.” London commented.

            “Is this about those popular girls that showed up during yearbook?” I smiled, enjoying London’s reaction to these sort of things.

            “Yeah! I swear, you mention the word ‘picture’ once, ONE TIME, Hunter, and they go into full-on word-that-rhymes-with-witch mode.”

            “Bitch?”

            “Aagghhh!” London covered her ears. It was Halloween week, and a week after the party, everyone started avoiding us. London didn’t really mind, she was used to it, though she did send icy glares at the girls who started everything at the party. She dodged everyone else.

            It’s like that in middle school, it really is, and it sucks that no one can do anything about it: There’s that one person—in this case, two—that everyone picks on or excludes. Usually it’s the people that aren’t mean that are chosen. London and I were chosen. But that’s why she had other friends. Outsiders, like her. I could tell they made life tolerable for London. Elliot’s words rang true.

            About the third week into October was when the neglect started, but I wasn’t a main target because I was in yearbook; if you wanted to get your picture in, you had to be nice to the staff. London pops by sometimes from gym class to help out. We were going over the student portrait pages and marking off people who still needed to have their school picture taken, and had called down those kids.

            That’s what led to this conversation.

            “I didn’t even do anything! I literally just held the camera up and she was like, ‘Oh no, just let me check my hair, and my makeup, and my clothes, and oh hell while I’m at it I might as well check my body to see if it’s delectable enough for all ‘em boys here!’ And I’m just standing there like, ‘Dude...just let me take the effing picture!’” London whined, exasperated. I laughed as she landed next to me. Halloween was tomorrow night, and—just like London so utterly,  normally does—she’s taking me trick-or-treating with her. In the abandoned city. Where there’s no actual candy. She says Halloween isn’t about candy. It’s about the monsters and dark things that lurk where no one is looking.

            Thanks a lot, London.

            “Maybe they’re not really ‘popular girls.’ Maybe they’re like...noodles.” London gave me a funny but intrigued look. “That’s why they’re so thin, obviously.” I smirked. London’s constant random outbursts and imaginative thoughts have really had an impact on me.

            The puzzles were being put together in London’s head. “Yeah...yeah! They’re spaghetti noodles! The makeup is the sauce! And...and,” London was pacing now, a habit she did when she was trying to solve a problem or come up with a comeback. I’ve witnessed this too many times with her and Mason. “They have to please the Noodle Overlord!” She finally concluded. “That’s why they’re so worried about messing up their spaghetti-makeup! Oh! It all makes sense now!” London exploded with laughter, and it infected me, so Mason just happened to find us both rolling around on London’s living room floor, faces red and gasping for breath.

            He threw a French fry at us and walked away.

            “Dude! Give me a fry! I want a French fry!” London cried, running after him. She tackled him, and they rolled around for a minute, Mason wrestling London off him and London cat-clawing him until she finally got a French fry with a shout of triumph.