Star's Theory

July 2- Later

"Wait, you're serious?" I exclaim as the scorching sun and putting green comes into view, turning to look at Mason with a horrified look.

He laughs loudly, tilting his head back and I moan, slapping him, "Not so loud you idiot!"

"You know, Atlas, that's not a very polite thing to call your new roommate and a stranger you just met less than a day ago, who also, mind you, saved your butt from some alcohol-crazy women," Mason chides, picking up two putting sticks and some neon colored balls.

"Oh, shove off," I mutter, still practically falling over Mason just to stand up. The sun and his annoyingly chipper voice aren't helping either. I whine irritably, "Do we have to?"

"Yes, Atlas, we have to," he says, mocking my tone, "now get off of me; you're heavier than you look."

"Oh sorry," I say immediately, staggering off of him and nearly crashing into a self-serve ice cream stand. I realized how not-me I'd been acting around Mason; my normal self could've literally broken both my legs and still be trying to hobble around telling everyone 'I'm fine'. It's probably because I'm still extremely hungover.

A painful hour later, entirely filled with me complaining and Mason beating me at every hole, he finally agrees to let us return to our room.

"Admit it, you feel better," Mason quips. I roll my eyes, which he understands as a 'yes' and smirks with an expression that clearly says 'I told you so'.

Back at our room, it's already past 1 and I am thoroughly famished. Physical activities are not my strong suit, although some would argue mini golf doesn't require too much energy.

"Room service," I declare, flopping onto the bed and picking up the tablet that allows us to order food 24/7 with the click of a button. "Have I mentioned how much I love cruises?"

Mason jumps on the bed besides me, holding the menu with a grin, and I'm a lot less weirded out about by how close we're sitting than I would've thought.

"Waffles," Mason spots immediately and adds 2 servings to our cart. When I give him a look he just says defensively, "What? I haven't had breakfast yet since I was looking for you all morning."

"Mason, there are literally like five ice cream carts and fresh pizza stations on every floor of this ship," I point out, adding whipped cream and maple syrup on the side anyways.

He ignores me, also putting in a double order of chocolate pancakes.

"I'm not eating that," I tell him and he says without missing a beat, "I wasn't planning on you to."

Adding in a bowl of mac and cheese and the largest serving of fries on the menu to the cart for me, I look at Mason, "Done?"

He eyebrows narrow in extreme concentration for a moment and I can honestly say I've never seen anyone this invested in food before.

"Alright," he nods and I reach over to press the 'order' button, but right before my finger touches the screen, Mason ups the quantity of our fries order to three and I don't have time to retract my hand.

"Mason!" I accuse, "How are we going to eat all that? It's the 'mega-large' fries so I thought it would be enough for the both of us!"

His wicked expression, which looks exactly like that of a little boy who's just gotten away with blaming the broken vase on his dog, softens for the briefest of seconds after hearing my words, but returns just as quickly, "Don't worry, this is all free! Besides, you'd be surprised at how many fries I can eat, Atlas."

"There's no way you can eat more than me," I boast, "One hundred percent American, remember?"

"Is that a challenge?" he asks, his eyes flashing with a evil grin.

"Sure," I reply equally as confident, "The first to finish an order of mega-large friends wins. Loser has to sleep on the floor."

"You'd better pray this floor isn't as hard as it looks Atlas," he practically sings and I just shake my head with a laugh.

When a knock sounds on the door, both of us bolt to unlock and the waiter brings in silver platters, naming the items as he places them on our table.

"Waffles... pancakes... mac and cheese," he announces, carefully placing each one down and the two of us are politely sitting by, both twitching with apprehension and exchanging threatening glares.

"...and three orders of mega-large fries." He wheels in a three-layered cart, each with a family-sized popcorn bucket-sized tub of fries. My mouth falls open and even Mason looks frozen with shock.

"Right, uh thanks," I stammer, fumbling around for some bills to tip him and acting as though this was completely expected.

When the door clicks shut, Mason bursts out laughing and I turn towards him, my mouth still open, but trying to hide my smile.

"You," I slap him with a wad of napkins, "idiot!" He's still doubled over with laughter and when I look at the literal gallons of fries sitting in front of us, I lose it as well. We roll around on the small bed for a full ten minutes, each glance at the fries setting off another round of guffaws.

"Ok, ok," I laugh, "I think we have enough for our contest."

"Are you sure about that?" Mason teases, already grabbing one of the tubs.

"Three, two, one!" We both start stuffing our faces with fries, the grease messily covering our hands and mouth.

"Hot!" he shrieks as soon as a fry enters his mouth and I start to laugh, nearly spraying pieces of fries in his face.

About half an hour later, I'm sprawled across the bed with Mason practically mirroring my position just a few feet away. The tubs lay abandoned on the table, still over half full and our actual food is forgotten as well.

"I'm a bit full," Mason decides, staring up at our ceiling.

"Me too, just a bit," I echo, "Those should've been called extra-mega-ginormous-large fries."

"Super-duper-extra-mega-ginormous-large fries," Mason agrees, and I laugh at how stupid it sounds but my eyelids are suddenly incredibly heavy.

Mason looks over at me when I don't answer, shaking his head, "I almost forgot that you don't drink alcohol. Go to sleep."

I look at him like he's lost his mind, "It's literally the middle of the day." But I can't suppress the loud yawn that follows.

He raises his eyebrows, "So? You had like ten shots last night, or was it early this morning? And that's not exactly easing your way into drinking alcohol."

I shrug, my eyes already closing sleepily. "Sleep on the floor," I mutter and I barely hear Mason's outrageously loud laugh before I pass out.