Model Behaviour

Home Economics (15)

As I ploughed through the thick crowd surrounding me, I could only think of one thing: I will find out everything.

Tom was supposed to be in to be in Home Economics, the American equivalent of Food Technology- or something like that. The idea of Tom in a pink flowery apron pulling out a perfect batch of cookies made me cringe. I mean, Badass Tommy and a flowery apron?

I bet it still would suit him...

That perfect looking idiot.

I crash into a tiny freshman who looks petrified, and actually screams at the sight of me.

"Where is the Home Economics department?!" I spit at the freshman.

"Ground Floor... room 81. T-Tom is in room 82. He's baking." She stutters.

"Thanks." I mutter before sprinting down the stairs.

The sharp stabbing pains in my body try to tell me it's time to stop running, but my anger numbs the pain. Why would Lily have a thing for Tom? Why would Tom have a thing for Lily? Why do I feel on the verge of tears?

Slam.

I fling open the door to the bakery Class and spot Tom Immediately. He stands there, his back to me, completely ignoring me. And everyone is staring at me in pin drop silence. I stalk over to Tom's station and see a tiny white wire trailing up from his pocket to his ears, headphones.

So that's why he didn't react.

I prod him in the sides causing him to jump and drop the bag of flour onto the floor, effectively causing a cloud of white dust. As I try and not breathe the dry, dusty and very floury air, I notice something. His batch of brownies.

They actually look really, really good.

He spins around trying to find the flour bomb culprit, and from the look in his eyes, he looks 'flustered'.
Or angry, annoyed, frustrated, furious, murderous and very menacing.

But no one will know that he scares me a little. No one.

"Gracie?!" He roars.

"Surprised Tommy?" I snarl.

"What-"

"I told you this is war, Pretty Boy, and we are in the stalemate. All you need to do is fire the first shot."
I pull out my phone and secretly snap a picture of him, covered with flour, brownie splotches all over his face and the little chef hat tipped sideways. Oh god, he's too cute.

Wait brain, did you say Cute?!

Yeah, I mean animals are cute, he's a fairly cute... pig.

Yeah.

"Oh don't worry Gracie, I have a projectile missile coming your way."

"Missile?"

"And it starts with your friend, Lily?"

No.

No.

No.

Do something, brain!

Slap.

I just can't help slapping and inflicting physical pain on him, he brings out the worst in me.

I see the red imprint of my palm against his cheekbone, and from the murderous look, If I we're to rate it out of ten; he would be a hundred and twenty seven.

"Au revoir, Pretty Boy." I tiptoe towards him and kiss him very briefly on his cheek.

"Oh and one more thing."

"You need to add more chocolate." I wave the bitten brownie in his flour covered face. Oh god.

~.~*~.~

His brownies were actually perfect.

I lied.

They were beyond perfect.

Seriously, they were like happiness in a batch of perfection. But of course, I lied about them needing more chocolate. What else could I have said?
Dude, your baking is better than Jamie Oliver's Italian, but I hate you anyway!

Maybe not.

But anyway, here I am, walking outside, planning to eat my dry oatmeal.
Fun!

But seriously, today I decided to eat outside. Not only it was sunny and hot outside, but less people and the hellhound table is inside, meaning I would avoid seeing Tom's face.

That's good, because if I see his face I would punch him. Really hard. Again. And again until his face would resemble wood pulp tainted red.

Walking on the school's grounds at lunch reminds me of England. The sun streams through the little trees that were undecidedly planted for the grand opening, 43 years ago.

Upon finding the driest patch of mossy-grass, I sat on it. Bringing my knees up to my chin, I opened my diet.

One spoonful.

Two spoonfuls.

Three spoonfuls.

Four-

"Hi Gracie!"

Who?

Oh. Me.

"Hi..." I stare at the plastic looking girl.

"I'm Danielle, captain of the cheer leading team." She blinked at me with those cheap false lashes.

"Ok. Nice meeting you, Danielle."
I mutter before walking towards the cafeteria.

"No! Wait! You should totally try out!"
Danielle flashed a fake smile.

No, carry on walking away.

"No thanks. I'm not a cheerleader."

Lies.

I push open the door to the cafeteria, to be greeted every single pair of eyes on me and Danielle.

"You don't do cheer? What does this magazine say?" She pulled out a edition of Cheer Monthly.

"I'm not in that."

"Yes you are."

"No. I don't want to carry on with cheer."

"Pleasee?" She blinked and twirled a strand of her hair.

"No!" I scream at her.

"It would help you with all these fashion weeks, you know, loosing weight would be a breeze." She flips her hair.

They say hate is a strong word,
If so, I'm invincible.