Adopted By Why Don't We [Completed]

Chap 22: What Are The Odds

Another week has passed, time does fly by pretty fast. I recently bought a one-way ticket to New York using Jonah's credit card. I told him it was for a pair of expensive shoes and surprisingly he bought it. It was a lot easier than it sounds. I would be leaving in exactly three weeks since I wanted to stay in Los Angeles with the boys as long as possible.

I'm currently at a small cafe with Jonah, Jack, Corbyn, Daniel, and Zach having lunch. We haven't even been here for ten minutes and all of them posting stories on their social media. I don't mind, I just don't want to be involved which was a message they didn't seem to receive.

"Hey, Kristen, what are the odds that you'll chug down this cup of ketchup and mustard?" Corbyn asks me for the hundredth time since we've arrived here.

"Zero." We both say at the same time. I meant zero as in zero chance of happening, but they took it differently.

Corbyn lets a wicked laugh, "You have to swallow it,"

I shake my head, "Nah, I'm good." They all groan, shutting down their devices. Once they all have done so, I took the cup of salt and swallowed it all in one chug. I stick my tongue, disgusted by the taste. "Ew."

"That looks so gross." Daniel gulps, bringing his hand near his mouth. "I think I lost my appetite."

I let out a laugh, "My turn. Corbyn, what are the odds that you have to pluck your eyebrow with these two chopsticks?" I say holding up a pair.

"Three." We both say together once again. I watch Corbyn's dare with a satisfied look on my face. After three minutes, he gave up saying that it was impossible and absurd.

"Fine," I answer.

"Yo Zach," Jack pats in his shoulder, "what are the odds that you'll allow me to access your Twitter account?" Jack gave a countdown from three as they both shout out the number five. "Hand it over sweet cheeks."

Zach unlocks his phone, placing it in his hands. "It better not be stupid."

"Yeah, yeah," Jack mocks, shooing him awaying in annoyance. After a few seconds of typing, he releases a giggle and passes the device over to me. In my head, I read the words "36C." I could not help but laugh aloud.

"What's so funny?" Zach asks, snatching back his phone to read it in front of us all. "You have got to be kidding me." I gaze off to the corner, noting that the waiter was coming out with a tray full of food. He puts down the plates and told us to enjoy. Zach immediately takes a chip from his bowl of nachos and smashes it onto Jack's face.

"What the hell!" He replies by taking a spoonful of his poke and tosses it across the table but it accidentally hits me. 

"Really?" I scoff. In return, I snag the nearest ketchup bottle and squirt it in Jack's hair. And he was not too pleased about it.

"You guys are so immatur-" Jonah starts with a sassy tone but gets interrupted when Corbyn shoves an Italian meatball in his mouth. He spits it out and slaps Corbyn with a piece of his garlic bread.

"Excuse me, but this is a diner, not a playhouse. We expect customers to place food in their mouths and not be slapped with them. Now-"  the manager of the restaurant walks over to our table with his daughter.

"Oh my gosh, daddy!!! Daddy! I know them! I know them! Can I please  get an autograph?"

"Sure, anything for a fan," Jonah says, hugging the little six-year-old girl. It's a good thing that little girl came along. The manager told us to end our food fight politely, otherwise we would have been kicked out. Again. I take the two chopsticks off my napkin, picking up a piece of california roll. Once we've finished, Jonah drives us back to the house, ending the day with rehearsal.