Falling For The Cupcake Boy (Still Baking;)

Chapter 8: Something Bad

Isabelle's P.O.V. (Surprised?)

Wanna know what happened next? Well, since it's freaking boring manning this stall, I think it's best to continue from where I left off.

Earlier today, 5:00 a.m.

The airconditioner in my room is on at full-blast, therefore resulting me being wrapped around a big, warm quilt like a little old lady.

I better get up. After school today, it's supposed to be the start of “proving Elliott wrong". And my plan is going to be perfect.

My oh-so-brilliant plan was to sell cupcakes to the public and market them someplace other than the bakery. You know, make them more accessible to the people.

I jump out of bed and turn the airconditioner off. I swear, if I keep this up, my room will be snowing. I remove the gigantic quilt from my schoulders and toss them back to bed. After drawing my windows open, I grab my bunny slippers and trudge down the stairs, careful not to wake my mother up. She's crankier than me during my period.

I tiptoe over to the kitchen and open up the fridge. Seriously, my stomach is about to murder me at any second. I heave a sigh when I see the fridge empty, except for a carton of milk which I think already expired 2 days ago. I slam the fridge door shut and walk over to the kitchen cabinet, grabbing myself a pack of instant coffee and some peanut butter.

I make myself some coffee and grab a teaspoon, savoring the bittersweet party of flavors in my mouth from the coffee and peanut butter. After licking about 10 spoons of peanut butter clean, and finishing my coffee to the last drop, I take them over to the sink to be washed later.

With my new found energy, I decide to take a little trip to the garage where I'll put my plan into action. I grab the garage door remote from inside a cheap knock-off of an expensive Chinese vase, and hurry over to the back where I wait for the garage door to open.

Unfortunately, the garage door decides to be too damn lazy to do its' job right and stops midway while it's opening, leaving only half of the garage open. I practically murder the remote buttons with my thumbs while I try to get the stupid thing to work, but my efforts come to no avail.

That's it. I run back into the house and grab the cheap vase from beside the door, and sprint back to the garage. I'm just gonna beat the living crap out of this door and maybe it'll budge. I raise the vase in the air, ready to throw, and then-

“No!" My dad suddenly runs over, a newspaper in hand, and grabs the vase from my hand, setting it down onto the front porch. “What the hell do you think you're doing?!" He whisper-shouts. Even he knows how cranky mom is when woken-up.

“Well, it's not my fault the garage door is faulty! It wouldn't budge!" I cross my arms and pout. In 3...2...1...

“Okay, fine. You're off the hook. But don't do it again, okay? Do you want your mother to kill me?" He asks, carrying the vase back to the house.

Well, it depends...

“Can you just fix the door for me? Please?" I ask with my puppy dog eyes.

“Easy peasy. I was the star quarterback during my high school years, and I was Brad Pitt's stunt double when he filmed his movie here." He says with an air of superiority that I honestly don't want to encounter ever again.

See? He's where I got my ninja skills from.

He goes down on all fours and slides through the bottom half of the garage door; the one that's left open. But when he finally slides through, he hits his head on a cabinet piled high with paint, causing the cabinet to collapse and buckets of paint, some even open, to come flying down on him.