State of Mind

Pigeons: Part 2

"Oh, my fucking great schnitzel pretzel sticks and meatballs! She's totally into you!" Claya sings, clapping happily. "Did you see that? Did you see that? Please tell me you saw that!"

I breathe in haggardly and sigh, "No, she's not."

I begin to fidget with my straw wrapper, just twiddling it in my fingers. I try to concentrate on it, but I can feel Claya's eyes lock onto me, her stare burning my skin. I won't deny it, I am too anxious to bring myself to meet her gaze. I am already aware that she is not pleased with my reply.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" she snaps. "Beach, did you not just witness all that? Like, for real? Did you not see how she looked at you?"

I shoot her a sharp glance and say, "She didn't look at me in any way. She's just doing her job."

"Queen!" Claya moans in aggravation, dropping her face into her hands. "Queen, Queen, Queen. I swear, someone could be wearing a T-shirt that says, 'I'm flirting with you' and you would still find any excuse to dismiss it." She glimpses up at me. "Did you not catch a damn thing she said? How her day suddenly got better after seeing you, or how she fucking just said doing stuff for you isn't a bother? You were there for all that, right?"

I cross my arms over my chest and shrug, "You're reading too much into this. She's just being friendly."

"I wanna beat you with a brick," she says, directly staring into my eyes.

"And I wanna hit you with a car," I hiss.

We narrow our eyes at each other, both of our features showing hints of annoyance. She throws daggers at me with those piercing blue eyes of hers, her lips pressing into a hard line. I fire my own ammunition at her with my glare, making sure to furrow my brow as I keep my arms crossed. I'm trying to be intimidating, but I know that I most likely look more like a grumpy rabbit.

"This is a healthy friendship, right?" she asks, keeping that agitated expression written on her features.

"I think so," I nod, also maintaining my glare.

At that, we both burst into laughter, our giggles vibrating through the atmosphere, though no one seems to notice. The restaurant is already buzzing with hums of quiet conversations all blending together. So, we just chuckle and snicker until we compose ourselves.

"Now that we've established how we'd take each other out with blunt force and whatnot," Claya begins, still chuckling. "I'm gonna prove you wrong. I'm gonna make you see that I'm right and you're wrong."

"Tch," I snort. "And how are ya gonna do that?"

"Oh, you'll see," she smirks, lifting a brow.

I knit my eyebrows, the confusion washing over me. I'm almost too scared to ask what she means, though I want to. I want to know what she has up her sleeve because knowing her, it's nothing good. At least, I don't think it will be.

It feels like we've been sitting here forever, just staring at each other. Our drinks have grown more and more empty, the air in our glasses claiming more territory as tables empty one by one. I am growing more and more nervous. The look on Claya's face is showing so much certainty and confidence. Even her body language reads self-assured with the way she sits with relaxed shoulders and crossed arms. I am terrified.

As my thoughts begin to engulf me, Liz's voice chimes, "Here, for the lovely lady." She sets a plate down in front of me, the food on it steaming. "And for the lovely lady's friend." She then sets Claya's platter down. "I'll go get you guys some refills."

She does so and returns shortly afterward to Claya huffing, "Oh, shoot."

"W-what is it?" I ask.