Damn, You're Cute (Michael Clifford)

Chapter 18

It was like a 60's diner. Red booths, a long silver counter with red barstools, weird posters framed on the wall, and hideous black and white checkered floors. I wondered how Michael knew about it. It was slightly comforting, the look of it already promising good food- the type of comfort food that you would regret eating later. Sadly for me, that was all food.

I slid easily into the booth across from Michael. I watched as he sat across from me, thanking the waitress for our menues. I could see the confusion in her eyes. Why were two high school kids not in school? With one look at Michael with his strange hair and tattoo on his arm, which I only now got the chance to admire, she understood. I stared at Michael's arm, his tattoo: To the moon consuming my thoughts. It was pretty. I knew Michael wouldn't like if I called his tattoo something remotely feminine, so I kept quiet, my eyes on his arm.

"Like what you see?" he smirked, glancing down at the swirled cursive letters on his forearm. I immediately blushed, looking away.

"No, it's just interesting," I said embarrassed to be caught, picking up my menu as a distraction.

"Well, I'm an interesting person," he raised an eyebrow, using one finger to push my menu down, revealing my face.

"Cocky much?" 

"Just a bit," Michael shrugged, a smile on his lips so I knew he was playing. Suddenly, his facial features became serious, his eyes softening and his red lips- always such a deep red- straightened into a line. "Thank you for coming with me."

I stared for a moment, before thinking of a response. I shook my head, brushing it off like no big deal.

"Hey, whatever gets me out of French, right?" I chuckled nervously, my eyes flicking up at him. I could tell he didn't believe it.

"I know you don't like missing school, Leah," he told me, tapping his long pale fingers against the table. "Because you're a 'good student'." He used sarcastic air quotes. I sighed scooting back in the booth so that my feet barely stayed flat on the floor of the cute diner he brought me to for 'grieving over our dead grandparents (now uncle) with milkshakes'.

"Yeah, well I didn't have much of a choice about missing school, did I?" Michael frowned, his inner eyebrows turning down. "I don't regret it, though. Not yet, at least."

"I don't think you will."

Michael flipped through the menu quietly, deciding on one of the many choices. I did the same, but I knew that I had no interest on eating anything. I'd eat something healthy at home like a bit of fruit. I noticed a waitress head toward our booth and I let out a breath of relief when I found she wasn't wearing rollerskates like I expected by the 60's theme so far.

"I'll order for both of us?" Michael said as a question but I knew he had no intent on me agreeing.

"No, I really don't want any-"

"Hi, I'm Linda and I'll be serving you two today." A middle aged woman with blonde hair stuffed into a pony tail and too much eyeshadow introduced herself. "Can I get you guys something to drink?"

"Actually, we know what we want," Michael gave her a dazzling smile. It was the type of smile I wish I had a camera for. His eyes trailed up to meet hers, his lips stretching into a curved grin. His mouth parted, exposing his white teeth which looked even whiter against his unique dark lips. His eyes were slightly closed due to the way he squinted with a genuine smile. I was so caught up to even stop him from ordering. "One large strawberry milkshake and..." Michael glanced at me. "Do you want cake?" His eyes swept across the flashy diner, landing on several decorated cakes on display. I was about to reply when he held up his index finger. "Nevermind, I know what you'll say. Well, I want cake."