Can You Fight? [ON HOLD]

Chapter 11

Ten minutes passed before Ryder and Mom emerged from the kitchen with Ryder carrying two large cardboard boxes, which I'm assuming are filled with food.

"Lia- I mean uh uh, Gen..." Mom called ever so smoothly. "Can you help ummm... Ryder here take the food to his house?" she asked. "I'd do it, but I'm kinda have my hands full here."

"Sure thing Ms. Morgan," I replied nervously. Oh god, that was so close. Thanks a lot Mom.

Ryder handed me one of the boxes filled with food and we made our journey towards his car.

"Don't forget to set it up neatly too," Mom reminded me as we exited out the door.

"I won't!" I responded with an eye roll. I've been doing this since I was thirteen, Mom. I got this.

"Did she just call you Lia?" Ryder asked once we were outside, his face blocked by the boxes he was carrying.

"No," I answered quickly.

"No, I'm pretty sure she called you Lia," he pressed on.

"Well, ummm," I stuttered out as I racked my brain for possible answers. "Ummm, she ummmm..." But then, like in the cartoons, a light bulb flashed above my head as the perfect answer surged through my mind.

"My boss gets me and Lia confused sometimes!" I exclaimed loudly. Ryder stopped his tracks and even though I couldn't see his face, I could tell he was giving me a confused look. My cheeks started to heat up in embarrassment from my outburst.

"Umm, yeah, she gets me and Lia confused from time to time," I answered coolly. Nice save Lia, nice save.

Ryder scoffed. "I doubt it."

"What do you mean?" I asked as my heart started to pound with worry. Has he finally found out?

"Well," Ryder started, "Lia and you have nothing in common, nothing at all. You guys don't look anything at all. You're a brunette and she's blonde, you don't wear glasses and she does, you're a bitch and she's a nerd, and most importantly of all, you're decent and she's not, not at all."

My mouth hung open in shock. Excuse him? Did he just call me a bitch!? A bitch! Did he say I was decent? I'm way more than decent. I'm as pretty, if not even more so than all those sluts that leech off of him. Someone decent does not get at least five guys after each fight asking for her number. What an asshole.

Before I could reply to his derogatory term, he had already put his bag away in the trunk and started his car, his beautiful, beautiful car. It was a 2008 Pontiac Solstice painted in a color darker than charcoal that sparkled and shined like Edward Cullen in the sunlight. His car cover was rolled down, revealing the shiny black leather and up kept sleek interior of the car: nothing was out of place. I was definitely jealous.

With an unappealing grunt, I put my box in the trunk and hoped inside the passenger seat. With a click of my seat belt, we made our way to his house in awkward silence; the only sound to be heard was from the deafening whoosh of wind as we sped by on the road. He turned on his radio and the melodious sound of Taylor Swift's "Love Story" blasted throughout the car.

See the lights; see the parties, the ball gowns. See you make your way through the crowd and say hello.

Ryder's eyes widened and his cheeks flushed a beet red as he rushed eject the CD from the player.

I chuckled at this. "I didn't know you listened to Taylor Swift, Ryder," I teased. I picked up the CD and examined it between my fingers. "Ooh, I can't believe my eyes; Ryder has Taylor Swift's Fearless Album. And oh!" I exclaimed with extra cheer. "It's the deluxe edition too!" I jested.