Death is My BFF Rewritten (Book 1 of the Rewritten Death Chronicles)

Chapter 31: I Am Batman

        Instead of dwelling on the fact that the Grim Reaper was stalking me, and hungry for a plate of Andrew, I went throughout the day as if it was any other day. We all went on a hayride to go pumpkin and apple picking, and as usual, Aunt Sarah and Mom took a million photos. I made friends with a stray tabby cat who I shared a caramel apple with. This one, I was certain, didn’t have mix-matched green eyes or an inconsistent temper.

        When the hayride took us back to the farm, I was hungry again, so I ordered a huge tray of cheese fries at one of the farm’s grease trucks for guests, and then popped a squat in front of Andrew, aka Prissy Boyfriend, at a wooden picnic table. Aunt Sarah was in line to buy a veggie burger. Mom and Dad were getting sausage sandwiches.

        Minus Andrew, we were a family who loved food.

        I was conflicted. There I sat, across from Snobby-Drew, and I had the perfect opportunity to tell him that the Grim Reaper was certainly after him. Would it make a difference whether or not he would live that day? Not really. Did I feel obligated to intercept Death collecting Andrew’s soul, simply because I loved my aunt and knew how devastated she would be if Andrew died that day? Yes.   

        Leaving that question for later, I began to attack my large carton of cheese fries like a wildebeest. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had the capability of stomaching anything food-related.’      

        I was halfway done with my French fires, when I realized Andrew had been making an assortment of different repulsed faces at me.

         “What are you looking at?” I asked around a mouthful of fries.

        He snorted and smoothed down his polo. “You. You’re disgusting. I hope you know those carbs are going straight to your thighs.”

        “I hope you know you’ll always be unpleasant.”

        Andrew looked away from me with a scoff. “Pretty soon you’ll have to start buying stretchy jeans,” he muttered.

        I grit my teeth together.

        Now would I intercept Death collecting Andrew’s soul?

        Hell no.

        My mouth popped open in shock, revealing the mush of food I had been chewing. “Yeah? Well, now that you said that to me, I should let you know that your diet doesn’t seem to be working out for you. You got a little bit of a double chin forming,” I motioned to my own chin. "Hope you don't get skin tags, bucko."

        "What? Skintags!" He grabbed at his fatless chin, and then nonchalantly removed it as if my words hadn’t affected him. “One of these days, I swear—“

        “Hey, birthday girl,” Mom said, sitting next to me at the picnic table. On cue, my parents were back moments later with huge, greasy burgers.

        “Hi, Mom.” Smiling innocently, I turned back to Andrew. “What were you going to say, Andrew?”

        Andrew’s nostrils flared, but he hid his aggravation well. “I’m going to go use the bathroom.” He got up and left. Dressed in a bright blue polo shirt and white slacks, it wasn’t a surprise that Andrew was leaping over mud puddles like he was an Olympic skater. Had he ever been at a farm before?

            Fifteen minutes later, right when Aunt Sarah started to get worried (worrying was in the family), and I seriously thought Death had killed him, Andrew came back to the table with a look of disgust on his face. “I should have just went in the pigs pen, that bathroom was so dirty...”