OCEAN EYES ☾ { TROY BOLTON }

3 ~ 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜 & 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜

"𝐵𝐴𝐾𝐸𝐷 or fried?"

"Baked, definitely."

"Wait, wha—no! Ma, please fry them. Your baked chicken taste like absolute shit—I mean crap. I seriously think I threw up last time, and I'm not even being overdramatic."

Jimmie Zara's voice abruptly belted out through his sister's cellphone speaker in a desperate manner. His attention that was once on his new Samsung T.V's instruction manual had snapped down to his phone resting on his leg in a matter of seconds upon hearing his sister's response to their mother's question.

Lillian scowled at her son's choice of words before glancing over at the one child that didn't seem to cause her to grow any more grey hairs.

In response, Hayden had dismissively waved a free hand in regards her brother's futile words, as she didn't care for them. She knew, going against his very words, that he was just being overdramatic as usual. While their mother wasn't the best at cooking some things, she was pretty good when it came to cooking chicken. She figured he had only said that since they had just eaten baked chicken the week before, and he was tired of it. Though if she were to be honest, she as well had been a little tired of it too

However, they had already placed all the ingredients needed for the baked chicken in the basket, and the teen at that point just wanted to pay for the groceries and get home so their mother could start cooking it.

She had a minor moment of laziness earlier that day and decided to stay in bed rather than go out to lunch with the rest of the family. She one hundred percent blamed Brad Womack for the current hungriness working its way about in her stomach. If the caramel-haired bachelor hadn't been so captivatingly ravishing, maybe the girl would've been able to put her laptop down and go with the rest of the family to eat.

The sudden growl in her stomach had confirmed the regret she had over the shortsighted decision.

"Oh well, Jimmie. We're already heading to the registers now to check out. I guess you know to now get off your pale ass and come with us the next time we go grocery shopping." Hayden retorted, though her words were effectively ironic given her current predicament of hunger.

A short scoff could be heard through the cell, which prompted the two's mother to sigh; her parental instincts informing her that a senseless argument was about to unravel.

"So, mom, why even ask if we wanted the chicken baked or fried if you already have the ingredients for the baked chicken in the basket? And shut up, Hayden. I'm not on my ass, I'm setting up my new T.V—which by the way, I've concluded that you're just jealous of since you decided to choose a stupid plastic bed instead."

Hayden scrunched her face as herself and mother came to a stop behind an elderly couple that was finishing up paying in line. She then began helping place the groceries on the counter with her free hand, the other still gripping her cell. "It's a bamboo bed you under-developed nitwit," She slyly grinned, "Little tip, before you try and roast someone over something as stupid as a bed, make sure you know which type it is."

She proceeded to roll her eyes, jutting her hip out until it rested on the side of the dusted counter. Much to her brother's inaccurate assumption, the girl didn't at all regret choosing her bed over the fifty-inch T.V she was offered. Their parents—more so their father—feeling wrong about the kids having to abruptly uproot their life and leave their friends behind to move to the city of Albuquerque, had given the two a choice between getting a new bed or T.V.

It was sad, honestly. That was something Hayden always loathed about their father. He consistently threw money at his children whenever there had been an issue or slight dispute. He was an investment banker. His primary responsibilities were managing mergers and implementing financial models with the bonus of preparing legal and financial records.