The World As It Is ; m.c.

Halt.

Break

gerund or present participle: breaking

1. separate or cause to separate into pieces as a result of a blow, shock, or a strain.

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Someone was banging loudly on my window. I rolled over, groaning, unable to see through the mess that was my hair. I pushed it away to see a grinning Michael outside my window. I groaned again, throwing my pillow at him, even though all it did was hit the window and bounce off.

"Morning," Michael shouted, the sound muffled by the window. He continued to knock on my window until I got up to open it for him. "You're not ready."

"No, I've been sleeping," I groaned, pointing at my bed.

"I really like what you've done with your hair. Suits you," Michael told me sarcastically, looking at my messy hair.

"Shut up." I smiled, hitting him in the gut playfully. I walked over to my closet, putting on the first thing I found, which was a red flannel. I decided to just wear the pants I'd fallen asleep in, so Michael didn't have to wait in the hall for me again. "Wait, where are we going?"

"You forgot?" Michael smirked.

"Forgot what?"

"We're going out for breakfast, duh." Michael smiled, sitting on my bed.

"When did we plan that?" I asked, pulling the flannel over my shirt.

"I planned it five minutes ago when I woke up, I can't believe you forgot. Jeez, Sophie," Michael muttered sarcastically.

I laughed. "You're a dork."

"Where do you want to go eat?" Michael asked, getting up off my bed.

"I don't know, where did we plan?" I asked sarcastically, struggling to put my hair up in a ponytail. Michael glared jokingly at me, doing a fake laugh.

We left my room, walking down the stairs to my front door. We cut across my lawn to Michael's house, getting in his so-old-I-can't-believe-it-actually-still-works car. We were halfway downtown, by the time I realized what I had forgotten.

"Oh shit, I left my phone," I groaned, hoping nothing important happened that someone would need to tell me.

"I can turn back if you want," Michael told me, looking over his shoulder for a place to turn.

"No, it's okay." I wasn't particularly worried any one would try to get a hold of me at frigging 8:05 am on a Saturday.

We drove a bit longer. Michael had turned on the radio and had begun to sing along. I just listened, I liked to listen to Michael sing. He never sang that much in public, but he would always sing for me.

Michael parked outside The Buttermilk Café, getting out of the car and moving around to my side to open my door for me. He bowed slightly, lifting out his hand in the direction of the restaurant, imitating a butler. The restaurant wasn't as packed as it usually was on the weekend, but Michael sat down at a booth in the back anyway. We had a habit of sitting further away from other people.

"So, why are we out for breakfast?" I asked, looking at the menu.

"Am I not allowed to take you out to breakfast?" Michael asked jokingly. "I was pretty sure, that you really liked people giving you food."

"Shut up." I laughed, flipping the page as I looked for something.

The meals all had fancy names and I couldn't figure out what anything was. We spent most of the time, making fun of the fancy names and renaming the dishes. We stopped laughing when the waitress came to our table, tapping her foot impatiently.