Long angsty author's note: I'm back for a rare story. I have tons of ideas and stuff, I just suck at writing. I actually got really discouraged from writing when my last two stories, on their latest chapters, got no reviews. It didn't really help at all, and the one time I co-authored a story, only one person even commented that I was apart of writing crew. It was like I wasn't a writer of the story, just because it wasn't on my account, even though I came up with the entire plot. Bah, sorry. Just a tad miffed. So sorry for that. If I got a review on this story, I'd probably be jumping around like an idiot.

Oh, in this story. Lilly, Oliver, and Miley are late in their junior year. So, Lilly and Miley are 16. Oliver's 17. Jackson's 18 almost 19. Lastly, Rico is 14. This is part one of two. My first Loliver two-shot, baby! My one-shot stunk on ice. I stole that from Sophie of Cory in the House. I'm so bad. The first chapter is in Rico's POV; the second is in third person POV.

Thanks to Era and Mari for being the best proofreaders EVER! Now after that insanely author's note; finally, to our feature presentation...

When At Ricos: The Tale of Two Chuckleheads: Chapter 1 - The Two Idiots

by acoldsky

Pathetic.

Pure pathetic.

Who might you ask I'm calling pathetic?

Them.

Best friends forever. Skaters. Dorks. Whatever you want to call them, that's them. They're so blind; they can't even see what rights in front of them.

Ridiculous. Oh, I mean pathetic. That's the word I use for them. Sorry, where was I going with this?

Oh yeah, and I'm going to go loco if they don't realize it soon. I've known them since their seventh grade year, my fifth grade year.

Four years ago. When I was with everyone else my age, and I wasn't the lone 14-year old High School Junior.

So, here I am, wiping down the counter at Rico's, my after-school job. My father apparently thought that it was "wise" that I learn the business from the ground up. He's a multi-million dollar businessman, for goodness sake, so he could have gotten me a job working one of the counters of the restaurant chain he owns.

But, no.

I have to work at the same forsaken shack that Jackson used to work at before going off an hour away to UCLA on a volleyball scholarship.

"Are you going to order anything," I snapped looking up from cleaning the counter.

"Well, if you put it that way..." the girl trailed off.

"Lilz, Rico says the same thing every time and you always say 'If you put it that way, I'm just gonna walk all the way over to Bob's Deli and get a strawberry smoothie and never come back again,'" the boy started impersonating the said girl and sat down next to her.

"Oliver Oken, I do not sound like that. That sounded like Barbie on crack," Lilly said.

"Take it or leave it," Oliver sighed looking down the beach.

"Hello, still here," I waved. "Idiotas estupidos."

I turned and started straightening up the counter space. Whoever had the prior shift was a slob, and I mean it. At least Jackson kept the place clean.

"Hello, hello?" Lilly waved at me, snapping me out of my trance.

"We're ready to order."

"I have someplace to be can I get my order to go?" some random customer who had shown up out of the blue said rapidly.

"Of course," I said in my business tone. "What can I get you?"

And they started rambling off their order, all making no sense whatsoever... Why would you order an iced mocha without espresso? It's pointless. It's just like blended chocolate milk. Hmm, that actually sounds good. Wait, maybe I should listen to them. Oops.

"Is that all?" I asked.

"Yes," they said impatiently.

"That'll be $3.50; it will be done in 3 minutes."

"Very well," they said starting to pace.

As I started to pour the ice, milk, and chocolate mix into the blinder, I looked over to the two dorks who were yet again having an argument over something stupid.

"I can't believe your team took Johnny Damon, traitor," Lilly trailed off.

"They didn't take him, they offered him money and he took the offer. Plain and simple. It was a good deal," Oliver defended his favorite baseball team.

Lilly snorted, "Yeah, how many World Series titles do you have in the past 7 years?" She held her hand to her ear to hear his response.

"Zero," he mumbled.

"You'll survive, the Yanks didn't have any titles for 18 years between '78 and '96," Lilly said putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Uh, right," he said not sure. "But, there are 4 titles between 96 and 2000."

"Yeah, yeah," Lilly waved him off looking down the beach for their other friend, Miley.

"Is my order done?" the rude customer snapped.

"Almost ready, sir," I said pouring the contents of the blender into the oh-so-famous clear plastic cup and put a dome lid on it.

"Here," they said, handing me a bill, and running off. "Keep the change."

I looked down; it was only 3 dollar bills. Another rip off customer. Grand. I'm going to have to take money out of the tip jar.

Sighing, I turned back to Lilly and Oliver who were still complaining about some other random topic. How do I live with this?

"If I get another customer like that, I'm going to go loco!" I said to Lilly as I rolled my eyes at her.

Her, Oliver, and I were sort of friends, but not entirely close. I had always been the odd one out.

"Oooh, another tough customer? Where are they coming from? Where Ms.Kunkle went to college?" Lilly asked while cracking a lame joke and laughed to herself.

"Ha. Ha. Ha," Oliver mocked her laugh. "I'll have the chili cheese dog special and a coke, and she'll have the grande nachos with extra cheese and olives, hold the jalapeños and onions and a strawberry smoothie, por favor."

"Meh, you order the same thing everyday. I should know it like Ms. Kunkle's rant on cellphones," I said to no one.

As I was turning around to get their orders, I saw Lilly turn from looking down the beach to Oliver.

"What I tell you about telling my order?" Lilly said pointedly.

"You order too slow," Oliver said matter-of-factly. "And I need my food now."

He said slamming his fist down on the counter to emphasize his point.

Paper basket thing, chips, nacho cheese, ground beef, lettuce, tomato,extra olives, sour cream... And… what was I missing? Oh, yeah, the stupid little sombrero thing we're supposed to use instead of toothpicks like other places use to hold orders together, or like those stupid umbrellas on drinks. You're supposed to write a message on them or write something stupid like, "Have a Nice Day."

As I was putting the orders together, my thoughts drifted back to those two chuckleheads.If only they would just tell each other that they liked each and leave me in peace. Well, me and the entire 11th grade of Seaview High, but you get my point.

I cast a glance down to the basket holding the miniature sombreros, made by the same forsaken company that made those annoy umbrellas people litter everywhere, when it came to me.

Maybe it could be that simple after all.

Sorry, it's a tad short. But, it is just the introduction to the main story. I think chapter two is going to be like twice the length of this one. But, every story needs a lead in. Can't just drop people into a timeless vortex, can we?

Wanna see me go loco? Review! I'll jump around like when the Prince Caspian trailer came out, or when I found a copy of It's About Time for 20 bucks. Have a cookie! Oh, your mom told you not to take cookies from strangers? Here! Have a coupon! I don't know what's it for, but they put tons of them in my newspaper.