a/n: I tend to prefer writing moments as opposed to stories. I have no intention of these coalescing into a plot, but I can't promise anything there either way. This will also lack a set chronology - it's not non-linear, I'm just not sure how linear it is. Enjoy :)

Thursday is Squash Day at the West Household, Mom Division.

Mom's always out because on Thursdays, they let her tend bar during Happy Hour. Yay! Thank you for always being a shining light of achievement, Mom.

Anyways, I celebrate being alone by purchasing a large squash. I spend a few hours hacking it up with our awful cheap knives, and then, we feast.

Or rather, I feast alone in my room while doing homework or video chatting with Beck or checking the Slap or not hanging out with my family, and leave the leftovers out for them to pick at as they see fit. I am excellent at squash-making (and cooking in general, really), so said leftovers are usually throughly gone by the next morning.

I find all of this very soothing.

Well, the hacking-the-squash-to-bits part more than the rest of it. But still.

Beck needs to get it through his head that being invited to squash day is a privilege! You can't just write-off SQUASH DAY. It's SQUASH. DAY.

At least he did consent to driving me to the grocery store. And being nice and cooperative as I selected the largest spaghetti squash I could find. And giving me a dollar and thirty-five cents when I could not afford the largest spaghetti squash I could find.

But when we got to Mom's apartment, however...

"Come upstairs, it's Squash Day."

"Squash Day?"

"I've only told you about Squash Day a million times. What we're you doing? Staring at Vega's boobs when I told you about Squash Day?"

"When have we ever discussed Squash Day in front of Tori?"

"Thinking about her boobs then. How can you forget what Squash Day is?"

"...Is that that thing where you cut up the squash?"

"Yes, Beck, Squash Day involves a squash. I'm glad you have some reasoning skills. And thanks for not refuting my point about Vega's boobs."

"...Leave Tori out of this, you think about me thinking about her boobs more than I think about her boobs because I don't think about her boobs. And I can't join your satanic squash rituals, I have homework."

"Oh, so now, I worship the devil?"

"You ritually murder a squash."

"And I'm inviting you to be a part of it!"

"And I really do have homework. I have to write this script thing."

I roll my eyes because really, "Whatever."

"I'll call you later?"

"Whatever."

And now, I'm feeling particularly vicious and if it were a normal Thursday, I could just go to town on my squash. But, I was feeling nice in the market because Beck was there and I thought we would be sharing this awesome ritual together, so I bought a spaghetti squash. And one must exercise caution when ritually murdering the spaghetti squash (which is what I'm entirely referring to this whole thing as now, thank you, Beck Oliver) because otherwise the spaghetti-like stands get all fucked up.

So, Squash Day is ruined.

Mom's still not home, which I imagine most people would assume to be a bad sign. I don't really care because it means no questions or attempts to "bond" with me, which really Mom, if you were so interested, there were a few years back around elementary school where I would have appreciated it. And I really could not deal with that because I did not get my squash.

And it is sitting on the counter in all of it's still-alive glory, just mocking me. Which would normally just make me stab it harder, but I can't because it would ruin the squash. And I do have priorities.

Beck has tried to chat me several times. I have ignored him. In addition to having priorities, I also have principles.

I'm also bored and hungry. But priorities. And principles.

And a knock at the door. I press my ear up against it because if Mom forgot her keys, I'm only letting her in if she's alone. See above about principles.

I don't hear anything, which is usually a good sign, so I open it to find Beck, which is... an average sign. I'm still mad, but he's carrying a large knife, so this is probably going to be fun.

"I got you this."

"...Thanks."

"It's a knife."

"I have eyes."

"That you can just with your squash. Because you mentioned that your knives are crap, so..."

He is forgiven. Because all of my principles and priorities are satisfied when my boyfriend will give me a very large and dangerous object just to make me happy. What can I say, Jade West is secretly a romantic at heart.

Who loves ritually murdering squash.

I go to grab the knife, but he pulls back, "Magic word?"

"We're going to do kinky things with the knife after we ritually murder the squash?"

"No! Where do you come up with this?"

"You came up with the ritually murdering phrase and you enjoy the rest of it."

"I do," he holds the knife over my head, "But really..."

I roll my eyes, "I'm sorry."

"Cool," he hands me the knife, "Let's ritually murder your squash."

"Our squash."

"Our squash."