Open Your Eyes
By day: supportive best friend. By night: incognito conspirator with his fan club. Do I really need to attach a flashing I 'HEART' OLIVER sign to my forehead for him to realize how I feel?
Chapter One
Of Pancakes and Quidditch...
And puppies on crack.
"So I was thinking I need to move Alicia to the left. She has the highest scoring rate with the left hoop. And…and if I leave Angelina in the centre with Katie manning the right field, we'd have a pretty solid triangular almost spear-like formation. Ooh, that reminds me, I was reading some new age Quidditch magazine imported from the States, and there's this brilliant drill I can use for my chasers. Come to think of it, it works perfectly with this new play. I can't wait to show the team what I've- Mac?"
These pancakes are…mhmm. I can't even think of a word to describe how delicious they are. Surely, something that tastes this great can't be good for the thighs. Oh well, what are a few more wobbly bits going to do?
"MAC?"
Eh? Has Oliver really stopped his daily breakfast Quidditch rant to address little insignificant me? My, the world must be coming to an end then- which in retrospect would be fine with me, because I'd be leaving this Earth having just finished a plate of the BEST pancakes known to mankind. I must help myself to another stack. But, I digress.
"What?" Although, with my mouth currently stuffed with pancakes –divine I tell you- my half-hearted, perhaps delayed, response came out sounding more like "Wwohtt?"
"Gee. Looks like a pseudo demented angel but eats like a true truck driver."
"Pft. Shut up Wood."
Oops, there goes a bit of my breakfast. I really should have listened to my mother all those times- something about speaking and a mouthful? In my defense though, Oliver was demanding some kind of a response and a mere grunt just didn't seem fitting, nor did the idea of swallowing my food so quickly in order to answer him.
"Dis- gusting! God Mac, say it don't spray it."
I rolled my eyes whilst flicking some soggy remnants of my breakfast at his head. BAM! Hit his face. Oh yeh, fifty points for that. Oliver let out an exasperated groan as he wiped his left cheek all the while mumbling about my apparent "manliness". What manliness? I don't see it. What would he know besides Quidditch anyway? He's bonkers I tell you. Hee, I like the word 'bonkers'- it has such a cute bounce to it.
I swallowed the rest of my epic sized meal with one final large gulp and took a large swig of pumpkin juice before smiling toothily towards my longtime friend.
He scrunched his nose in return and went back to writing in that damned play book- refusing to say another word. The boy's probably mad that I wasn't listening to his 'fascinating' new strategy in the first place. I took his brooding silence as my cue to show how much I care and by that, pretend that I'm remotely concerned with his Quidditch.
Aside from my waning interest in the sport, I happen to be a fantastic friend to Oliver. Like for instance, right now, I knew he was literally bursting at the seams to just continue about his "brilliant idea", despite his vow of silence.
See? I'm good huh?
That or he's just extremely transparent.
As he still refused to acknowledge me, I took my time figuring out what to say next. Did I really want to suffer another earful of Quidditch talk?
Deep down I knew what I had to do. Way, way…way…down. Just to clarify- deeper than a bottomless pit.
I rolled my eyes at his dramatic and excessive sigh of –fake- exasperation. You're not fooling me buddy. But alas, taking the hint, I spoke, probably against my better judgment.
"So…I like your new play…?"
Ahh, what the hell? I'll throw him a bone.
It was like Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Easter, Thanksgiving and heck Halloween all mixed in one super holiday; had come early for him. His eyes lit up and his entire demeanor went from a slumped Grouchy McGrouch to well…a little puppy on crack. He was even…bouncing in his chair.
Merlin, what have I done? I've unleashed a beast- one that seemed to be on a major supply of Prozac and happy gas. Is there such a thing as happy gas? Hum. These are the questions that plague me. As I continued mulling over this in my contemplative state, I was reminded all too well that Oliver was indeed talking- it was the incessant, annoying buzz that my ears were picking up- damn my over-sensitive ear drums.
But I suppose I could try and listen to at least every third word or so. Inserting a heavy sigh here.
"…because you see, I was really, like really, worried that maybe it was a bit too structured and inflexible…and god knows, it can get predictable, we'd only be able to use it so many times…like the time we went up against Hufflepuff- You know Diggory's been doing a good job with that team…rats, I really should have checked out some of their plays- I can't seem to remember their usual approach...darn! How on earth would I be able to form a preemptive strike if I can't preempt their game plan? There's no preemptive strike without the 'preempt'…See Mac, I knew we shouldn't have gone to Scotland…although I haven't seen the olds for sometime, so that was nice…but anyway, as I was saying…"
And…there he goes- talking a mile a minute, jumping from subject to subject, without even using full stops. How does the poor boy breathe? Although if he doesn't shut up soon, I might be the reason he stops breathing.
Oops, did I admit that out loud? Heh.
So instead, here I go…off to Mackenzie-la-la-land.
Perhaps I'm not that fantastic as a friend. Hum.
A/N: Wowzers. That pretty much is a whole bundle of crazy under the pretense of a first chapter. Haha. Seriously though, a lot of this is really me just putting my lonesome and incredibly random thoughts to paper. Hope you liked the beginning and my original character! Even more so, I hoped you liked it enough to review. Heck, review even if you liked it in a half-assed way. Your reviews really do motivate me and I'd love to hear feedback- and OK, I'm going to stop mugging for reviews. But click the button! It's right there, you know you want to- OK really, I'll stop :b hahaha. Thanks love-munchkins! Kisses, nat