Chapter 3: Procrastination
-November 1994-
"Hi Mrs. Wright," Paul greeted as the front door swung open.
"Paul," she greeted with a smile. "How are you?"
"Trying to survive high school," he replied. "Is Robin home? We're supposed to study for our history test on Monday."
"Yeah, come on in," Mrs. Wright ushered him inside. Paul adjusted his messenger bag and walked inside, setting his bike against the wall beside the door.
The first time he had set foot inside the Wright's house was in the sixth grade after he had scraped his knee on the pavement while he and Robin were walking home from the arcade. He had been a little scared to go inside at first, but when Robin pointed out that he was bleeding, he immediately agreed. On the outside, it looked like any of the other houses on the block—tall and clean-cut, with a lot of windows and cobblestone siding—but the inside was much different. Everything was polished and waxed and organized; Paul had even asked Robin if her house was a museum.
"Are you hungry?" Mrs. Wright asked as she led him down the hall. "We just had lunch, but I could make you a sandwich if you'd like."
"No I just ate too," Paul shrugged. "Thanks, though."
"Alright then," she said and gestured towards the stairs. "You know your way."
"Hey," Robin greeted as Paul walked into her bedroom. She was sprawled out in her lounge chair, headphones around her neck as she pulled a tape out of her cassette deck.
"What are you listening to?" he asked, placing his bag on the floor before sitting on her bed.
"I was listening to Poison," Robin began with a roll of her eyes, "but my mother gave me a nice lecture about listening to something more cultured like Dvorak."
"But you like Dvorak."
"Not when his music is being shoved down my throat by the dictator." Paul laughed and Robin threw a pillow at him. "Oh shut up."
"She's not that bad," Paul said.
"Yes she is," Robin huffed.
"You're overreacting."
"I hate you."
"You love me," he replied. "I'm your best friend."
"No, Kimmy's my best friend," Robin corrected. "You are her replacement until she stops obsessing over the captain of the wrestling team."
"Thanks," Paul scoffed, feigning insult. "Glad to know that I mean so much to you."
"Oh Paul!" Robin jumped out of her chair and tackled him in a hug, the both of them falling backwards onto her bed. Although Paul had been growing practically non-stop since the eighth grade and was now quite lanky, and though Robin liked to be considered as "fun-sized," she could still take him down using the element of surprise.
"You...are funny, you're sweet, a-and you...you're smart. You're irreplaceable."
"But I'm not your best friend?" he asked. Robin sighed and rolled her eyes.
"You're my best guy friend. Are you happy now?"
"Very."
Paul stared at Robin—at her wide smile, her bright eyes, and the way her nose scrunched up just a little bit and twitched every so often like a rabbit's. Although they had known each other since that day at the arcade, and they had been friends since the first day of fifth grade, he hadn't noticed her until last year during their eighth grade class field trip to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.
Sure, since then he had crushes on other girls, but Robin wasn't any of them, or any of those stuck-up cheerleaders Tom seemed to like or those girls with bottle cap glasses and headgear that McKenzie stared at all day, no matter how odd it seemed. She was Robin. She called him "stupid" on a regular basis, had him over to her house because she was trying out a new recipe, and met him at the library on Thursdays to help him with his algebra. How many hours had they spent at the arcade together trying to get the high score on every machine they had? How many times had she forgone hanging out with Kimmy and put up with Tom and McKenzie because he invited her over for a Super Mario World tournament?
Maybe, just maybe, if he got the courage he could...
"So," Robin sighed, sitting up. "History?"
And the opportunity to see if Robin could be anything more than his friend was dashed to bits.
"How do you expect to pass this test?" Robin asked as she stirred the contents of her large mixing bowl.
"Luck," Paul replied, placing his head onto the worksheet-covered counter top.
"You aren't that lucky," she laughed.
"I know," he groaned.
Studying had been a bust; Robin loved history class so it didn't take her long to finish her study guide, but Paul had given up after the first question and resorted to folding his notes into paper airplanes and throwing them at her as she wrote. Finally, she got him to study by bribing him with homemade chocolate chip cookies.
Paul couldn't refuse; Robin had a gift when it came to sugar, and he had the biggest sweet-tooth in the world. Her chocolate chip cookies were better than his grandmother's, and that was saying something, so he promised that he would finish his study guide as long as he got a plate of cookies when he was done.
"I think you need to take better notes in class," Robin pointed out, motioning towards his notebook that was half-filled with doodles.
"Maybe I could just copy your sheet?" Paul suggested. "Then I can just study it when I get home."
"No."
"Robin!"
"No!"
"Please!"
"I can't," Robin huffed. "That would be cheating."
"He doesn't even collect the study guides," Paul pleaded.
"You're missing the point."
"Am I?" he asked. "As long as I know the answers by Monday I'll be fine."
"No cookies unless you do the work yourself," Robin said with a tone of finality, placing her mixing bowl onto the counter with a scowl.
"But you're already done with the dough."
"I won't bake them."
"Fine by me," he reached across the counter and took the bowl. "I'll just eat it like this."
"Ew, Paul," Robin scowled in disgust. "You'll get sick."
"No I won't," he shrugged, pulling a spoon out of one of the drawers.
"Give that to me!" she ran around the counter and tried to get the bowl back, but Paul just lifted it above her head. "For God's sake, Paul!"
"Promise that you'll help me and I'll put it down."
"Paul—"
"Robin—"
"Alright, you asked for it," Robin sighed and walked across the kitchen. She hauled herself onto the counter top and opened one of the higher cabinets; she pulled out a large plastic container filled with flour and jumped back onto the floor. She unscrewed the lid of the container and took a handful of flour. "I will flour you up."
"You wouldn't," Paul scoffed, shaking his head.
"Then I guess you don't know me very well," Robin chuckled. Paul frowned and placed the spoon on the counter, then took a handful of cookie dough.
"If you flour me, then I hope you have a good time getting dough out of your hair."
"Then I guess we're at a standoff."
"I guess we are."
Time seemed still as they stood in the kitchen, staring at each other with their weapons of choice in hand. They were both so focused on each other's movements that they didn't hear the front door opening or footsteps approaching the kitchen.
"Hello sweetheart; how was your day?" Mr. Wright began, stepping into the kitchen. Instantly, in a moment of surprise, both Paul and Robin turned towards him and released their confectionery ammunition, and Mr. Wright became an abstract piece made of dark grey wool, unbleached all-purpose flour, and chocolate chip cookie dough.
"Oh my god," Robin exclaimed when she realized what had happened. "Daddy, I am so sorry." Mr. Wright cleared his throat and looked at himself.
"I suppose my suit was in need of a makeover," he said, thumbing a bit of dough off his lapel. He looked up with a good-natured grin and turned to Paul. "It's good to see you again, Paul."
"You too, sir," Paul replied sheepishly.
Mr. Wright was the more easy-going of Robin's parents. The first time Paul met him was at a 4th of July picnic and after having spilled a bowl of pasta salad onto him, he had been scared when the man just laughed it off. Although, for being such a passive person, Paul had never seen Daniel Wright not wear a suit.
"I should go and clean myself up before the missus sees," Mr. Wright chuckled. "I suggest you two do the same for this kitchen."
"Yes sir/daddy," Paul and Robin responded simultaneously. Once he was out of the room, the two teenagers looked at each other and failed to hold in their laughter.
"I guess I should clean up," Robin said.
"And I guess I should do my homework," Paul agreed.
A/N: And that was Chapter 3. Special shout-out/dedication to princess-mariyah, who is the first to review this story. (I'm glad that you like the story so far!) This chapter was...sort of a deeper introduction to Robin's parents, and especially to see how Robin's mother used to like Paul, since she seems like she can't stand him now.
I hope to have Chapter 4 posted...soon, but I'm a little swamped with homework (and watching football, shh) so I don't know when, exactly, soon will be.
Thanks for reading!
