Disclaimer: I - DON'T - OWN - ZIGZAG. Now that I've cleared that up, you
may read the chapter.
~*~
Chapter 8
'How old are you going to be again? Wait, first give me some cake.' -My brother, Jordan. (Aw, what a cute little bugger.)
An entire week passed, and there was still no sign of either female. Ricky smirked as he thought of this, and almost fell off the toilet with utter glee (Hey, it's where all geniuses do their thinking!). It was a good thing, too. The lack of females, that is, not the fact that he almost fell off the toilet. If Nora or even, dare he think it, Anne, turned up, he probably would have turned red and been at a loss for words. That wasn't fun, but it was what happened when you were going on a "hormonal rampage". That was what his mom had called it, anyway. Or maybe she had used the word "emotional" instead of "hormonal".
Ricky shrugged, and went about his business. He had left the washroom when he heard the doorbell ring. Silently, he crept down the stairs and saw, to his horror, Nora and Anne sitting in the living room with, also to his horror, his mother. Oh, yes, today was going wonderfully. First, he almost falls off the toilet (not a pleasant experience), then the only girls he ever really spoke to (well, who had spoken to him, in Anne's case) show up, and, to top it all off, they decide to have a little chat with his mom. No doubt they were talking about him behind his back, saying how stupid he was. Or perhaps how awful his hair looked. He had never allowed anyone to cut his hair shorter than it was now, because it simply looked awful. True, it would be easier to brush, but it would have looked even more like something was living in it. He had decided just to give up on brushing, so its current length was the most convenient. That didn't mean it was stunning or anything. He strongly believed that his mother and two girls his age could be talking about his hair, but that was before he heard a snippet of their conversation.
Ah... They were attacking his social skills.
"He's constantly telling me how he's got no friends, and here you two are! Why wouldn't he mention you?" His mom asked the two girls. Ricky winced. Mothers...
"He's probably just embarrassed, because we're girls," Anne shrugged. "It's no big deal. Maybe he just doesn't want you to think that he's dating or whatever."
"Maybe you're right."
"Well, he wouldn't have mentioned me, anyway. I'm from Canada, but I'm just visiting. We just met a little while ago."
"Yeah," Nora added. At least, Ricky thought she did. Her mouth had moved and she was nodding, but he hadn't heard anything.
"Oh, Ricky!" Darn. He had been spotted. "Why don't you come down here and say hello to these young ladies?" Why did mothers have to use that flowery sort of vocabulary? Young ladies? Anne, being a bizarre creature and patriotic Canadian, was hardly a lady, and he had never really thought of Nora as a girl, much less a lady, until a few weeks ago. His mom then left, saying she had work to do.
He slunk down the rest of the stairs and leaned against the couch. "Hello." With a sort of 'I'd-rather-be-anywhere-else' sort of look, he turned his head towards them, slouching to emphasize the message his expression was giving. Nora smiled, and this time it wasn't a shy, apologetic, or even forced one. It was a supremely happy one. In fact, it was more of a grin, but with a quiet, bookish quality to it. Oh, yes, he was in trouble now. It's bad enough to like someone, but to be describing the QUALITY of her SMILE? That was just wrong.
"I, uh, just wanted to give you this," She handed him a rectangular package wrapped in purple tissue paper. She seemed to like purple a lot. Not only were her clothes usually purple, but the hair band that kept her hair off her forehead was also a deep plum-- 'deep plum'? If Anne had read his mind, she would have said something to the effect of, "Did Hell freeze over and the Maple Leafs win the Stanley cup?" but, of course, she wasn't, so he stuck with "What the fudge?" Since, not only was he unfamiliar with the whole Maple Leafs-Hell freezing over thing, but also "What the fudge?" had been one of his favourite sayings since fourth grade.
So, fighting the urge to shake those troublesome thoughts from his head, he stared stupidly at the gift in his hands. "What's this for?"
Nora blinked in a way that signifies confusion, instead of simply moistening her eyeballs. "Your birthday. It's July 8th."
"Oh, right. Of course." He had remembered and his mom had reminded him, but he didn't think anyone else would know his date of birth, let alone remember it. And so, hands slightly shaking (it had been quite a while since someone who wasn't in his family gave him a birthday present), he tore off the wrapping to find, big surprise, a book. A notebook, to be exact, with a dark green cover and a matching pen clipped inside it.
"I couldn't figure out what book you would like, or if you would even like a book," Nora explained, her voice, amazingly enough, not its usual quiet self, but almost, dare I say it, normal. "So I decided to get you the notebook, because, that way, you can record your own thoughts, feelings, fiction or non-fiction inside it." He could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but hid it as best as he could. It wasn't that great, but at least it was something.
The beginnings of a smile vanished immediately when Anne offered him some homemade poutine, since cake was, as she sarcastically put it, "so last-Tuesday".
"It's Canadian, so it has to be good!" She exclaimed, thrusting a bowl at him. "Look, it's French fries, gravy, and cheese! Cheese! Who can resist cheese?"
"Me," he said simply. "No offence," he quickly added. "But I'm not that fond of cheese. And besides, I... had puttine before!"
Anne raised an eyebrow. "It's poutine. POO-TEEN."
"Yeah, that's what I said. Poutine."
"Whatever, dude." Anne gave up and handed him a coin that was silver with a gold centre. On the gold part was a picture of a polar bear. "It's a toonie," Anne said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "If you ever come to Canada and find something really nice for two dollars or less, you can buy it."
"Oh." He turned the small coin over in his hands. "So, when are your birthdays?" He cursed his conscience for making him ask.
"Mine's November 19th," Anne said.
"March 4th," said Nora.
"Ah..." Damn. He had forgot. Not like Nora had told everyone or anything, but she had mentioned it. And now his accursed conscience had gotten the better of him. "I'll be right back,"
So... what was he doing? Getting her a late birthday gift, of course. Just to spite his conscience, he told himself it was so he could get rid of one of the books his mom had forced on him. Ha. Killing two birds with one stone.
So... what did he have? There was 'The Hobbit', but he liked that one, 'A Child's Anthology of Poetry'? Possibly... Ah. 'Freak the Mighty'. One of the most depressing books out there. Perfect for Nora. She was a girl, after all, and that was what girls liked.
Content with that, he took the book of the shelf and ran back to the living room. He handed Nora the book, with a slight smirk on his face. She was speechless. The 'I'm-to-shocked-and-happy-to-speak' sort of speechless, not the 'I-hate-talking' kind. Mission accomplished.
"Thank you," she said, a little breathlessly. Her mouth was hanging open and he was pretty sure there were tears in her eyes.
Suddenly, he remembered Anne. Oh, fudge. Anne just HAD to be there, didn't she? He sighed and dug the toonie out of his pocket.
"Happy birthday," he shoved the toonie into her hands.
"Dude, my birthday's in November. But if you don't want the toonie, I've got a loonie."
He stared at her. Loony? She had been there when Keith called him that, but hadn't she stuck up for him? Was she making fun of him?
Anne pulled a gold coin with a picture of some sort of duck etched on one side out of her pocket. "Here, it's a loonie. They call it that because there's a loon on it, see?" She pointed to the duck. Well, it wasn't really a duck. It was a loon.
"Oh, I see," he said, pretending to be excited by the loonie.
"It's only worth a dollar, though. And a Canadian dollar, at that."
"Oh, I see," he said again.
"Well, I've got to go," Nora said, checking her watch. "I have to pick my brother up from camp." She smiled at him. "Happy birthday, again, Dickie,"
And before he could get angry with her for calling him that, she had already left. Ricky stared after her, not aware that Anne was closely watching him.
"You like her," she grinned, "Don't you?"
"Huh?" he had been brought back to reality, "Wha? No."
"Yeah, sure."
"I don't!"
"Uh huh... whatever." she rolled her eyes and adjusted her bandana, which, he now noticed, was decorated with red maple leaves. "Look, I'm Nora's friend. Maybe I can help you."
He scoffed. "I don't need your help."
"So you DO like her," she grinned evilly. "Well, anyway, I think she likes you. And I'd hate for you to get into a fight over something tiny like... I don't know... what brand of toothpaste you use. I can help you, okay?"
He sighed. She wasn't going to give up. "Fine."
Anne grinned again. "You won't regret this." She got up and left.
Well, that was interesting, he thought, looking down at the bowl of poutine Anne had left. He absentmindedly picked up a fork and stabbed into a French fry that was dripping with gravy and cheese. It turned out he quite liked poutine, and immediately became quite fond of Anne for leaving it in his living room.
~*~
I command you to see 'Bend it Like Beckham'- NOW! Lol, it is a great movie. I saw it yesterday. I think it's my favourite! Unfortunately, there's only two fics about it, and they're both HP parodies. It doesn't matter; they're both good. There's 'Pitch it Like Pendragon' and 'Bend it Like Weasley'. Maybe I should write one. A 'Bend it Like Beckham' story, that is. Oh yeah, this is gonna be one of my obsessions for quite a while...
I redid the prologue. I wrote it while half asleep, but now it's more of a prologue, no matter what my mental state was at the time of my writing it.
And now...
More shout out type things for you to enjoy!
x cherrykoolaid- You really like it that much? Thank you! Here, have some peaches and onions. The symbolicness is overwhelming. Watch. **stares at peaches and onions and promptly bursts into tears** See?
The Hotness- Um... was that an insult, a compliment, or a statement? Either way, here's some imaginary chai (there's a shortage of the real stuff) Did I mention it's Indian? Like 'Bend it Like Beckham'! Wait... That's British. But the main character is Indian! YAY! Anyway, thanks for going out of your way to leave a review!
drowchild- I love you. What would I do without you? Thank you so much, my ego had just taken a severe beating. I'm a good writer? Aw, shucks. You're making me blush.
~*~
Chapter 8
'How old are you going to be again? Wait, first give me some cake.' -My brother, Jordan. (Aw, what a cute little bugger.)
An entire week passed, and there was still no sign of either female. Ricky smirked as he thought of this, and almost fell off the toilet with utter glee (Hey, it's where all geniuses do their thinking!). It was a good thing, too. The lack of females, that is, not the fact that he almost fell off the toilet. If Nora or even, dare he think it, Anne, turned up, he probably would have turned red and been at a loss for words. That wasn't fun, but it was what happened when you were going on a "hormonal rampage". That was what his mom had called it, anyway. Or maybe she had used the word "emotional" instead of "hormonal".
Ricky shrugged, and went about his business. He had left the washroom when he heard the doorbell ring. Silently, he crept down the stairs and saw, to his horror, Nora and Anne sitting in the living room with, also to his horror, his mother. Oh, yes, today was going wonderfully. First, he almost falls off the toilet (not a pleasant experience), then the only girls he ever really spoke to (well, who had spoken to him, in Anne's case) show up, and, to top it all off, they decide to have a little chat with his mom. No doubt they were talking about him behind his back, saying how stupid he was. Or perhaps how awful his hair looked. He had never allowed anyone to cut his hair shorter than it was now, because it simply looked awful. True, it would be easier to brush, but it would have looked even more like something was living in it. He had decided just to give up on brushing, so its current length was the most convenient. That didn't mean it was stunning or anything. He strongly believed that his mother and two girls his age could be talking about his hair, but that was before he heard a snippet of their conversation.
Ah... They were attacking his social skills.
"He's constantly telling me how he's got no friends, and here you two are! Why wouldn't he mention you?" His mom asked the two girls. Ricky winced. Mothers...
"He's probably just embarrassed, because we're girls," Anne shrugged. "It's no big deal. Maybe he just doesn't want you to think that he's dating or whatever."
"Maybe you're right."
"Well, he wouldn't have mentioned me, anyway. I'm from Canada, but I'm just visiting. We just met a little while ago."
"Yeah," Nora added. At least, Ricky thought she did. Her mouth had moved and she was nodding, but he hadn't heard anything.
"Oh, Ricky!" Darn. He had been spotted. "Why don't you come down here and say hello to these young ladies?" Why did mothers have to use that flowery sort of vocabulary? Young ladies? Anne, being a bizarre creature and patriotic Canadian, was hardly a lady, and he had never really thought of Nora as a girl, much less a lady, until a few weeks ago. His mom then left, saying she had work to do.
He slunk down the rest of the stairs and leaned against the couch. "Hello." With a sort of 'I'd-rather-be-anywhere-else' sort of look, he turned his head towards them, slouching to emphasize the message his expression was giving. Nora smiled, and this time it wasn't a shy, apologetic, or even forced one. It was a supremely happy one. In fact, it was more of a grin, but with a quiet, bookish quality to it. Oh, yes, he was in trouble now. It's bad enough to like someone, but to be describing the QUALITY of her SMILE? That was just wrong.
"I, uh, just wanted to give you this," She handed him a rectangular package wrapped in purple tissue paper. She seemed to like purple a lot. Not only were her clothes usually purple, but the hair band that kept her hair off her forehead was also a deep plum-- 'deep plum'? If Anne had read his mind, she would have said something to the effect of, "Did Hell freeze over and the Maple Leafs win the Stanley cup?" but, of course, she wasn't, so he stuck with "What the fudge?" Since, not only was he unfamiliar with the whole Maple Leafs-Hell freezing over thing, but also "What the fudge?" had been one of his favourite sayings since fourth grade.
So, fighting the urge to shake those troublesome thoughts from his head, he stared stupidly at the gift in his hands. "What's this for?"
Nora blinked in a way that signifies confusion, instead of simply moistening her eyeballs. "Your birthday. It's July 8th."
"Oh, right. Of course." He had remembered and his mom had reminded him, but he didn't think anyone else would know his date of birth, let alone remember it. And so, hands slightly shaking (it had been quite a while since someone who wasn't in his family gave him a birthday present), he tore off the wrapping to find, big surprise, a book. A notebook, to be exact, with a dark green cover and a matching pen clipped inside it.
"I couldn't figure out what book you would like, or if you would even like a book," Nora explained, her voice, amazingly enough, not its usual quiet self, but almost, dare I say it, normal. "So I decided to get you the notebook, because, that way, you can record your own thoughts, feelings, fiction or non-fiction inside it." He could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but hid it as best as he could. It wasn't that great, but at least it was something.
The beginnings of a smile vanished immediately when Anne offered him some homemade poutine, since cake was, as she sarcastically put it, "so last-Tuesday".
"It's Canadian, so it has to be good!" She exclaimed, thrusting a bowl at him. "Look, it's French fries, gravy, and cheese! Cheese! Who can resist cheese?"
"Me," he said simply. "No offence," he quickly added. "But I'm not that fond of cheese. And besides, I... had puttine before!"
Anne raised an eyebrow. "It's poutine. POO-TEEN."
"Yeah, that's what I said. Poutine."
"Whatever, dude." Anne gave up and handed him a coin that was silver with a gold centre. On the gold part was a picture of a polar bear. "It's a toonie," Anne said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "If you ever come to Canada and find something really nice for two dollars or less, you can buy it."
"Oh." He turned the small coin over in his hands. "So, when are your birthdays?" He cursed his conscience for making him ask.
"Mine's November 19th," Anne said.
"March 4th," said Nora.
"Ah..." Damn. He had forgot. Not like Nora had told everyone or anything, but she had mentioned it. And now his accursed conscience had gotten the better of him. "I'll be right back,"
So... what was he doing? Getting her a late birthday gift, of course. Just to spite his conscience, he told himself it was so he could get rid of one of the books his mom had forced on him. Ha. Killing two birds with one stone.
So... what did he have? There was 'The Hobbit', but he liked that one, 'A Child's Anthology of Poetry'? Possibly... Ah. 'Freak the Mighty'. One of the most depressing books out there. Perfect for Nora. She was a girl, after all, and that was what girls liked.
Content with that, he took the book of the shelf and ran back to the living room. He handed Nora the book, with a slight smirk on his face. She was speechless. The 'I'm-to-shocked-and-happy-to-speak' sort of speechless, not the 'I-hate-talking' kind. Mission accomplished.
"Thank you," she said, a little breathlessly. Her mouth was hanging open and he was pretty sure there were tears in her eyes.
Suddenly, he remembered Anne. Oh, fudge. Anne just HAD to be there, didn't she? He sighed and dug the toonie out of his pocket.
"Happy birthday," he shoved the toonie into her hands.
"Dude, my birthday's in November. But if you don't want the toonie, I've got a loonie."
He stared at her. Loony? She had been there when Keith called him that, but hadn't she stuck up for him? Was she making fun of him?
Anne pulled a gold coin with a picture of some sort of duck etched on one side out of her pocket. "Here, it's a loonie. They call it that because there's a loon on it, see?" She pointed to the duck. Well, it wasn't really a duck. It was a loon.
"Oh, I see," he said, pretending to be excited by the loonie.
"It's only worth a dollar, though. And a Canadian dollar, at that."
"Oh, I see," he said again.
"Well, I've got to go," Nora said, checking her watch. "I have to pick my brother up from camp." She smiled at him. "Happy birthday, again, Dickie,"
And before he could get angry with her for calling him that, she had already left. Ricky stared after her, not aware that Anne was closely watching him.
"You like her," she grinned, "Don't you?"
"Huh?" he had been brought back to reality, "Wha? No."
"Yeah, sure."
"I don't!"
"Uh huh... whatever." she rolled her eyes and adjusted her bandana, which, he now noticed, was decorated with red maple leaves. "Look, I'm Nora's friend. Maybe I can help you."
He scoffed. "I don't need your help."
"So you DO like her," she grinned evilly. "Well, anyway, I think she likes you. And I'd hate for you to get into a fight over something tiny like... I don't know... what brand of toothpaste you use. I can help you, okay?"
He sighed. She wasn't going to give up. "Fine."
Anne grinned again. "You won't regret this." She got up and left.
Well, that was interesting, he thought, looking down at the bowl of poutine Anne had left. He absentmindedly picked up a fork and stabbed into a French fry that was dripping with gravy and cheese. It turned out he quite liked poutine, and immediately became quite fond of Anne for leaving it in his living room.
~*~
I command you to see 'Bend it Like Beckham'- NOW! Lol, it is a great movie. I saw it yesterday. I think it's my favourite! Unfortunately, there's only two fics about it, and they're both HP parodies. It doesn't matter; they're both good. There's 'Pitch it Like Pendragon' and 'Bend it Like Weasley'. Maybe I should write one. A 'Bend it Like Beckham' story, that is. Oh yeah, this is gonna be one of my obsessions for quite a while...
I redid the prologue. I wrote it while half asleep, but now it's more of a prologue, no matter what my mental state was at the time of my writing it.
And now...
More shout out type things for you to enjoy!
x cherrykoolaid- You really like it that much? Thank you! Here, have some peaches and onions. The symbolicness is overwhelming. Watch. **stares at peaches and onions and promptly bursts into tears** See?
The Hotness- Um... was that an insult, a compliment, or a statement? Either way, here's some imaginary chai (there's a shortage of the real stuff) Did I mention it's Indian? Like 'Bend it Like Beckham'! Wait... That's British. But the main character is Indian! YAY! Anyway, thanks for going out of your way to leave a review!
drowchild- I love you. What would I do without you? Thank you so much, my ego had just taken a severe beating. I'm a good writer? Aw, shucks. You're making me blush.
