Darry
I sat down at the table and took in the scent of the lasagna Soda had fixed; it smelled pretty good. I picked up my fork and scooped a steaming bite into my mouth, where it stayed for about two seconds. I spat the "lasagna" right into Soda's face.
"I guess this means you don't dig my new sauce," Soda mumbled as he wiped most of the melted cheese into his lap.
"Glory, Soda, what's in this?"
"I just thought it might be savvy to add this vinegar and brown sugar mix I came up with the other day to the tomato sauce." He was now pulling cheese out of his hair. Ponyboy sat down.
"Geez Soda! Miss your mouth much?"
"I know of a certain mouth I don't miss," Soda groaned under his breath. He proceeded to chuck a lasagna noodle at Ponyboy. The next thing I knew I had a slippery, vinegar soaked noodle slipping down my nose. One can only assume Pony ducked.
"That's it, little Buddy!" I put Soda into a headlock and he started thrashing.
"I'm never making dinner again!" He called gleefully, as he tried to free himself from my mighty grip. Pony lunged at my back and started tickling me. I dropped Soda, and reached around my back to get at Pony. "Superman hates my cooking!" Soda wailed, as he picked up a handful of it. I knew he was probably coming for my hair, so I waited for him to lunge then I swung Ponyboy in front of me. He got it right in the mouth. I felt his chest heave and Soda was stuck with yet another face-full of half chewed lasagna.
"Glory! What's in this?" Pony called, as Soda ran into the bathroom, shrieking in a falsely wounded voice how no one liked his cooking.
Ponyboy
I wasn't really listening to the teacher, even though English was my favorite class of the day. I was thinking about the double feature on Saturday. They were playing the latest Bond movie…Goldfinger, and some movie I hadn't heard of about a "strange glove" doctor, or something. Bond is a pretty cool old guy. He is very tuff with his gun and smooth with the girls.
I leaned my head on my desk and drifted off, thinking about tuxedoes and wondering if they were as easy to move in as 007 made them seem. Someone tapped me on the back. It was Kitty. "Do you want to do this paper together?"
I sat up and hoped I didn't look as close to sleep as I had been. "What paper?" She smiled and gestured to a hand-out that had magically appeared on my desk somewhere between a boat chase and kissing Shirley Eaton. I took it into my hands and scanned it. It was quoting some writer talking about how a collaboration is the most challenging writing he's had to do. Then some description about how we were to partner up and write a paper together. Despite there not being a theme listed, I thought the teacher did a good job filling the entire page with how challenging it would be to come up with a topic we would both be committed enough to to write about. "Okay, what do you want to write about?"
She shrugged at muttered about hating open-subject papers. I nodded my agreement and opened the one notebook I had. "We should make a list of things we dig." I felt very cool for thinking of this idea.
"That's a good idea." See?
"Okay. Cars."
"Painting."
"Drawing."
"Politics." I gave her the eye for that one, she stuck her tongue out.
"Elvis."
"Lemons."
"Spaghetti."
She paused and seemed to think for a second. "Soda." I dropped my pencil and looked at her. It took her a second to get it. "I meant Pepsi-Cola." I continued to stare at her.
"My dad used to called Soda that."
"Really? That's cool." She was blushing, and so was I after a few seconds.
"So, um, I like Christmas."
"Yeah, me too. How about football?"
I laughed and she looked at me funny. I cleared my throat and looked away.