Chapter 4

I stared at my far-from-perfect reflection in my modest, light-colored wood mirror. This face—the face which I was certain would never even get dates with sixes on the one-to-ten hotness scale—was going to go on a date with an eleven. Do you know how rare elevens are?

Okay, so it wasn't a date, it was a friendly breakfast. Anyhow, I'd be seen with a guy girls gawk over and no one would know the difference. It's not like I have a big sign on my forehead saying This piece of fiery goodness is NOT my boyfriend! (Although, I do have a sign on there saying loser.)

I imaged what it'd be like to have David as a boyfriend. He'd be all tender with me all the time, and maybe I might even feel comfortable with having him, umm, fooling around with me. And, maybe, he could actually be The One.

I mentally slapped myself. He was Kamilla's boyfriend. I couldn't be fantasizing about him that way. Oh, God, no! It was just…wrong.

My door was kicked open by a very, very, very mad Kamilla. She began snagging her fingers at me. "Don't even think about stealing my boyfriend."

Normally, I'd be totally embarrassed and would begin blushing furiously. This time, however, Kamilla was the one who was "educating" me, so I only remained calm and tried to keep my cool. I waved her hand away and said, "What makes you think I would?"

She huffed and crossed her arms in front of her perfect 34C chest. "I know the game you're trying to play and a lot of other bitches have tries stealing David away from me. I kicked their ass, putting it mildly. Don't try anything funny, Samantha, or else you will suffer. And when I say suffer, I mean a pain that will closely resemble your eyes being scorched out."

I grabbed a brush and began to gently brush my hair, not paying any attention whatsoever to Miss I-Can-Kick-Your-Ass. Consequently, she began tapping her foot in a very annoyed rhythm. Tap, TAP, tap, TAP.

"I know it may seem like David likes you," she began. "But, really, he's just being nice. I mean, what kind of a guy would David be if he didn't make a girl as ugly as you feel the tiniest bit special?"

This made my blood boil. I stared daggers at her, and clenched my open hand into a tight fist, trying—rather unsuccessfully, I should add—to keep my hand from pouncing upon Kamilla's multi-thousand dollar nose and breaking all the precious bones it contained.

"How do I know this? Maybe because of what he and I just did," she continued, smirking with a certain sense of superiority. "You know, the act of love?"

I heaved a deep sigh. Yeah, sure, they'd just Done It under my parents' roofs, with a chance of anyone walking in on them—including Rebecca, whom I'm not even sure knows about sex yet—and getting busted. However, it was just like Kamilla to be bluffing.

But something was bothering me. A little bell in the back of my brain was ringing uncontrollably, telling me that maybe Kamilla had Done It with David right then and there. I mean, sex didn't take all that long, did it? Well, at least for people who'd done it before and were pretty quick at it. That would mean that David is not a virgin and has not been a virgin for a long time. Unbelievable, I know.

"Bull," I spat out. I could've added a big, juicy wad of spit into her face, but I held myself back, because she'd probably go crazy and slap me.

She smirked again. "Believe what you want, darling."

The door of my room tipped open, and David's head popped in. "Sam, are you ready?" He walked in and took a look at the whole room, slightly nodding with approval. I hope.

My brain turned into mush. I didn't think I was capable of forming a proper sentence. But, instead of being rude and remaining mute, I attempted something. "Sure."

I turned to Kamilla, who only gave me a warning glance, and waved her goodbye. "Bye, Kammie."

She shuddered at the long-forgotten nickname, but waved goodbye with a phony smile. "Bye, Sammie."

She hurried over to David's side. He looked at her with adoring eyes and tipped his head down (Kamilla is, like, five-six and he's six-something). Kamilla caught his lips and seemed to think she could train them into doing flips with hers, because she completely Frenched him right then and there, with me witnessing every little bit of it.

Kamilla pushed her body closer to his, spreading her legs on either side of one of his legs, pushing herself against it. David began pulling back, but Kamilla cupped each side of his face, and pulled it closer to hers.

Around five seconds later, David pulled back completely. "Whoa, Kamilla, what the hell was that?"

She looked at him innocently. "Just telling you goodbye, honey."

His face clouded. "This kind of stuff is not appropriate to do in your cousin's room."

Kamilla fake pouted, and pecked him on the cheek. "I'm sorry, David."

I was just standing there, being a spectator of the whole scene. It left my stomach turning circles. Even though David was clearly scorning Kamilla for being so intimate with him right there, the expression on his face when she was pressing her heaving body against his—pressing her boobs against his chest—was one of pleasure.

Maybe Kamilla was right. Maybe David didn't like me at all. Maybe he really was just being nice. Maybe I was so transparent that he could clearly see that my self esteem was hitting rock bottom and that I desperately needed a hot guy to like me.

David turned to me. "Ready, Sam?"

I stood there, bewildered. Here Kamilla was, getting all whore-like—albeit, she is always like that—and David was actually paying attention to me. I eyed Kamilla, who had her arm interlaced with his, and got an icy-cold stare back.

"Sure," I said, winking at Kamilla. She rolled her eyes and discreetly slapped her butt.

David unwound himself out of Kamilla's grasp, and walked out of my room, giving me one last glance before he walked out, as if saying, See you downstairs.

As soon as his foot disappeared in the hallway, Kamilla's little pleasant expression vanished with it, uncovering a very menacing grin. "See what I mean, Sammie? He ain't interested."

I scoffed. "Like I want him to be." I didn't let her see my burning face—no duh—and I stormed out of the room, only to crash right into the arms of Greek god, David.

"Whoa, there," he said with a laugh, and helped me get back up on my feet. I blushed furiously. "You okay?"

I didn't meet his eye contact, but walked right out of his grip and raced down the stairs. "Come on. Let's go."

----

The walk to Burger King was interesting. First, there were a bunch of tourists everywhere, taking pictures of every little monument they found along the way. It was really amusing how they thought that a little stone ship off to the side of the sidewalk was actually relevant to American history.

David tried making small talk with me, which only added to my amusement. I don't know how small talk is done wherever it is he lives, but he was clueless about how they do it here in D.C. Or even how they do it at all.

"So, uh, do you take any sports?" he asked.

"Nope. I'm an art freak," I blurted out. Now, I ask you, why, oh why, does a girl even admit that to a guy? Is it seriously a problem that I have with over sharing or does everyone do this?

He nodded, obviously not knowing what to say next. Well, congratulations Sam. You just got a guy speechless, and in a bad way, at that. I don't comprehend how retarded I am with guys. It's like I lose all that valuable knowledge I've been gaining all my life about how not to disguise myself as bozo when cute men are around, and just give in the wave of humiliation that I heap myself into.

"I like art, too," he said, as I was lost in my thoughts. This surprised me. I mean, it really surprised me. Guys who like art are as rare as, say, guys who have three arms. Well, take that back; guys who admit they like art are as rare as popular jocks that carry briefcases and are always pushing up their glasses against their face. In other words, it doesn't ever happen.

"Really? I would've never guessed," I commented. Yet another dumb thing to say. It's like there's this never ending hole of pathetic things to say in the pit of my vocal chords that always make appearances at the most bizarre times.

Okay, so that bit wasn't as bad as some of the stuff I'd actually uttered in the past. You wouldn't believe all the crap that managed to escape the, if I do say so myself, loose security that is filtering my words for embarrassing situations. But it still was a dead-end statement. What could he possibly respond to that?

"Why not?" he asked, tilting his heads towards mine, letting the sun shine on half of it, making his eyes this honey gold color. It was enough to turn me into honey, myself. And the tone of his voice…I would go to so much as naming it the eighth World Wonder. He hit this unbelievable note of softness every time he opened his mouth up to speak, it was enough to make me want to kneel down in his presence. This guy was the closest any human would ever get to perfection.

"It's just that," I began, soon finding myself at quick loss of words. How do I put the fact he is the most amazing, most lovable thing on the face of earth and guys like that just aren't interested in art in terms that don't sound as if I'm pining for him with every fiber of my being? How does a girl do that?

I stopped talking, hoping he'd stop asking. I almost slapped myself. Why is it that I always rub off as rude when a cute guy talked to me? Now when a god talked to me, I gave off the foul smell of barbaric freak. It was like I wasn't even civilized, for crying out loud!

He nodded. "That tells me a lot."

I almost started crying. It was painful how badly I was treating this perfectly nice guy. I was practically giving him a cold shoulder. And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

"Sorry," I said apologetically. "I can't explain it very well."

"Artists are never good with words, anyway," he said, scratching the back of his head. "We're better with the visual works, things we can build and create from our own hands."

I virtually threw myself at his feet. Well, more or less, I almost thrust myself at him, but whatever. The point is that he just summarized what I'd been searching for my whole life; the reason why I awful at letting out my feelings in a clear and precise way, so that everybody who heard me had a lucid and comprehensible understanding of what I was referring to.

Instead of degrading myself in the shameful act of throwing myself at him, I held myself back, and nodded. I could feel my eyes sparkling in disbelief of how precise this guy had just been. It was like he had my whole life in a nutshell.

"Exactly," I agreed. "That's exactly how I've felt my whole life. That I can't trust myself with the words that slip out of my mouth twenty-four-seven, that is."

He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. "That's the reality to a lot of us, you know?"

"Actually, no, I didn't," I admitted, letting out a nervous laughter. Good thing my laughter doesn't demonstrate how completely-at-loss-of-words I am.

I began wishing the sidewalk would start rolling, making us get there faster. How much of this conversation would we need to witness before Burger King magically appeared in the horizon?

Well, my wishes must've been heaven bound—for once, I should add—because Burger King soon emerged out of the shadows. It was like an oasis in the middle of the desert—instead of relieving me from thirst, however, it relieved me from mortification.

I pointed at it like a little girl pointing a red balloon at a carnival; eager and all. "There it is."

This, I realized just a second later, was a stupid thing to do. David knew that it was right there where I pointed it to. There was no way in hell that he didn't, because the oversized sign of Burger King was casting a large shadow right on top of us.

He grinned. "Yep, there it is."

---

"Know what you want?" David asked, his eyes still glued to the menu that was placed right behind the cash register, way up high on the wall.

"Yeah," I said with my eyes also glued to the menu. This was a lie, of course. I couldn't decide on what to order. I didn't want to seem like a compulsive freak who loved double cheeseburgers, but I didn't want to be another Kamilla tool, who was obsessed with greens and only ate salad.

"So, you order first," he concluded, peeling his eyes off of the big menu.

"No, that's okay," I said, waving my hand. "You can go first."

"Ladies first," he said pleasantly, with another one of those heart wrenching smiles. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I want to see what you're going to get, so I can base my choice off of yours, anyway."

My heart melted. When you get the results to my autopsy report, you'll conclude that first my heart accelerated, then it melted. This guy was way too overwhelmingly perfect for me.

Maybe I should explain why everything he said made me either want to cry, jump on him, or die. He was insanely realistic, and he obviously felt the same way I did about things. He was so gorgeous and he made the weirdest things, like the confession he'd just made, seem like the cutest thing on earth for a guy to do.

I heaved a deep sigh, trying to get my heart rate down. I stammered, "O-o-okay."

I neared the cash register with almost no dignity. The cashier glared at me, as if hating me for choosing Burger King as my brunch location. Well, excuse me for giving you some business. If she worked in commission, maybe she'd be a little more open to me being there, ordering some food.

"Hi, welcome to Burger King, may I take your order?" she slurred, not sounding even a little bit convincing.

"Uh, yes," I began. "May I have a…uh…a…"

I didn't know what I wanted to order. It was as simple as that. The lady gave me an annoyed glance, followed by a heated look. "What's your order going to be today, madam?"

I felt as if she were reading lines from a script. If she were being real, there would probably be some extreme profanity use in the middle of the chitter-chatter, not to mention some fist throwing.

I gave the menu one last glance before I settled on a random combo. "I'll have a number eight, please."

I could feel David's surprise. Maybe he'd been expecting some sort of Kamilla sized meal, which usually consisted of the simple, everyday tossed lettuce and a few carrots. Boy is he in for a wake up call.

Number eight just happens to be the greasiest, most fattening burger in the land. I don't know why, but I love that thing so darn much. I just can't overcome the temptation to get it, even if I am going to freak out David beyond his wits.

He came forward and supported himself on the counter, glancing up to make sure he wasn't dreaming. I guess not many girls will even be willing to hold up a big, greasy half-pounder, or even to be in the same room as one.

I didn't dare to look at him, not wanting to get some cute little comment. Instead I began focusing on the far-from-pleasant cashier. She looked…dreamy. And not that dreamy you label guys when they're the main subject of your dreams, but dreamy as in she looked like she was in a dream.

That bitch. She was so rude to me just a second ago and then she just turns into a little angel when David is right in front of, looking all handsome from being undecided. It proved two things: I wasn't the only one that went gaga over David, and there were other Kamilla-like bitches out there. Just lovely, isn't it.

"I'll have a number eight, too," he said, uncovering the magnificent, dazzling smile of his to that front-tooth-knocked out skank that who didn't so much as deserve to catch a glimpse of David's extraordinary self.

She took a deep breath, maybe to wake up from the fantasy where she and David were passionately making love on the beach, with the moon beaming its glorious light on them. Well, wake up sister, it ain't happening!

Carefully, she typed in the order, and sneaked in a flirtatious grin towards David. David, being the gentleman he is, gave her another one of his dazzling smiles and slightly rolling his eyes. I guess she didn't catch that, because she continued to smile furiously to him.

"Uh, how much is it?" I asked, cutting her teeth-showing episode out, making it come to an end. She stopped smiling, returned to Earth, and glanced at me. She gave me a disgusted expression (and, I want to add, she looked even uglier than usual).

"Eight sixty-five," she responded, returning her gaze to David, and fixating it there. I shoved my hand in my black jeans, searching for a ten, when I saw David getting out his billfold or wallet—whatever you call it for guys—and getting out a ten.

"David, are you sure?" I asked, sort of embarrassed he was paying. It made the brunch meeting seem like a date, and I'm sure Kamilla wouldn't be at all flattered.

He shifted his gaze to me and winked. "Yeah, it's fine. No big."

He handed the bill over to the cashier, who took it with some overdone effort; I guess as another shot in trying to flirt with him. I felt like throwing a brick at her head—couldn't she see he was not interested?

"Here, have two dollars," she said. Cheapo! Everyone knows you can't buy a guy, and if you could, it'd be for more than forty-five cents. Wait…thirty-five cents. Oh, whatever. Bottom line is you can't buy a guy!

He cracked a polite smile and muttered, "Thanks."

She gave the flirty smile act again, but it kind of, sort of didn't work out for her. She looked retarded, not to mention over-smiling. "No problem."

The girl resembled Jennifer Coolidge in "Legally Blonde" when she played Pauline, that low-self-esteem, desperate woman trying to hook up with the mailman. You know that idiotic smile she did when he brought over a package to her and Elle (Reese Witherspoon) had to dry her hands in the middle of her manicure just to sign for it because Pauline was acting useless? Yeah, that's the smile the cashier was smiling.

"Uh, okay, bye-bye," David waved her goodbye and stepped out of the line. She, however, didn't stop smiling at him, making her affections for him as obvious as the fact Michael Jackson bleached his skin.

He turned to me so she couldn't see what he was doing and mouthed, "Weirdo."

I giggled like a first grade girl and mouthed back, "Definitely!"

He opened up an amused smile; thankfully it was because he thought it was funny and not because I did something embarrassingly funny or because I looked funny.

We remained quiet after that, and I realized that for the first time since I'd seen David, I'd let him finally see what the real Sam is like, a girl with a sense of humor and who's not that bad. 'Course, I'm still not that much of a catch, because even guys as nice as David always go with the hot, big-breasted girl. And that would be Kamilla and Lucy, except for Kamilla is a bit more…perceptive, but not in a wise way. She just gets more stuff—comprehensive, I guess you can say.

About three minutes later the same clown came back with our food, two huge piles of trash that happened to be simply delicious! She, again, did the now-getting-old bit of smiling at David. Still looking like the fool she was, and looking like Jennifer Coolidge.

David gave her an awkward smile and took the tray, turning away from that freak the moment he got a firm grip on the dish. I followed him, giving the girl a pity-smile before I turned my back to her.

I power walked to the table and sat down, wanting to take a big, hearty bite of my half-pounder. He placed mine in front of me and his in front of him, and put the tray on the table right next to us.

"What a tool," he commented as he opened the wrapper for the sandwich.

I know it may sound hypocritical, but it didn't sound right to talk about her that way whenever I was feeling the same way about him. Even if I wasn't so blatant about it, she still shared the same feelings of inferiority to David.

"Something tells me that she isn't the first girl that's hit on you in such an obvious way before," I said, taking a big first bite of my sandwich.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, looking up from the busy task it was from pulling away from the first bite of the sandwich.

Oh, darn it! He did it again. He trapped me in a place where I'd have to say that he was so hot and so nice and so perfect. But I couldn't admit that—first of all, I, Samantha Madison, don't share my feelings for guys with them and second, he was taken already. It'd put me in a problematic situation.

"Well, uh," I stammered. Would it sound so bad if I said he had an unfaultable personality and remarkable charm? I wiped my mouth with my paper napkin. "You have this way of making girls…like you, I guess."

There! I'd said it! And I could feel the resent coming on…oh, how lovely.

He cocked up an eyebrow. "Is that so? How would you know? You only know me for a couple of days."

No! Anything but this! He's cornering me. This is not good. Sam, leave to the bathroom, now!

I stood up suddenly and said, "I'm sorry, I, uh, gotta go."

Not waiting around for a reply, I hurried off to the end of the fast-food joint, where the restrooms were located. I opened the swung open the door marked Women and shuffled in. Once in, I leaned against the wall.

I heaved a deep breath. I breathed in and out.

That was a close call.