Wow! I had a great response to this!
Thanks all you beautiful people oh-so much for all the lovely reviews! I seriously thought no one would give this story the time of day, but I guess I was wrong? But seriously, thank you all so, so much! Means a ton!
Oh, and a little comment concerning the story and potential ships, because I know you're all curious with where this is going, and I'm going to be completely honest with you when I say I HAVE NO IDEA. In all honestly, I'm just going to flow with it. I may lose readers because of this, but ah well.
That's enough of that though. To chapter two!
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"You almost done, Hic?"
Having somehow been able to hear Fish over the lawn mower in front of me, I reply back with a, "Yeah! Just one more sec!"
He signals that he had heard me by throwing me a quick thumbs up, and then points towards the gate separating the front yard from the back, saying something I can't hear. By the way he starts marching towards it, his hedge clippers in hand, I guess he's going to wait on the curb for me. Better finish this job quickly then. Not only do I not want to keep Fish waiting, but I also don't want to keep Gobber waiting when he shows up. That wouldn't end well.
Luckily for me, I'm already pretty much finished. I cut the lawn mower off a moment later and stand back to admire my work. It's already the third day of doing this kind of work, and I'm going to have to admit, I've learned to respect grass and people who mow it. It may not look like much - just pushing a large piece of machinery back and forth for hours on end - but man, after spending a good five hours this week doing just that, I've learned to see it as more of an art form.
Gods, I'm so glad I have Thursday and Friday off after today. I think I'm going a little crazy because of this grass cutting.
Taking one last look at the freshly cut lawn, I grab the mower and push it through the gate and into the front yard. Fish is already sitting on the curb, taking a long drink from his water bottle. When he hears me approaching - which isn't really that hard with that loud piece of metal in tow - he throws me a smile.
"Just one more house," he says, the spout of his water bottle still in his mouth.
"Just one more house," I say back. I plop down next to him and take my water bottle out. I only have about a quarter left after I take a swig from it, so I remind myself to get it refilled in the van once Gobber gets us.
"Whatcha wanna do once we're done today?" Fish asks me after a minute. "I feel like we should do something special, since it's the end of our first week of havin' jobs."
"I dunno," I say. "Go home and sleep?"
"But that's what you've been doing every day this week so far!"
"Fine. Go home, take a shower, then sleep."
"Oh, haha, you're so clever, Hiccup."
"I try."
As Fish continues to pester me about after work plans, mentioning something about going to The Ring to get some lunch, I notice a group of kids on bikes turn the street corner and start heading towards us. I'm admiring one of the bike's nice paint jobs - a reddish orange hue with blotchy, black stripes in various sizes covering the frame - when I realize there's only one person in this town that would have that kind of paint job.
"And if we do end up going to The Ring for lunch, we can try to sit in Astrid's section," I hear Fish continue to try to persuade me. "That way maybe you could kinda, sorta try to ask her if she wants to-"
"As great as that sounds," I interrupt, having barely heard a word he's said," I think we have bigger problems on our hands right now, Fish."
He shoots me a confused look, and I cock my head towards the three teenagers now approaching us. His face falls once he sees who they are.
"Don't listen to a thing he says, alright, Hiccup?" he tells me sternly, his joking tone completely evaporated from his voice. "He's just going to try and bring you down and you shouldn't-"
"Well, well, well. Look at what we have here," the thick boy riding the red and black bikes greets us as he skids to a stop. His stringy, dark brown hair is almost completely hidden under a lame bike helmet with two goat horns sticking out of it, in an attempt to look like a Viking's helmet. The two other teens behind him, whom I recognize as Ruff and Tuff - also known as the Thorston twins - also sport similar helmets, only their horns aren't quite as big as their leader's. I swear, some of the kids here take the fact that our school's mascot is the Viking too seriously.
"What do you want, Lout?" I hear Fish spit back at the boy, and I have to fight back a smile from peeling across my face. Fish may be a big sweetheart most of the time, but get on his bad side and, oh, you're in lots of trouble, my friend.
Lout leans forward on his bike's handlebars, his arms crossed as he shoots me this devilish grin that I've learned to hate since we were kids. "I was just wondering how two losers like you guys could possibly convince Gobber to let you work for him. Am I right or what, guys?"
"Yeah!" Tuff, the male twin, goes in agreement. "Gobber must have been real desperate this year or something."
Ruff, his twin sister, lets out a laugh, and I can feel Fish next to me about to speak up again, only Lout beats him to it.
"I mean, I get Fish and all, since he's big and stuff and can actually help out, but Hiccup? Wee little Hiccup Haddock here." He says this in his best attempt of a baby's voice, leaning over his handlebar and reaching out to pinch my cheeks, like he always does. I'm not really in the mood to deal with this kid's crap right now, so, without thinking, I raise my hand and smack his away from me, causing Fish to let out a sharp gasp. Lout's hand hovers in air for a moment as our eyes meet and I try and give him the hardest glare I can muster, which probably really isn't that terrifying, not going to lie.
Lout just smirks at this, crossing his arms again on his handlebar. "Nice try, Haddock, but you're going to have to try a little harder than that to scare me. Let's get outta here, guys. Don't want to give 'em the idea that we actually like talking to them."
Once they're out of ear shot, I finally say what's on my mind.
"What is his deal?"
Fish sighs next to me. "I'd tell you if I knew."
"Have I even told you that we actually used to get along?" I say, and he shakes his head, looking a little astonished by this information. "Yeah, like, way, waaaaay back when we were kids. Whenever our families would have a reunion or whatever, our parents would stick us together and we'd play and it was great! But then school started, and he turned into an asshole that likes to pick on me every time he gets the chance."
"I always forget he's your cousin," Fish says quietly next to me. "Your dads are brothers, right?"
I let out a scoff. "I don't even know anymore. All I know is that 'he's family' and that I need to 'treat him like it'."
"I feel like you're quoting someone."
"I am. My dad."
"Ah."
At that moment, I notice a white van making its way towards us and I let out a sigh of relief. If only Gobber had arrived a little earlier, than I wouldn't have had to deal with Lout proving his manliness to his thick-headed friends by pointing out the little amount of manliness I have.
I push the lawn mower into the back of the van as Fish hops in and heads straight to the water barrel with our empty water bottles. Once I have the mower all strapped in, I tell Gobber, and we're on our way to our next house.
"Where to next, Gob?" Fish asks, taking a seat in the gap between the driver's and passenger's seat, so he can talk to Gobber.
"You two know 'bout the ol' Root place, right?" he asks us as I jump over Fish and take a seat in the passenger's seat. "Place where ye lots parents always warned ye 'bout trespassin' on when ye were wee things."
"Yeah, that old, abandoned house out on the outskirts of town," Fish confirms.
"Why are we going there?" I ask. "No one's lived there since old man Mildew died, and that was a good five years ago. That place is probably, like, a haunted house now."
Fish shoots me a concerned look. "Wait. Are you telling me there's ghosts there?"
I shrug. "I don't see why not. I mean, the old geezer did die inside the house, so I guess it'd make sense of his ghost still roams the halls of the place, haunting all the kids that go and trespass on his land. He probably has that old cane of his in tow too, ready to bash in heads or whatever."
Gobber, without taking his eyes off the road, smacks me on the back of the head, and Fish lets out a nervous laugh behind us.
"A new family's movin' in," Gobber continues to explain. "Got the place all nice and cleaned up too. Now it's up to you two to make the yard presentable."
"When are they moving in exactly?" Fish asks.
"Today."
"Today!?" I go. "And we're expected to have the yard all done before they arrive?"
"Ah, no, no," Gobber laughs. "I talked to the new owners and they're 'right with ye two boys workin' while they move things in. Just try 'n' get the front done first so ye not in the way of them bringin' in their things, 'right?"
"Fine. Alright."
"Got it!"
A good five minutes later, we arrive at our destination, and Gobber's right; the place actually doesn't look as bad as I remember. Fish and I sometimes used to bike pass Mildew's old place, after he had died of course, so we wouldn't have to worry about him running out and threatening us with his cane. Every time we did pass by though, I always got this weird feeling from it; the paint chipping from its exterior, those gaping windows staring down at us. Something about it just felt wrong, and I was never able to place it. Now though. I don't know, but whoever fixed this place up must have been a miracle worker of some kind, because now even I wouldn't mind living here.
"Ye boys got two hours," Gobber tells us as I unload the lawn mower from the back and on to the dirt road. "But, since the lawns pretty big, if ye need some extra time, that's 'right. Just remember what I said 'bout-"
"Getting the front done before they arrive, I gotcha, Gob," I finish for him, and he points at me approvingly.
"Good luck, boys."
"Thanks, Gob. See ya soon."
Fish is already heading towards the wild hedges as Gobber's van pulls away from the curb and heads down the dirt road. I push the lawn mower to the far corner of the yard, near this old oak tree that we used to like to climb as kids just to get on Mildew's nerves, and line it up with the edge of the grass. Better get started on this now. Two hours, when spent doing the same old thing over and over again, can actually go by a lot faster than one would think, and I don't have much time to waste here.
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This is the first time I've ever laid eyes on another human being before - besides my parents, Emma, and the doctors at the hospital, of course.
I stand in front of the moving truck as my father makes his way across our new home's front lawn, towards a small boy with auburn hair who's turning off this weird metal contraption. My father, who's wearing a nice button down shirt tucked into his pants, looks oddly out of place next to this boy, who's sporting a white, sleeveless shirt, some baggy shorts, boots, and a baseball cap. Another boy, larger than the other with a mess of dirty blonde hair also hidden under a baseball cap, joins them as my father and the smaller boy talk.
I can't help myself. These are the two first people I've seen outside of the hospital, and I can't stop staring. I know staring is wrong - that's what Emma's told me - but I can't help myself. They look so close to my age. I wonder what their names are, what they're doing here, if they live in this small town, if I'll ever see them again.
"Jack?" I hear a small voice chirp behind me. I turn to see Emma standing by my side, her small box full of her belongings in her short arms. Like her, I have a similar box in my arms, filled with a couple of books I've been told I like, several thick disks that my father called "hockey pucks" which are part of a sport I apparently like to play, a snow globe given to me by a forgotten grandparent I'll never meet, and various other small items, too easily lost to put in one of the bigger boxes in the back of the moving truck.
"Yes?" I go in response, letting her know she has my attention.
"You okay? You seemed a little… I dunno."
I nod my head with a smile and slowly tell her, "I'm okay." Ever since that day I first spoke to Emma in the hospital, I've been getting the hang of this whole talking thing. I still struggle with most words, but I'm honestly just thrilled I can finally communicate with more than just gestures.
Emma nudges me with her head, returning my smile. "Let's go inside then, you goofball. Daddy told me where your room is, so I can show it to you so you can unpack!"
I nod and follow her as she makes her way through the yard, skipping and humming as she goes. I can't help but steal a glimpse at the boys again, but I quickly divert my eyes when I notice they're already looking back at me.
On walking through the front door, I suddenly realize just how big this house really is. Emma had told me on the drive here that our parents had bought what she explained to me was something she called a "mansion". When I asked my father about this, he just laughed and said that it's not a mansion, but it's bigger than your average house.
"This is like a mansion," I say under my breath as I look up at the two-story ceiling overhead. There appears to be several odd structures hanging down from up there, and I remember those are called "lights" and that they illuminate dark places. Looking back down at eye level as Emma says something to me that I don't hear, I notice a semi-spiral staircase leading up to the second story of the house, where I assume our bedrooms are located.
Emma nudges me again, taking me out of my state of observation. "Let's go find your room, Jack!" she says, already running towards the stairs. I don't hesitate to follow her, suddenly becoming quite nervous, yet excited to see this place she keeps referring to as "my room".
The room is the first to the left in the hallway upstairs, and is about the same size as the hospital room I had been kept in earlier that week, only the walls are a light blue rather than a white, and there's a large window on the opposite end from where the door sits. The floor is wooden rather than tile, and the frame of what I assume is to be my bed and a bookshelf are already here.
"I'm gonna go put my stuff away, okay, Jack?" I hear Emma tell me. "I'll be back to help you when I'm done, I promise!"
"Okay," I say, but I don't think she hears me since she's already bolted out the door.
My room.
When I had been staying at the hospital, they always referred to the space I was kept in as "my room", yet it never really felt like mine. I learned that there were people before me that had lain in that very bed, overcoming sickness and disease, just as I had. Knowing that made staying there even more unbearable than it had already been.
This place though. This little room made of four walls, a ceiling and floor, two doors, and a window doesn't feel like "my room" back at the hospital. This is my place, and there's no one to share it with and no one that came before it or will be coming after it.
I like this room.
Feeling the weight still in my arms from the box full of my possessions, I walk over to the bare bookshelf and softly place each book on its shelves. I assume that what I'm doing is logical, considering it's called a bookshelf and these are books. Once each book is placed side by side, I place the snow globe in front of them, as to keep them from sliding down. I shake it before I do this though, watching the white substance dance around the small village contained inside the glass dome. For some reason, watching the white substance that Emma told me is supposed to be something called "snow" makes me grin so much, my cheeks start to hurt.
After placing the rest of my belongings on the bookshelf and putting the box down on my bed frame, I approach the lone window. There's a ledged area cut out right in front of it, where I assume one can sit and read and look out from. I climb on to it and take a peek out the window, revealing a view of the front lawn I had been out on only moments before. I had expected to see the two boys and my father still chatting outside, but, to my disappointment, they're no longer there. I wonder where they wandered off to.
"Hey, C- I mean, Jack."
Turning away from the window and towards the voice, I see my father standing right outside the doorway, carrying in his arms what appears to be something I heard my mother refer to earlier as a "nightstand". He appears to be struggling to keep a firm grasp on it however.
"Think you can give me a hand here, son?"
"Okay."
I jump up and dash across the room, planting my hands, like his, underneath the structure. It's heavier than I expected, but with my father's help, we move it across the room and right beside the bed.
"You want to help me with bringing up the rest of your furniture?" he asks. "There's just a desk, a dresser, and a chair left, so not that much."
I nod my head enthusiastically, happy to be of help. Emma had told me that, because I'm a guy, our father may ask me to help him with moving furniture into the house, especially the larger articles. At first, I was a little anxious about this idea, since I'll admit that I don't feel quite as close to my parents as I feel I should be. When I had been in the hospital, I saw plenty of other children my age, even younger, alongside their parents, and the relationships I saw between them were very different from mine. My parents have proven to be the distant type, my father because he thinks I need some space to come to terms with the world around me, and my mother… well, I still don't necessarily know her reasoning for not striking up conversations or even locking eyes with me, but I know it's not normal.
Hearing that my father actually wants my help though, wants to work on a task with me alongside him; it makes me happy. It makes me feel almost normal.
So, for the next twenty minutes, we carry the last few pieces of furniture for my room up the curved stairs, which proves to be a real challenge at first, but we somehow manage. Every time we have to stop because his back is starting to hurt, I can't help but laugh a little and playfully point out how old he's getting, to which he always shots me a grin and says something about how I'll won't be laughing one day.
Once we're done bringing in the rest of the furniture for my room, I ask him if he needs any more help with the other rooms, but he says it's fine.
"We're not supposed to strain you too much," he informs me, taking a look around my now completely furnished bedroom. "Don't want to break you, you know." He smiles at the last part, so I smile back, even though I don't necessarily understand how one can "break" another person.
He leaves after that, saying something about how I can maybe help my mother with dinner downstairs, but it doesn't register because Emma skips in, that beautiful smile of hers glowing on her childish face.
"Wanna go exploring?" she asks, taking my hand in hers.
I smile. "Okay."
She shows me her room, which has purple walls and two windows instead of one, and has all her furniture and stuffed animals in it already. After she tells me the names of each one, we move into the office across the hall from our rooms. There's only a desk and chair in it so far, but Emma says that our father has a lot of bookshelves for this room so he can store his "zillions of books". We then go downstairs and explore the living room, which is also fully furnished, minus a coffee table and television stand. The dining room next door has yet to be filled, but there's something about the emptiness of the large room that makes me want to spin around in circles. I don't fight the urge and I start to spin, and Emma joins in only seconds later. We're turning in circles, looking up at the ceiling, laughing, when I hear someone sternly say, "Stop it!" and I quickly stop, having a hard time from collapsing because of the dizziness overcoming me.
Standing at the entrance to the room is my mother, wearing an apron and her hair pulled back into a long ponytail. The expression her face doesn't seem to show that she's angry, like her voice sounded, but more… concerned? I'm not sure if that's the right word, but it's the first that comes to mind.
"Sorry," is all I can think of to say back. I try locking eyes with her, but she quickly looks down at floor, avoiding my glance.
"It's… I don't want you to get hurt," she tells me, then abruptly turns and walks out of the room.
I look at my surroundings, wondering how in the world I could possibly hurt myself when there's nothing to hurt myself on. Peering down at Emma with a questioning look, she just shrugs and asks me if I want to go explore the backyard patio.
Our adventure to the outside is cancelled however by our father telling us we can't because of the boys doing the yard work. As Emma lets out a groan of disappointment, I look out the window and notice the same two boys from before. The larger one has what look like to be a blown up pair of scissors in his gloved hands that he's using to hack away at the bushes with, and the smaller one is pushing that weird contraption around again.
"What is thing he's pushing?" I ask Emma after we retreat back upstairs. "The small boy."
"Oh?" she goes. "You mean the lawn mower?"
"Lawn… mower?"
She laughs at my confusion. "Yeah, it's called a lawn mower, Jack! It cuts the grass."
"So… it like… the ground is getting a… a…" I can't seem to find the word I'm looking for, so I move my hand up into my hair, shaping my fingers to look like scissors and pretending to snip pieces of my hair off.
"A haircut?" Emma guesses.
"Yes."
She glances out the window at the boy pushing the lawn mower - wow, what an odd name for such a machine - and giggles, covering her mouth with her tiny hands. "Yeah, I guess it is like the ground is getting a haircut. I've never thought of it like that." Looking away from the window and back at me, she gives me this funny look I can't quite decode. When I ask her what's wrong, she simply says, "You really do look at the world a lot different now that you have to relearn everything, don't you? Like, everything must be just so…so weird in your eyes."
I shrug.
"I've lived my whole life knowing that that's a lawn mower and that it cuts the grass, and I've never really questioned it. But you. Wow. That must be really weird, huh?"
I shrug again, unable to think of a real reply. I guess, yeah, it is kind of weird, the position I'm in, having to relearn everything that normal kids my age learned so many years ago. I don't really know any other way though. This constant learning of new terms and words; this is my life now. And quite honestly, I don't half mind it.
.
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"I wonder who that kids was."
"Hm?" I look up from the plastic menu in my hands and at Fish, sitting across the metal table from me. He has his meaty legs kicked up on the empty chair next to him, playing with the bill of his hat as he looks back at me.
"The kid we saw while at Mildew's old place, remember?"
"Oh yeah." I look back down at the menu.
There's a beat, then Fish adds, "He had white hair."
"Yeah."
"That's kinda weird."
"Probably bleaches it or something," I say. "Hey, are you gonna order anything or…?" I pass the menu his way, but he just waves it away, pulling the hat back on to his sweaty head.
"Hiccup, I've lived in this town since I was born, and I've come to this restaurant since I was nine," he tells me for the thousandth time. "Trust me when I say that I know what I want."
I shrug. "Suit yourself."
Placing the menu back down on the table, I lean back some in my chair and close my eyes, listening to the birds in the tree next to our table sing. Despite having to mow two yards today in this blistering heat, I'm going to have to admit that it's rather nice outside. That's something I love about The Ring, the restaurant that Fish and I and dozens of other kids our age go to to hang out and get our greasily unhealthy food fix. In the center of the lot there's the kitchen, and around that, going in - you guessed it - a ring shape, are a couple dozen tables, all outside with umbrellas providing shade. It's the perfect place to go and chill on a deadly hot day like this, when you still want to be outside, but not all gross and sweaty.
"Do you think he's in our grade?" I hear Fish ask, and I let out a sigh. So much for a relaxing afternoon, enjoying the sounds of nature. Fish is the last person you want to possibly have around if you want some peace and quiet I've discovered over the years.
"I dunno," I say, going along with it, my eyes still shut. "He looked a little older than us. Why does it matter?"
"No reason other than just wondering," he admits. "It's not like everyday someone new moves to Berk, y'know? Especially someone 'round our age."
"True."
My eyes snap open when I hear the sound of blades on concrete rolling towards us. As I turn my head in the direction of the sound, there stands a small, but somewhat muscular, blonde girl, her hands on her hips and roller skates on her feet.
"Hey, you two," she goes, smirking at us. "You guys here to bother me while at work or something? Better not get me fired, like last time."
"Nope! Not today!" Fish goes, shooting a smile her way.
"Surprisingly enough, we're actually here to eat," I add on, and she just rolls her eyes.
She flips out a little red notepad and matching pen, brushing her side bangs out of her pretty, round face. "Well, if that's what you're here for, what'll it be?"
"The usual," Fish says.
She jots something down in her notepad, smirking again. "Got it. And you, Haddock?"
"I'll try the number seven today, please and thank you, miss."
She takes the menu from my outstretched hand after writing down my order. "I don't think I've ever had your scrawny ass order the same thing twice in a row, you know that," she reminds me. "Wish you just had a usual, like Fish here. Kinda annoying, if you ask me."
"Yeah, well…" I lean my head back so I can see her from under the brim of my hat, and shoot her a smile. "You know me, Astrid."
She hits me right on the face with the menus. "Yeah. Sadly."
Before I can say any form of a comeback, she's off, gliding between tables and other waitresses delivering other people's orders. I watch her go, her thick legs pushing her body until she gets to the ordering station to tell the cooks our order. I hear Fish laughs next to me, taking a sip from his drink and saying something about how she "got me good" this time.
"You should ask her out," he adds suddenly.
"But she hates me guts."
"Oh, come on, Hiccup. She doesn't hate your guts. If she hated your guts, she wouldn't even give you the time of day, which she totally does! She just… doesn't always appreciate your presence every time she sees you."
"Gee, Fish. You really know how to make a guy feel confident."
"I'm just saying you should make a move before someone else does, that's all."
"Says the guy who can barely get a sentence out when he's around his crush," I tease, throwing a salt packet his way. He deflects it with his hand, shooting me a look.
"That's not fair," Fish fights back. "I haven't known her for as long as you've known Astrid. I mean, how long have you guys known each other again?"
I let out a huff, folding my arms across my chest. "Sincewewereeight."
"Ah, I'm sorry. I don't believe I caught that."
I glare over at Fish, which he returns with a smug smile. "Since. We. Were. Eight."
"That's what I thought."
It's then that Astrid rolls up with our meals, both sitting on a turquoise tray balanced on her hand. I thank the gods for her superb timing.
"I got a usual," she goes, tossing the double stacked cheese burger with extra pickles and mayonnaise Fish's way. He snatches it in the air, licking his lips at just the feeling of it in his hands. "And a number seven," she adds, tossing me my simple cheese burger with additional bacon bits. As we unwrap our burgers, I notice her look over towards the ordering station, like she's checking to see if anyone's watching her, and then slinks into a chair across from us.
"You two going to this weekend's race?" she asks. "I heard Lout's been working extra hard on this new trick where her pops a wheelie and has one foot on his handlebars and starts flexing or something egotistical like that." She rolls her eyes, brushing her messy braid over her shoulder. "What a perfect asshole, right?"
"We saw him earlier today," Fish tells her, sinking his teeth into his burger. "He got a new paint job."
"Oh yeah? What's it this time?"
"A reddish orange with black stripes," I tell her, still unwrapping my burger. The employees here that wrap these things are professionals at it, I swear. I usually end up just having to grab a chunk, peel, and hope for the best.
Astrid rolls her eyes again, resting her head in her palm. "How original. But are either of you two going to race against him? I would, but my baby's in the shop getting some new special wheels. They're supposed to make her faster. Super excited about it."
"I can't," Fish confesses with disappointment lacing his words. "My grandma's coming in this weekend, so my mom said I have to stay home and hang out with her."
Astrid then turns towards me. "And let me guess. You're still working on making your bike into some kind of masterpiece, right?"
I make a gun out of my hand and pretend to shot her with it. "Bingo."
"Oh, tell me, Mister Haddock. Will any of us mere mortals ever be able to lay eyes on the infamous Night Fury, or will we forever have to use our imaginations to pictures its beauty?" Fish chokes on some of his burger, and I shoot him a glare, to which he returns with an apologetic shrug.
"It's getting there," I tell her.
"That's what you said last time I asked you about it."
"But it really is getting there."
She lets out a dramatic sigh, leaning back in her chair to where it's pushed up against the half wall behind her, noisily kicking her skates up on to the table. "I really hope you're right about Haddock's skills when it comes to racing, Fish. It'd be nice to see someone other than Lout win for once."
I smirk in her direction, whipping ketchup from my chin. "Oh, so you can't even beat him?"
She narrows her light blue eyes at me. "He's really good, Hiccup."
"Are you underestimating me, Miss Hofferson?"
"I dunno, am I? I've never seen you race, so I wouldn't know."
"He'll beat him," Fish interjects happily. "Hic really has been working a lot to perfect his bike, Astrid, making it super-fast and stuff. Lout won't stand a chance when Hiccup gets on to that race track." I raise my hand into the air, asking for an air high-five, and Fish delivers, bless his soul.
Astrid rolls her eyes, taking her skates down from the table, and stands up. "Well, I really hope you're right, Fish. It'd be nice to finally see Lout get smacked into his rightful place. Especially by someone like you."
"Hey!" I go, trying to look offended. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what I said. See you two weirdos later." She smacks me on the side of the head as she rolls pass, almost making me lose my grip on my burger.