Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Star gazing and ball busting

Here's two stories today for Five Word Wednesday! First, some star gazing.


My friend Kelli's list today was very ambitious:

triskaidekaphobia *What?? Let's see if I did a good job working that one in:

Caitlin squinted and scooted closer to Matt. “Which one is that?”
“Ursa Minor. See?” He traced the constellation with his finger. His other hand was busy fingering the hem of her skirt.
Oh gosh. She’d told herself anything covered by clothes was off limits, and here her morals began to evaporate with a mere touch of her clothing. Heaven help her. Caitlin swallowed and kept her eyes and thoughts trained on the starry sky above them. “How long have we been out here?”
Matt used his non-exploring hand to swipe his phone. “About half an hour. Should you be getting home?”
Yes. She definitely should. Her mom thought she was here studying. Which she was. Stars, for example, she was well versed on. She’d learned a slew of other things since coming to study at Matt’s . His mom got home from work at exactly 5:15. He liked to snack on chocolate milk and grapes, a combination she found oddly endearing. He wore boxer briefs, something she’d never had an intention of finding out but had discovered when Matt’s little brother tore through the house with a pair on his head. That was also the day she’d learned that Matt flushed the exact color of magenta when he was embarrassed, and that, despite her best attempts at just being his friend, she was half in love with him.
It was impossible. Her mom would flip her lid. She seemed hell bent on making high school miserable for Caitlin, waging a crusade on dating and boys. Caitlin's phone buzzed in her back pocket. Probably her mom, wondering exactly what she was doing. Caitlin ignored it.
Matt sat up, then reached for her hand and pulled her up, too. “Let’s get a snack.”
She should leave, but instead found herself sitting at his kitchen counter.
Matt shoved a Twinkie in his mouth. “Want one?”
Ew. How many molecules away from plastic was high fructose corn syrup? Caitlin shook her head. “No, thanks.”
His brows rose. “You scared of junk food?”
Just about. Snack food was just another thing her mother was adamantly opposed to. “Maybe.”
The corner of his lip twitched. “What else are you scared of? No wait, let me guess.”
Caitlin crossed her arms and leaned onto the counter. “Go for it.”
“I bet you’re scared of public bathrooms.”
She laughed. “That’s what soap is for.”
Matt cocked his head to the side. “Snakes?”
“Try again.”
“Snakes on a plane?”
She giggled.
Matt took a step around the counter, closer to her. “Arachnophobia?”
She turned toward him, her hands falling into her lap. “I kill them with a shoe.”
He came closer, right in front of her. “Triskaidekaphobia?” His leg pressed into hers, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against her bare leg.
She took a shaky breath and stared into her lap. “Thirteen is just another number.”
“Definitely not that one.” She raised her head, a smile already forming, but he was there, his lips on hers before she knew what was happening. She closed her eyes, shocked. Matt’s hands came up to her face, brushing against her jawline and sweeping her hair back. He tasted wonderful; like boy and sweat and Twinkie all at the same time. He was kissing her. A tiny moan escaped her lips. Her eyes popped open. Oh gosh.  She did not just do that. Matt’s eyes were still closed, his lips still moving against hers. Leave it to her to make a mess of what could have been the most perfect kiss ever.
Matt pulled away, his eyes on her. “Ask me my fears.”
What? His face was serious, no smile on his lips. Caitlin swallowed. “Ok. What are your fears?”
He shook his head. “I don’t have any. Not anymore.” He brought his thumb up and rubbed it over her chin, and smiled. “My worst fear was never getting the chance to do that.”
Sweet mercy help her.

And then my adorable husband gave me these words.


Yes, they are all German. Except for the last one, which I do not think is a word at all. He is very much a smart aleck. ;)

Lyla copied the word down in her notebook. She glanced at the clock above Frau Rice’s desk. How could this infernal class last so long? Thirty two more minutes, and then still two classes to go after that. Lyla turned her attention back to her homework.
Zug, Magen.
German wasn’t her favorite. She had signed up because Drake was taking it. Three classes together. She didn’t think she’d like German, but Drake’s grandmother was fluent. She counted on him helping her. Extra study sessions together. His grin when she told him that she had made an A on a really hard exam.
What she hadn’t counted on was them not being together.
Lyla tilted her head to the right, where Drake sat one row and one seat in front of her.  White hot anger flooded through her veins just looking at him. She gripped her pencil tighter and turned her eyes back to her textbok.
The word appeared dark and thick on her paper. Stupid Drake. Lyla looked at him again. His fingers traced circles on the shirt of the girl in front of him. Presley Marsden. Ugh. His homework abandoned, Drake continued swirling his finger on the back of Presley’s shirt. Lyla scoffed. That wasn’t the only part of Presley he’d had his fingers on when Lyla had walked in on them at Tyler Sutton’s homecoming party two weekends ago. Bastard. Didn’t he know you should at least cheat on your girlfriend when you weren’t in the same building with her?
Lyla’s feet tapped onto the floor, a staccato message of absolute blinding fury. Look away, Lyla. She dug her pencil into her paper.
What the hell? That wasn’t even a word.
Lyla erased it, her eyes roaming to Drake again. What was the German word for piece of scum?
“The greatest revenge is a life well lived,” her mom had told her. Well, the best way Lyla could think of living life right now was ramming Drake’s man parts with a baseball bat.

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