White Cheddar Popcorn

It’s the next Wednesday after meeting the strange girl, and Kade completely forgot about the ordeal. He stays true to his vending machine game with the next snack chosen being a bag of white cheddar popcorn, and a bottle of water to wash it down.

The bench he sits on is now a place of meditation, his hoodie off and laying over his lap as a form of blanket and catch for his snack, just to keep it from touching the bench. He opens the bag and shakes it a little to watch the puffs inside tumble. Unlike a typical popcorn excursion at a theatre where he could take handfuls at a time, if the same were done with this, it'd be gone in two scoops, so the optimal way to have the snack last his lunch period, he meticulously picks at each piece.

He nods at the taste, but the texture and flavor dust dry his mouth at such a drastic rate, that he finds himself reaching for the bottle only a few pieces in. Then halfway through the bag, he decides to put it on pause. He rolls the open end of the bag and keeps it rolled using a spare hair tie from his wrist. He puts it down on the bench and decides it’s time to take a nap, using the hoodie's blanket form to full effect.

It's a perfect time to doze off; a small treat to digest, and a place of peace and quiet for no interruptions. He closes his eyes and brainstorms the types of daydream he wants to explore: a mission of impossible odds, life with telekinesis, all of his grandma's cooking laid out in overwhelming variety, and a second encounter with that one cute girl who's been stuck at the back of his mind this whole time.

A shiver runs down his neck, and he props himself up by the elbow to scout the area. Nothing. He's on edge now, reminded of the deal he haphazardly made, and also repulsed by his own unruly fascination.

"It's nothing serious." He thinks to himself. "She's right, boys can be such creeps."

To drown the thoughts out, he returns to his nap, but with a focus on grandma's cooking. It gets his tongue tingling, and his frown shifts to a grin, smitten by the image and phantom aroma of Italian cuisine.

He rubs his dream hands together and prepares to dig in, shoving a fork into the forefront display, a plate of his favorite one pan pasta, twirling it into a fork spool of noodles.

Outside his dream, there's an ominous person with their hand on their hip, staring down at his blissful napping face. The figure goes "tch," and reaches out towards his face.

In the dream, he's stuffed his face with the first bite, and is preparing for the next. A stab and a spin later, he's bringing the fork in for another bundle of gluttonous rapture, but before he can melt in its glory, the noodles untwine and fly into his nostrils, blocking the airway. It shoots him out of the dream, and up into reality. He catches the sight of a a dainty hand pinching his nose, and the blurry figure responsible overhead.

He gasps for air, the sight of his perpetrator refocused, and it's the girl from last Wednesday. Her face, a judgmental scowl, bellows a fire in his heart that burns his face, so he takes her hand away and sits up, finding the breaths that'll forge him back into his cool-headed self.

After clearing his throat, he confronts her with a tightened grip. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Thought I could prove you were a mouth-breathing creep," She rips her hand away, unamused. "Guess I was half wrong."

"Oh, heh..." He clears his throat some more and places his loose belongings on the bench so he can face her properly. "So..."

"Ah-ah-ah." She waves her —what now feels like signature— finger. "No chit-chat. I'm here for the payment, and that's it." she unwinds the same hand for the promised offering.

Looking at her hand, he impulsively pulls a joke not even he could ever explain, by raising his hand as the offering, but she quickly realizes and swats it away.

"Got a death wish?" She crosses her arms.

He puts his hand down on his leg and taps it nervously. "No-no. I got to stand up. Heh..."

She watches him like a warden to a laboring prisoner as he gets up and moves to the snack vending machine. "What are you doing? You better not be ignoring me."

"I'm doing as I said." He pulls out his wallet for a dollar. "What do you want?"

"The dollar, dumbass." She marches toward him, but he slips the dollar in without a second thought.

"Oh what's the fun in that?" His eyes jot about the options, but he ultimately lands on the same item. “Come on. Relax for once,” he clicks the interface and the bag falls.

"Are you serious?" The girl tries to snatch his wallet, but he puts it high, her greatest weakness. "Stop messing around. You must have another."

"You'll be disappointed."

"What loser only carries a couple dollars?” She struggles to reach at first, then resorts to brute force by jabbing his side.

It's effective at getting him to tense up, but he doesn't drop it. "Fine. So violent. Here." He lets it go and it hits her face.

"Gah!" She catches it from slipping and without hesitation searches the wallet. "God... You are poor." 

Letting a stranger search his wallet isn't exactly the first thing he had in mind, but inside isn't anything he's ashamed of, or so he thought. Her eyes and fingers picked apart every nook and cranny, finding a lodged and forgotten penny, but worst of all was his ID photo. The epicenter of the display, he is reminded that there are a few gripes he has with her seeing it. Firstly, his weight and height. It's nothing except a tad dated, and very personal, but now he thinks it could be compared to some ideal form, and now he's trembling. Secondly, his photo, another dated aspect, a sillier face than his typical, and a haircut only a mother could love. Will she peek back at him to make a before and after comparison? Oh no, she did, and now he can no longer watch.

"C-can I have my wallet back now?" He holds out his shaky hand, only to be struck by another thought, his signature. It was something he remembers rushing, but there wasn't a clear redo button.

She smirks at the name and holds his wallet out for him, "Here you go, Reeks."

"Real funny," he takes the wallet back and sighs both with relief that it's over and regret that it happened. "It's Rinks, Kade Rinks, like a skating rink or whatever."

"Yea-yea, now pass the snack, Reeks."

"That sucks, and it's not fair." He takes the bag and tosses it to her. "What about your name?"

"O-over-wah," the sudden throw startles her, and she nearly fumbles the catch, while he sees it as sweet revenge. "Over my dead body."

"Again, you're no fun."

"It's the price you pay." She opens the bag and sits at the bench.

He keeps away from the bench even though his snack and hoodie are there. Instead, he leans against the vending machine and nods, pondering a possible hole in her logic. If the exact exchange of her e-cig's price is a hundred dollars, then what price is he paying to withhold her name? 

"How much does your name equate to, fifty dollars?" He finally shoots a smug look without backing down.

"No! A-uh... It's-uh-additional." She shrinks and fidgets with the bag in calculation of a retort. "Additional charge for—my time."

"Your time?" He taps his chin in thought. "I guess you're the type to make it expensive." He points back at her with a grin, but it dies when met with her cold stare. "W-well wouldn't my own time be an equal exchange?"

She scarfs a handful of popcorn, distorting her speech to a muffle. "I think you're the type to give it out for free."

It leaves him offended because it's true, but he recovers easily thanks to his adoration of her contrasting aesthetic. People would win a lottery before having the chance to see a girl like her act so sloppy. It’s either he believes it’s because she trusts him, or because he’s not worth considering, the latter he can’t even fathom why he thinks such a way.

"You're ri—" The girl suddenly groans and interrupts his speech.

"Somwachur," she searches around desperately, clearing her dried throat in the process to cry for assistance again. "Need some water. I'm dying!"

"I don't have any more money for that. Toss me a dollar and I'll get you one."

Her search lands on his abandoned water, something she knew of prior and would take full advantage. "Ahah!"

"W-wait no-no-no—" his plea comes late as she gulps half the bottle down. "—aw man..."

"Ah..." She leans back and raises the bottle in cheer. "Nessa Cabar. Now we're even."

"Oh, for the drink." He chuckles. "It's nice to meet you, Nessa."

"Blegh," she comically exaggerates her disgusted expression. "Don't say it the moment you find out. I almost charged extra."

"So your name is worth half a dollar?" He takes a seat, feeling a bit more acceptable to do so. "You must make bank."

She swings the bottle overhead and bonks him, a tinge of red in her glaring face that sends mixed signals. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ah nothing." He takes the bottle back since she left it on his head. "Just crackin' jokes. You know me."

There's a moment of him awkwardly laughing, then a scoot on the bench away from her, feeling regret for even trying to sit, but her once serious look collapses into a chuckle, then a boisterous laugh. He looks back only with confusion.

"You're wrong," she stops to contain the laughter. "I barely know you."

"Yea..." He pulls his hoodie and snack from the bench and puts it back over his lap. "Well, how's the popcorn?"

"It's fine. I've never had it till now. Is that your first question?"

"Well I got a lot of things to ask."

"Weirdo. I know I'm cute, but you don't stand a chance."

"What? No," he's quick to refute leading that way, but he asks himself if that's true on the inside, which is undetermined. "I was thinking of some questions..."

"On with it." She gestures for him to hurry.

He struggles at first but eventually gets a grasp of it. "I guess something like, why."

"Why what?" She raises and shakes the remaining puffs into her mouth.

"The-uh, y'know, thing—with the vape."

"Hm... If you want me to answer that," She swallows the puffs and is in need of his water, so he obliges. The thirst is quenched, and she hands back a nearly empty bottle. "then how about I ask why you're here first?"

The question stings him. “Oh-uh…”

“Exactly. Maybe save it for later.” She stretches and lays down on the bench, short enough not to interfere with his space. ”How about we start with the basics?”

“Hm. What do you mean by basics?”

She punches his leg. “Are you braindead? I'm talking about small talk. Here, I'll start. What do you like?”

He completely misconstrues the question and assumes it's girl-talk for love interests. “Well..." He fidgets with the cap of his bottle. "I’m not sure yet.”

“I hope you know I meant simpler things, like pasta.”

"Yes!" He flinches at her smug look. “Wait. You heard that?”

She completely ignores his worries and drifts away into an imaginative world. “I think pasta is so heavy on carbs. Something like a marinated medium-well steak would hit the spot.”

“Don’t ignore my question!” He leans over to grab her attention through eye contact, but she only returns a stuck out tongue, teasing his inquiry, then follows it with a grinning giggle.

By his observation, the air around her is changing to something softer. Her movements are floaty, and her speech is slurred like someone drifting to sleep. 

“Your questions—womp," she does a thumbs down with one of her playfully dancing hands, "they're no fun.”

He blushes and pulls away before exposing his easy heart. “Yea. A s-steak is nice too I guess.”

“A side of pasta would peak your interest more," she twirls a finger in his face, "wouldn't it?”

He gets reeled in by the shared imagination. “That sounds—really good.”

"Hah, so weird." She twists around to her stomach so she can be in a more girly, feet-kicking, and chin-resting-on-palms position. "Aren't you gonna ask me something fun? I can't be doing all the work here."

"I'm not sure what to ask. It's all weird things anyways..."

"I thought you were a talker, but now you're backing down. Aren't you the one who tried lecturing me about a vape?" She rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue. "Pussy. If you want to ask weird stuff, I'm all for it, just don't make it like your last question, otherwise, I'm out of here."

Again, she's right, and he can't argue, only able to scratch his arm in contemplation. The questions he wants to ask are far too personal. It's almost as if he's lost the fundamentals of casual conversation, but really, that's how he's been from the start. He doesn't feel bound by the confines of social conformity, but that's the same freedom that blurs his direction.

A question dances at the tip of his tongue before jumping out. "What's your favorite color? No. That's l—"

"All the ones I look good in, which is probably all of them. Maybe not green, or certain greens? Dunno about that part. How about you?" She interrupts his mumbling to prevent him ruining the momentum.

"I can see it." He nods, only to yelp as she pinches his arm, almost trying to draw blood. "W-what was that for?"

She keeps her head low to avoid his glare. "Your favorite color, dumbass."

"Oh, right!" He tugs away from her continuing pinch and rubs the mark out of pain and awkwardness. "Blue I guess..."

Her heavy head rocks to the side as if slapped by disappointment. "B-b-b-boring!"

“What am I supposed to say?”

“You’re supposed to say more.” She acts as if it’s obvious, but he isn’t catching at all. “…Don’t you have a reason to like blue, or a second favorite, or even a follow-up to something blue you own?”

He stays silent to check his surroundings, then he grabs his hoodie on his lap. “My hoodie is blue, and it’s a gift from my mom.”

“Aw. That’s cute.” She tilts her head and smiles. “So your favorite color is blue.”

“I wasn’t lying.” He says, and they both laugh.

“Good job.” She stretches once, sits up, stretches again, and then pulls out her phone like it’s a habit. “Would ya like to… Hold on.”

She scrolls about a wall of text messages that he’s respectful enough not to directly spy on, but just curious enough to have a peek at. “Would you like to what?” He thinks deeply about the ending to. Some options include: hang again, exchange phone numbers, go out, kiss, and a lot more, the most intimate of which have him shaking his head to mix them out of focus.

“So… what’s up?” He slouches in the seat to play it cool, staring off into the distance with the same pretend nonchalance.

“Shit. I gotta go.” She jumps from the bench and picks up her bag. “The girls have been hounding me this whole time.”

“Cool,” he resorts to since there’s no other way he can think of to respond. “Get moving then, and see ya next Wednesday.” 

“In your dreams creep,” she flips him off.

“It’s reeks. Wait, that’s not what you said. No, I meant Rinks. Wait!" He stands up, but it’s too late.

She laughs and waves goodbye before rounding the hallway corner.

“Ugh…” He goes limp on the bench and takes the water bottle, shaking it so he can watch its contents slosh about. “I’m such a creep.”