Chapter Twenty-Six
Kalen
Valentine’s Day: usually a day where I spend more time with my clothes off, than I do on. Girls normally throw themselves at me all day. This year is different though, I’ve managed to ignore the four girls who all offered me blow jobs before breakfast.
The decorating committee has gone all out this year.
Metallic love hearts and cupids hang from the ceiling.
I swipe a cupid out of my way and see Becky Johnson heading towards me.
Any other day of the year, these girls know not to approach me unless I summon them.
But on Valentine's Day, when love is in the air, they all pounce. Time to retreat.
Love was always just a four-letter word to me, until now. I turn on my heels and run; no way am I landing myself in a situation that would piss Amelie off. She wants pizza and puppies? Then that’s what she will get.
I cleared the day off school with Dad. I have spent well over a week begging him to let me keep the puppy at his house, and he vetoed the idea, so now my plan consists of Sawyer seeing how happy a puppy makes Amelie so that he’ll have to agree to keep it at his house.
Not a solid plan, but one I’m sure will work so long as I ask him after she has seen it.
My brothers and I have been fighting about how we split the day with Amelie.
Sawyer has taken her to breakfast, Slate is taking her to some lame ass open mic night, Onyx thinks the whole Valentine's Day is a sham and wants no part in it, but I know for a fact he has a gift for her. Although he’ll send it anonymously.
She’ll know it’s from him though, because it’s bound to be boringly practical.
That leaves me lunch time. I want it all to be very public because who doesn’t like a show?
Plus, if for any reason it backfires in my face and she tries to refuse the cute little fluff ball I’ve got for her, there will be enough peer pressure from folks watching to force her to accept him. What kind of a monster rejects a puppy?
My plan is foolproof.
I spend the first half of the day dodging advances from horny, lonely, desperate girls who don’t want to be alone on Valentine’s.
Their eau de desperation makes my eyes water with how strong they’re coming on.
I’d never risk pissing Amelie off, but I do wonder if a little flirting would make her jealous.
It would be hella hot to watch her flip and kick the shit out of some of these girls.
Even though she claims her flight or fight mechanism is to run and hide, I reckon there’s a fighter buried deep inside her.
And that she’ll be scrappy as hell when she gets going.
Now that I’d like to see.
I groan, adjust my trousers and pull my mind out of the gutter with some difficulty.
Thinking of Amelie scrapping makes me horny, which makes me think of sex, which makes me replay the other day when we were together, over and over in my mind.
I can’t stop thinking about the way she demanded I fuck her – or how rough she wanted it.
I groan again, aware that I’ve gotten distracted again, and check my watch.
It’s almost time.
My phone beeps to announce the pizza is here so I head down to the entrance to get it.
And the puppy. Luckily, I was able to call in a favour with Taco – not an actual favour because he’s just a pledge, more of a ‘thanks mate I’ll owe you one’, which I’m sure he’ll call in to help with his initiation – to get the dog and to look after him for a few days.
His cousin breeds them or something, and I was lucky enough to ask at the right time, just as the most recent litter was ready.
I’m so excited about this. I chose the perfect dog for her: a husky. Cute, intelligent, loyal. Hard work, but mischievous and fiercely protective. The others are going to seriously approve.
I pay the pizza delivery guy just as Taco pulls up and climbs out of his car with the smallest bundle of fluff I’ve ever seen.
“Taco, hey, man. Thanks for doing this.”
“No problem,” he replies, handing me the sleeping puppy. It’s smaller than I expected. For real, it looks like he’s holding a slightly oversized wad of cotton wool. The thing is tiny. I frown.
“What’s this?”
“Er, your puppy?”
“I thought it was a husky? It seems too small to be a husky.”
“Dude. It’s not a husky. It’s a pomsky.”
“What? You said it was a husky!”
“No, I said it was a Pomeranian crossed with a husky.”
“It’s not a purebred?” I wrinkle my nose and then realise I sound like Grandfather. “It’ll get bigger than this, right? It’ll look like a wolf, yeah?”
Taco looks at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind and sniggers.
“Nah, mate. It’s a teacup size. That thing’s about close to being full size. Maybe. Pretty sure it was the runt of the litter.”
“Hey! What do you mean the runt? You better not be selling me no defective mutt!”
“Chill, dude. You don’t know anything, do you? Runt just means it’s the smallest. And my cousin’s litters are reserved over a year in advance. You were lucky to get that one.”
I pout.
“Look if you don’t want it…”
“Did I say that?” I snap, feeling foolish. Okay, so maybe I was a little too excited when I discovered Taco could get me a puppy in time for Valentine’s Day, and so I didn’t listen to him properly. I have ADHD so I can’t be held responsible for my actions.
There’s no way I’m handing this fluff ball back over to him. Not with the way it’s snuggled into my chest and is snoring in time to my heart beat. Awww damn, it’s cute. Maybe I should get me one too? We could have matching outfits for them and...holy fuck! When did I grow ovaries?!
“It’s my damn dog, you can’t have him back.” I turn away from Taco, protectively shielding the dog from him, like he’d try to rip it out of my arms or something. As if!
“Are we good?” Taco asks.
“Yep.” I sigh. I need to get moving anyway, I have pizza getting cold and I need to get to the dining hall before Amelie gets a crappy lunch. “Catch you soon.”
“Next fight night is at the end of term. Will you be there?”
“Yeah. We’ll be there. Later, Taco.”
“Later, man.”
I knew there was no way I’d be able to juggle the stack of pizzas, the puppy, and a 90s (or possibly 80s?) boombox on my way past. I had thought about enlisting some help, but I don’t want to share the credit for this one, so I got creative.
The first thing I do is strap the baby carrier to my chest. I got it online and although it’s meant for tiny humans, it’ll do.
I slip the sleeping puppy into it. Next, I sling the old as fuck, borrowed from my dad, battery operated boombox onto my back.
This thing is a relic and I had to record a tape of songs for this to work.
Fucking weird experience if ever I had one.
Finally, with my hands free, I pick up the large stack of pizzas. And then I make my way to the canteen.
Outside I grab a first year and make him turn on the boombox and crank the music, before opening the doors for me.
I’ve made this kick-ass playlist, which my dad called a mix tape, full of apology songs for Amelie.
‘Sorry’ by Justin Bieber starts to blast as I step into the room and all eyes are on me.
I may be getting some confused and strange looks.
I really got into the whole boombox idea and have channelled my inner 90s kid by dressing like something out of The Fresh Prince. I think I look dope.
Glancing around the room as my mashup switches to One Republic’s ‘Apologize’, I spy Amelie at her usual table with Elsie, sitting with her back to me. My entrance doesn’t seem to have caught her attention at all. That’s easily rectified.
I climb onto the nearest table, knocking over a few drinks and accidentally placing my foot in someone’s lunch as I go, and as the song switches to ‘Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word’ by Blue, I begin to belt out the tune like I was born on a goddamn Broadway Stage.
And let’s face it, I probably could have been.
Just, you know, not when Slate is in the vicinity stealing all the limelight.
I’m still holding the pizzas and wondering if I can hop from table to table to make my way to Amelie.
..fuck it. I have nothing to lose by trying.
I take the tiniest run up and as the song switches again, I leap, landing smoothly and knocking over a jug of juice.
I launch into ‘Sorry’ by Buckcherry, singing about her kiss and how shit I feel for upsetting her, and I’m not joking or putting on a show now.
I may have chosen my methods for shock value, but listening to the songs again, the lyrics have merit.
I hop to the next table, more gracefully this time as ‘Please Forgive Me’ by Bryan Adams begins. Amelie is staring at me, open mouthed now. She knows I’m coming for her. Only two more tables to traverse between me and my love. Jump. ‘Inbetween’ by Linkin Park. Jump. ‘Forgive Me’ by Evanescence.
She’s shaking her head at me, but doesn’t look mad.
I’ll take it as a good sign. With excitement in my step, I make the final leap and land on the floor in front of Amelie.
Elsie is pissing her pants laughing, but I just know that all the straight girls in this room are lapping it up.
I don’t look to confirm it, but I’m pretty sure I can smell the pheromones, even over the delicious scent of pizza.
I finish singing ‘Let’s Be Us Again’ by Lonestar, and with a nod to Elsie she reduces the music to ambient background noise and removes the boombox from my back to place it on their table.
“Your dinner is served, princess,” I say with a flourish as I lean past Amelie and put the stack of pizzas on the table.
She gives the sexiest little groan and reaches for the first box, grabbing a slice of pepperoni and inhaling it.
I love her healthy appetite. No way would most of the girls at this school do that in front of a guy, especially not on Valentine’s Day.