My milkshake brings all the boys to the…entire school? (Part 10)

Wow, the nicknames just keep coming. I am now known as “punch girl” and everyone in my class has dared me to make milkshake for them. Yes, everyone. Yes, I was liquidising strange combinations on a Sunday night. Yes, I am weird. And yes, it’s all Xycobra’s fault. He was the one who brought up the milkshake, trying to lighten the mood when I ended up looking like an idiot at his party.

My parents decided to visit one of our family friends that very Sunday night. Great, three hours cut off milkshake time. Wait, do you think I’m kidding?! Hold up, let me explain the stages of how an Indian visit works.

Stage 1: You wait at the door for ten minutes because the Indians on the other side can never find the keys.

Stage 2: They laugh for five minutes after you’ve entered because everything is just so funny.

Stage 3: They offer you tea and biscuits, and after you refuse fifteen times, they bring it anyway. This lasts 25 minutes.

Stage 4: They ask you when you are getting married. You laugh and say you are still in school. They laugh and say you are growing up so fast, it was just yesterday that you were a baby! Unbelievable! (40 minutes)

Stage 5: You stay for another hour. Your parents tell them that you’ve got school the next day, and they really MUST get going!

Stage 6: They beg you to stay another ten minutes.

Stage 7: After the twenty minutes you’ve stayed (Indian time is normal time multiplied by two. Never trust one who tells you that they’re “Around the corner!”) they follow you out to the door. They chat for another ten minutes.

Stage 8: They follow you to the car. Yet another ten minutes.

Stage 9: You get into the car. Roll down the window and chat for another ten minutes.

Stage 10: Finally, you drive off. Then they call to tell you that you left your house key behind. Boom, three hours gone.

I was exhausted. I’m pretty sure I accidentally threw gherkins into the chocolate milkshake. That might explain the green colour.

School the next day was insane. I’m not even exaggerating. The entire school was buzzing about “Sky’s milkshake mayhem”. Xycobra was instantly at my side claiming that I had him to thank for all my fame.

“Sky, you’re a superstar, baby!” he exclaimed.

“Don’t call me that!” I snapped. I also rolled my eyes. (Forgive me, for I have sinned)

“Whoa, someone’s in a bad mood!” he chuckled. “Let me help you with those,” he said, grabbing the milkshakes from my hand. Just then, Phoenexia hopped up to me and began chattering about how pretty my hair looked. I scowled. And growled too. Don’t even ask.

I entered class to an uproar of cheers.

“Whoaaaa Sky’s milkshake brings all the boys to the school, damn right, it’s better than-” Krayden began singing. The entire class followed. Then the entire school started. Lord, please save me! Just then, Lectra pulled one of the plastic cups out of my bag of shakes and accidentally squirted the gherkin mixture on Xycobra’s shirt. No biggy. He immediately ripped it off and walked off to find a new one. Dang, those abs. My class caught me staring and began wolf whistling. I hate my life. I am so annoyed and at so many things.

Phoenexia asked me if she could give me a ride home that afternoon. I agreed. I don’t know why. Volta and Pamper came along too. So did Xycobra. Yay, a full car. I sat scowling and glaring the entire ride, until Xycobra left. He didn’t forget to kiss Phoenexia’s cheek before he hopped off. Then I began fuming. It was just she and I now, alone. Cue evil laugh.

“Isn’t he amazing?!” she breathed. “Three years dating, and he still acts like we’ve just met!” she said.

Wait, what? Three years!

“Three years?” I asked. She smiled and explained that their families were pretty close, and babbled on about their supposed-to-be-romantic story about how they had met. How fascinating!

Suddenly, she skidded to a halt and I felt the car capsizing. Oh no…

Copyright All Rights Reserved Aakifah Mahomed 23 September 2014


Part one
Previous part

This story along with all its characters are fictional and a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real life people is merely coincidental.

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