Curtains the Object or Curtains the Nickname?
"Pancakes," I say, staring at him disbelievingly, then to the ingredients laid out on the table, then back to him. I wait – in vain – for an explanation.
"Pancakes," he repeats, nodding seriously.
Folding my arms across my chest, I try to hold back the violent part of me that wants to whack his arm. Let's face it: the only person who'd get injured if I did that would be me, and me only.
"So, let me clarify: you made me miss school to make pancakes?" I only just manage to desist from throwing the bag of flour at him.
"Pancakes, Cammie, are an important stage of the cooking cycle: don't be fooled by their delicious looking exterior. They're nasty little buggers to cook."
I snort through my nose. "Alright, alright," I sigh. "Throw it at me."
"Excuse me?" he asks, one side of his mouth hitched up in a smirk. "Throw what at you?"
"Oh, shut up," I grumble, lightly shoving his shoulder. "Just… you know. Teach me how to make a stupid pancake."
"If you say so," he says, grinning suggestively. He leans over me to get to the apron he placed on the worktop when we came in, and his muscled arm brushes against my chest. My cheeks flare up and I take a faltering step backwards, glaring at his smirking face.
"What do you think you're doing?"
He smiles winningly. "Nothing."
I give him a suspicious look, throwing daggers with my eyes. "Keep your hands to yourself, mister. I'm not one of your girls, okay? No touchy business. I've had enough experiences with sleaze-balls like that."
He looks taken aback, surprised, even. If he thought getting up close and personal would be that easy, he has another think coming.
He stares at my stony face for a good thirty seconds, before he ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "You're right. I'm sorry. But," he says suddenly looking up. "What do you mean, you're not one of 'my girls'?" He looks confused.
I look at him, suddenly uncertain with my veiled but rather harsh accusation. "You know, like… your fondue girls."
I shuffle on my feet, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation. From all that I've heard, I have no trouble believing that Zach can't really keep it in his pants. And if the dozens of whiny girls and desperate looks are anything to go by, I'd say it happens quite often. Not that I care; but it definitely strikes a nerve. He thinks he can go through girls like somebody else would go through a chocolate box, and then dump them like yesterday's trash? I don't think so. Especially not when he has a girlfriend – a bitchy one at that, but a girlfriend nonetheless.
He stares at me again, as if he can't actually believe his ears. "My fondue girls?" he says incredulously. "Did you just Captain America reference me?"
"So what if I did?" I say defensively. "I'm not as crude as you are."
"Me? Crude?" he says in mock offense. "And I thought we were friends," he says, a small ripple of hurt in his eyes. "Doesn't that count as being one of my girls?"
My stomach swoops. "Yes, we are," I say, and I'm embarrassed to note the sudden breathiness of my voice. "But I didn't mean that, I meant –" I'm about to launch into an explanation, but notice his too-innocent, nonchalant expression with that tiny smirk curling his lips, and narrow my eyes. "You know exactly what I meant, so shut up and show me how to cook these damn pancakes, Zach."
He rolls his eyes. "Calm down, lady. Just gimme the flour."
xxxxx
Splat.
I let out an exasperated groan and look down at the sorry mess of pancake mixture on the floor, courtesy of me and my dismal flipping skills. Zach looks at it too, face strained with the effort not to laugh, and I stick out my bottom lip.
"It's not funny. Why is it so difficult? This is the seventh one!"
He shakes his head to himself and pushes himself off his perch on the worktop. He comes towards me, gesturing to the pan in my hands. I hand it to him sulkily and he pours another batch of mixture in, before placing it on the stove. He wait a few seconds; the mixture starts looking more like a pancake, edges curling and becoming golden. Picking the pan up again, he carefully hands it back to me.
"Right," he says, standing close behind my back. "Your problem is that you keep sticking your arm out like you're scared of the pan, and you jerk it up so the poor pancake shoots straight up."
"Well, how are you supposed to do it?" I ask waspishly.
I can see him physically withholding from rolling his eyes, and I raise an eyebrow at him. He looks up and then back at me, asking, a little apprehensively, "Is it okay if I guide your hand? You won't castrate me, will you?"
I blow a piece of hair out of my eyes and let out a small huff, pretending to deliberate. "Fine," I concede, after waiting a few seconds purely to see him squirm. "I probably won't, but I'm not making any promises," I warn him lightly.
"I'll bear that in mind then," he grunts. Placing his warm, dry hand on my wrist, he manoeuvres me gently so I'm holding the pan with my arm slightly bent at the elbow and with a loose, but firm grip on the rubber handle of the pan. I feel like his fingers are leaving imprints on my skin, but that's probably my rather inexperienced-self imagining things.
"It's all in the wrist, Curtains," he instructs. "Shuffle the pancake around a bit and then just give it a good flick." He lets me go and I find myself wishing he'd lingered a little longer as he walks to my side and leans against the worktop, nodding his head for me to continue.
I clear my throat. "Okay… I guess it can't go that wrong, right?"
"Go on. Show me your pancake flippin' skills."
He doesn't seem too worried, so I tell myself I shouldn't be, either. I push away all thoughts of the last time I tried making pancakes. Let's just say that I wasn't allowed near a pan for a long time afterwards – and the stove was never really the same again.
I make sure I keep my arm loose and move the pan side to side before giving my wrist a good flick. It flies up, smoothly turning and landing back in the pan, slightly burnt, but a pancake all the same.
"It actually worked!"
"Did you really doubt me that much?" he asks, smiling slightly.
"Ah, no, not really, but you can't ever be sure," I tease. I turn to put the pan back on the stove – and promptly yank my hand back.
"Ow!" I yell. I cradle my hand to my chest, nursing my fingers.
I see Zach out of the corner of my eye, instantly coming to my side to see what happened.
"Hey, what? What's wrong?" he asks worriedly, glancing at my hand and then to my face, a frantic look in his eyes. His hands hover awkwardly around me, not quite touching my arms.
"I burnt myself," I groan. "And it hurt, dammit."
"How did you manage to burn yourself?" he asks in disbelief, as he slowly reaches out, and when he feels confident that I won't bite his arm off, he takes my hand and inspects my burnt fingers. His hands are soft and gentle, and I shift uncomfortably because I can't believe I was so clumsy. He probably thinks I did it on purpose.
"I think I touched the stove when I put the pan back?" I reply, embarrassed, wincing as he probes the tender, reddening skin.
"Go run it under the tap," he advises briskly. "It'll help," he adds, when I don't move.
I give a small nod and, deciding not to question him, turn the cold tap on. Quickly sticking my fingers under the cool, soothing stream, I let out a soft sigh of relief. I look over my shoulder at him and see that he's rummaging in the fridge, and he takes something out of it a few seconds later, flipping it over to check the back and nodding to himself. He strides back to my side and I get a look at what he took out: a block of butter.
"What's that for?" I ask, baffled.
"What, the butter?" he asks.
"No, the ice cream." I roll my eyes at his confused glance. "Yes, the butter. What else?"
"Har-di-har. And I'm putting it on your burn, obviously," he says slowly, as if I'm dense.
"Oh," I say blankly. "Why?"
"Maybe because it helps, genius? I thought you were supposed to be smart or something."
I scowl at him. "I've never heard of butter being used on burns, Zachary."
"So you didn't know of its magical healing properties?" he asks, mildly surprised.
I stare at him, slightly incredulous, as he busies himself with finding a blunt knife in the drawer. "Magical healing properties?" I manage to say after a while. "Are you for real?"
He straightens and twirls the butter knife in his hands, smirking. "Watch and learn, Curtains."
He peels back the foil on the butter and slices off a thin sliver, holding out his hand for my own. I eye it for a few seconds, before shrugging, turning the tap off and drying my hand on a tea towel. He takes my hand in his, a little warily, and I can't help but notice how well it fits over mine, encasing it in a warm cocoon. He picks up the butter off the knife with his fingers and then carefully starts rubbing it on my skin, smoothing it in and leaving a rather greasy patch. I'm about to scold him for getting my hands all oily, but I shut my mouth as I realise it's actually helping. The coolness of it, along with its questionable, but effective moisturising properties, soothes the burnt skin. I let out a small 'mmm' as the stinging lessens.
"Thanks," I say, giving an awkward cough.
"Told ya." He smirks, but his throat bobs and he doesn't meet my eyes as he continues massaging the butter around on each of my burnt fingers. I fight down the blush threatening to rise at his proximity, and take the opportunity to really look at him.
His eyes are lowered, concentrating on my hand, and his eyelashes are long and almost sooty, the bottom ones brushing the area below his eyes in a soft arc. His cheeks are sprayed with a faint spattering of freckles and because of his tilted head, his silky hair flops forward and tickles the tip of my nose. I realise that if he looked up right now, we'd be way too close. A subtle, woody scent reaches my nose, mingled with a sort of clean, fruity smell – probably from the shampoo he uses – and I hold my breath, trying not to inhale deeply, as he finishes with his makeshift ointment and stands back.
"Voilà, mademoiselle," he grins. His face is only inches away from my own, slightly above because of our height difference. I take a hurried step backward – but not before I see his green, green eyes drop to my pursed lips and flit hurriedly upwards again.
I look down at my hand, which is glistening in the light because of the butter, but feels much better. "Um, thanks," I mumble.
He coughs, once, twice, stepping back a few steps and messing up the back of his hair. "S'alright," he says gruffly.
I give him a shy smile.
"Should we, uh, get back to the panc–?"
But, it seems the food in question has had enough of our lack of attention. The smell hits my nose before I see the steadily rising disaster; the plume of smoke spirals towards the gleefully waiting smoke alarm on the ceiling above.
My mouths drops in horror and Zach looks at me in complete confusion and apprehension. Following my gaze, however, his own face blanches. He grimaces. "Oh, shit."
"Shit, indeed," I agree, panic building. "It's going to go off, Zach! I'm not ready to become a jailed delinquent!"
He snaps out of his rather horrified daze and frowns at me as he leaps into action, grabbing the pan off the stove and flinging it into the sink, and then seizing two tea towels off the worktop and throwing one at my face.
"Then quit moaning and help me, Curtains." All things considered, he seems pretty calm as he starts to violently flap his tea towel in the air to dissipate the smoke. "Open those windows!"
I hurry to the windows lining the far side of the room, trying to undo the clasps and push them open as fast as I can. Zach's mutterings reach me from here: "Shit, mom is going to kill me if this goes off." Despite the situation, I grin to myself. How positively lol-ish.
Once I've finally wrestled the windows open, I all but run back to the site of the pancake burning and find a relieved Zach leaning back against the worktop, dropping his tea towel behind him and sighing heavily as he glares at me reproachfully. I interrupt him before he can say anything.
"It's technically your fault. I told you I can't cook to save my life and it was your idea to use the diner." I fold my arms, and then unfold them as I realise how much I look and sound like a five year-old.
He cracks a smile and shakes his head. "God, Curtains. I thought you were exaggerating, but it looks like you're more hopeless than I thought."
I scowl at him. "I'm not hopeless." He raises his eyebrows – 'oh, really?' – and chuckles.
I scowl even more deeply. "Stop laughing, you jackass."
This only serves to make him laugh harder, and soon he's almost snorting. I try to fight the smile growing on my own face, but his laughter is infectious, completely transforming him from brooding bad boy to cute dork. A small, chewed-off smile makes its way onto my lips, and I groan.
"Ugh, why are you so annoying? Huh? Why?"
His laughter finally trails off and he smiles, a smug little smirk. His signature facial expression. "You only find me annoying because you like me, Curtains. See, you're even going red." He gives me a winning look.
"No one in their right mind would like you, Goode," I say witheringly.
"Well, you're obviously not in your 'right mind' then, are you?"
"Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Zachy. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go home, okay?" I turn to walk to the door, but he stops me.
"Hey, wait a sec. We need to sort out my chemistry tutoring," he says, almost eagerly.
"Oh," I say glumly. "Well how about this Friday before my shift here? It starts at half seven this week so you can drive me to the diner, too. It's only fair," I grin.
He rolls his eyes. To be honest, I'm surprised he doesn't have strained eyeballs. "Alright, cheap-ass. I'll take you to work and I'll come over to your house on Friday at half six. One hour should be enough, right?"
"I hope so," I say.
"Okay then. I'll bring my books. Uh…" he looks away. "Do you want me to take you home now?"
I stare at him in surprise. "Um, yeah. Yeah, sure. Thanks."
"After you," he says, gesturing forwards.
"No, after you, MasterChef," I mutter.
xxxxx
The doorbell rings just as I finish pulling on my pyjama pants.
"Coming, coming!" I yell.
I hurry downstairs and grab the keys off the hook, first checking to see who it is through the peep-hole. I smile when I see the familiar mop of sun-bleached blond.
"Hey, Adam!"
"Oh, hi!" he smiles, pushing up his glasses. I notice that he's wearing his baggy work clothes again and I can see his van parked by the sidewalk. He scans what I'm wearing and grins. "Captain America makes a reappearance, I see."
I strike a pose, one hand on my hip and the other stretched up to my head. "Too sexy, no?" He gives a non-comital grunt and looks down at his feet.
Maybe that was a little… forward. My cheeks warm. "Um, wanna come in?"
"Sure. I actually, uh, came to fix your curtains. I remember you told me when I came before… do you still need them fixing?"
I smile widely at him, unable to believe he even remembered. Those curtains have been giving me a lot of grief. "That's so sweet, Adam! Thanks!"
I step aside to let him in and he pauses, waiting for me to close the door. I lead him to the staircase and up to my room, slowing down slightly as I approach it. I didn't leave any bras lying around, did I? Pants? Anything embarrassing or compromising? Well, it's too late now.
I push the door open and wince as my eyes alight upon my upturned Hello Kitty bra sat on my bed. Luckily, he doesn't seem to have seen it yet, as he's too busy ogling my room, so I bound over to my bed and collapse on it, effectively covering the bra with my butt.
"Uh, I'll sit here and read while you sort that sorry mess out, 'kay?" I ask, watching him tear his eyes away from my bookcase, only to turn to my array of paints and easels.
"I can't decide if I should be jealous or impressed, Cammie," he smiles. "You have so many books! And you're so good at painting."
I duck my head – I don't normally let people see my work, if only because it's not finished or I'm not pleased with it, but I didn't get a chance to put it away, so I suck it up. "Thanks," I smile.
"Is that Michaela? And Blue? And me?"
Damn it. My cheeks blaze red, and I shift uncomfortably. I painted that after school when we'd all had History together, and I'd been itching to see if I could recreate the moment when Adam realised Michaela had cut a chunk of his hair off as payback for almost running her over back on the first day.
"That's, um, when –"
"When that pixie cut off my hair, right?" He looks at me, impressed. "You're seriously good, Cammie. It's amazing."
"Thank you," I mumble, fuddling with the fraying edge of my cushion.
He starts, fumbling with his toolbox. "So, anyway, curtains." I jump at the word before I realise he meant the object and not a stupid nickname. He walks over to them and lets out a low whistle. "What did you even do to them?"
"Oh, well… You see, I was…" He turns to look at me, raising an eyebrow.
"I was kinda standing in them and I stepped on the back of them and tripped so they came off the pole," I say quickly.
"Why were you…?" He shakes his head, laughing. "I don't even want to know."
I laugh weakly, too embarrassed to utter a word. And feeling slightly guilty as I remember what exactly I was doing, and how hurt Adam would be if he knew I'd been gawking at Zach.
xxxxx
"Hey, Cammie?" He ceases his hoisting of the material and sets down his screwdriver. "Can I… ask you a question?"
I sit up on my bed, putting down Rebecca, almost done with the assigned chapter we were given. "Yeah, shoot," I say, enquiring.
He seems to gear himself up, rubbing the side of his face and pushing up his glasses at least three times. He takes a deep breath, cheeks tinged pink. "Dyawangooutwime?"
I sit up straighter. "Sorry, what? I don't think I… caught that."
He sighs, his face deepening in colour as he scratches the back of his neck and wraps a piece of string from the curtain material around his fingers. He looks up to meet my eyes. "I was just asking… do you want to go out? With me?"
My mouth drops open.
Did Adam just ask me on a date?
A/N It has been TOO LONG. I don't even know why I took so long with this. It just wouldn't come out! And I recently had mock exams, thirteen gruelling exams over a period of ONE WEEK. It was boring as hell but I got my results today, and thankfully, going without updating paid off and I did well! So that's good haha. And if any of you have midterms/mocks/any old exam, I feel for you. I really do.
Anyway, I'll keep this short and skip over the unnecessary excuses.
Hope you all had a fantastic Christmas and wonderful New Year! (Even though it was ages ago). Can you believe it's 2016? I can't. AT ALL.
In other news: I want Leonardo DiCaprio to win an Oscar for The Revenant because he's Leo and I love him, and it's my birthdayyyyyy on Saturday! How old do you think I'll be turning? I'm interested to know!
Hope you liked this chappie! Did ADAM JUST... Yas, he sure did. And Zammie alert ;)
BooksLover2000: Haha, well, it did involve ballerinas and cute Zach, but I thank you for reading it even though I took it down! (To be frank, I couldn't be bothered with it right now.)
Archiepoke123: Thank you so much! That's so nice to hear. I'm glad it made you laugh! Hope you liked this one!
GallagherGirls13BYE: Aw, thank you so much! Yes, I shall be introducing the whole number thing shortly. It actually slipped my mind but it's all fine, it still works haha. Thank you, and I hope all is great with you too! xx
Selena: Thank youuuuu! Your review was so great! And yes haha, that is very true. We all have Divergent sections of our brain! Ooh, that sounds interesting! I will look into that. It would be so cool! I'll tell you my username if more like when I get it :)
Guest 1: Yes same! :( I loved it though. And thank you!
HippieGuru: Thank you gurl! Haha, that's quite alright, and just thank you! You're totally amazing. Love your reviews and they mean so damn much :)
Guest 2: Haha, thank you! And I thought so too, if I do say so myself ;) I loved Star Wars so much, I need the DVD asap. Hope you had a good holiday!
gabergirl: Thank you so much! And I hope you had a good holiday Christmas New Year!
XxCandyygirlxX: Oh, thank you! I love to hear that :)
fangirly662: Haha, thank you very much! Yes, stuff will be picking up, and I don't want you to get bored! Also #ihatepenny and thank you! I tried out a New Year's one-shot but I didn't give myself enough time for it to be very good, or to write a Christmas one. Maybe next time!
YasssGurl: Haha omg, that is so cute! And I loved itttttt. I bought the original trilogy to watch, and I've seen the first one and it's so great. I need to watch the next two though! And thanks!