Ticktock Love

[14] Mean Sprinkles

The best way to get back into someone's good graces? Get them out of detention.

"I can't believe you did that," Aiden laughed as we approached my Honda. Our feet shuffled on the empty parking lot, the heat of the scorching asphalt seeping through the soles of our shoes. Most students had already left for the day, except for the select few who had the honor of spending quality time with Mr. Lynch, the conductor of the oldest form of school punishment.

"Yeah, well, I kind of owed you one," I grinned at him as I clicked the remote key and unlocked the door. "Remember this?"

I reached for the rectangular item on my seat and handed him the t-shirt which he had given me at the Olsen twins' party. Five days later, true, but I blamed our perpetually full washing machine. And the fact I didn't want my mom to find out I was at that precarious age where boys lent me their clothes.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he exclaimed to the fabric, and I stuck my tongue at his crouched back while Aiden was cramming it into his sports duffel bag.

I had never considered myself a spectacular liar. Amber and Julia could always easily call my bluff, while Grace was the designated gullible member of our group – I had once convinced her my father was a Russian spy who had been forced to leave America in order to avoid federal prosecution. Perhaps today's trick had worked because I didn't really think it through. The idea came to me the night before while I was watching 10 Things I Hate About You, tucked in my bed and with my MacBook Air resting on my lap.

And no, I didn't show my boobs to Mr. Lynch.

I gave him my mother's number instead.

Aiden must have been thinking about the same person, because he leaned his forearm against the car roof and asked, "I've gotta know. How did you get him to run off like that?"

The ploy was ridiculously simple. My mother loved late lunches and potential business partners. Mr. Lynch, at least when he wasn't managing an underage prison or explaining the wonders of English literature to a bunch of hormone-laden monsters, ran a protein powder webshop for extra cash. He also happened to have a big crush on Mom. I witnessed its power last year when he awkwardly tried to ask her out after a parent-teacher conference.

So it wasn't like I was trying to set my mom up, really. I simply provided her with a one-of-a-kind opportunity to offer her products on my English teacher's website. The fact that her break coincided with the detention period was solely a fortunate happenstance.

"I have my ways," I winked at Aiden in the most awkward manner possible, then tried to play it off as if an eyelash had gotten stuck in my eye. I slid behind the wheel and jerked my chin at the empty passenger seat. "Get in, loser. We're going froyoing."

He smirked. "Cute. Was I supposed to wear pink? I didn't get the memo."

"I think I'll forgive you this time."

Zoyo Neighborhood Yogurt was the biggest frozen yogurt franchise in Phoenix – for a reason. Thanks to their constantly changing selection and basically a zillion toppings, Maddie would go into a frenzy at the sight of their checkered house logo, almost dragging me into the vibrant heaven. She was far from the only one. As we entered the place and made a beeline for the self-serve table, a kid threw a used spoon on to the floor, sobbing because he had eaten all of his Oreo cookie crumbs.

"And then you made fun of me for taking you to the Waffle House," Aiden teasingly bumped my shoulder with his own, so like a true flirt, I let out a loud, you're-so-funny laugh.

There was a tiny, no, minuscule chance I was overdoing this.

"Well, you wanted sugar, mister," I said, extending my arm to demonstrate the gargantuan machines and dozens of candy heaps. "So sugar I provide."