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Chapter 9 - [Part3]
Saturday, June 6, 2009 @ 1:38 PM
“What would you like to eat?” he asked courteously when I was seated comfortably at the kitchen counter. This part of the house I had never been in before. I twirled my hair as I eyed the kitchen cutlery.
I saw him reach for a stale box in the freezer. As he opened the box, I caught a glimpse of what was in it – overnight pizza.
Eew. I wrinkled my nose as the sharp stench of onions invaded my nostrils. The horrible stink of cabbage insulted my senses; it was simply revolting. He was oblivious to my distaste. As he hummed merrily, I saw him slide the monstrous pile into a metallic box.
I rolled my eyes as the electronic beep sounded.
Yeah. As if dumping the garbage in a box would help.
I was just about to make a nasty comment when out popped the pizza. My eyes felt like they were detached from their sockets as he slapped the mountainous fusion of half-eaten dough, tomato sauce, wilted cabbage and dried mushrooms in front of me. I narrowed my eyes as I saw the trail of greasy looking, yellowish liquid oozing out of it. As I continued to scrutinize it, I noticed another yellow layer.
Hmm…that certainly looks like rubber; it was completely agonizing to look at. I looked up cautiously.
“Take a bite,” he announced, smiling.
Was this a joke? I could not believe my ears. I had been holding my breath the moment I inched my face towards it.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” I said without a smile. The irritation was clearly written on my face. He, however, seemed to be living in his own world. I was appalled that he failed to catch the dripping sarcasm that was underlining my tone.
“You are welcome,” he continued as he pushed the platter nearer to me. I propelled backwards instantly, almost falling off the chair.
“Are you out of your mind?” I hissed. “This filth is ‘so’ edible.”
I folded my arms over my waist as a look of pure horror washed over his countenance, after which he laughed right in my face.
“Sixstep is the best pizza in Marine sands. I can’t believe you haven’t tried it,” he said.
Some joke huh.
“What’s the punch line, dude?” I asked bluntly, waiting. His jaw dropped open and I had to resist the urge to stop it from hanging in mid-air.
“Are you kidding me? Try it,” he grunted finally.
I sighed heavily in resignation. This had better be something good; it was.
As I sniffed carefully, the first whiff was enough to overwhelm me. The aroma tugged at my senses, playing with my desire to gobble it whole. I swallowed.
“It smells nice,” I admitted ruefully.
“It tastes better,” he added earnestly.
Unwillingly but eagerly, my hand shot out, dishing the whole slab into my mouth while I slurped noisily. It was delish! As I devoured the remains, the satisfactory smile that threatened to loom on my face was cut short by the unreadable expression on his countenance.
“What?” I asked. His expression hardened when I licked my fingers happily.
“Do you always eat like that?” he solicited.
I nodded in between mouthfuls, wondering what was wrong with him. His features softened at that moment. I tried to comprehend the abrupt facial switch. As I pouted broodingly, I was taken by surprise when he reached over and patted the sides of my mouth gently with a handkerchief that appeared suddenly out of nowhere. It startled me; my heart leaped and I instantly remained still.
Oh no. Do not blush, I prayed.
“There you go,” he murmured as he paused, looking deep into my eyes.
My heart missed a beat. I could literally feel it banging against my ribcage as I struggled to look away. I blushed horrendously.
He folded the handkerchief and inserted it into my side pocket.
“You’ll need it.” He whispered with a smile.
“Thanks,” I muttered, suddenly finding myself busily inspecting the white tiles lining the kitchen floor.
He cleared his throat and I heard him shift away. I lifted my head timidly. He was leaning against the other end of the kitchen counter, staring at me.
“What?” I asked again, defiantly this time. I detested the way he could change me to pulp so easily.
“A clown with make-up which had gone horribly wrong; that was what you looked like with all that ketchup on your face,” he said.
“Oh yeah? Let’s see how you do with this,” I grabbed a tomato lying on the counter and threw it at him.
He caught it easily and laughed, making a face at me.
“Why is the pizza called Sixstep?” I asked sullenly.
“Cut! Chop! Slice! Scatter butter and slice. Pop! That’s six simple steps to a perfect batter, the cheesy way to do a swagger,” he hollered as he did a stunning billboard imitation, spinning on his toes for the extra effect and adding a comical, lopsided grin at the end.
He was so adorable that I chuckled.
“What’s up with the pop?”
“You microwave it, baby,” he slurred.
“What the hell is microwave?”
That stopped him. He blinked, looked at me, and blinked again.
“Oh. Ha ha. Nice gag,” he said.
“Is it the new tidal wave? I wanna try it out!” I squealed.
“You can’t make pizza with a wave,” he said as if I was being the most ridiculous person on earth.
“Spit,” I snapped, irritated.
He gave me a look that said are-you-nuts? Shrugging, he pointed vaguely at something behind him. I stared and stared – it was the metallic box.
“A box?” I asked in disbelief. He stared at me incredulously.
“You call this a box?”
“Looks like one to me…” I trailed off.
“It’s the coolest box ever, or whatever you call it. Put something uncooked in it, flick on the switch and bam!” he snapped his fingers as he continued, “instant transformation!”
He certainly sounded convincing. After all, I had seen it happen.
Labels: Read Pearldrop.
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