Flavor of the Week

I wish that I could make her see
She’s just the Flavor of the Week
- Flavor of the Weak, American Hi-Fi

Author's Note: Well, I was listening to that song, and got an idea that isn't really based on the song, but whatever, right? Obviously its romance. And I'm not sure how long its going to be, or anything.

The Boy Next Door

The boy next door never really fit the stereotype. They’re supposed to be best-friend material, sweet and innocent (or at least seeming to be so). Patrick Hearst, my next-door neighbor for all seventeen years of my life, never acted innocent. From the time when we were four, and went to playgroup together, he was always throwing things at me, dumping sand in my hair, and was usually in time-out for something he did wrong. It was the same thing in kindergarten through third grade. In fourth grade, he discovered girls. Or, rather, he discovered all of the other girls. His first ‘girlfriend’ was Tiffany Chantal, a blond, pink-clad, gum-chewing girl who loved gossiping (though in fourth grade there was never much to gossip about). Soon after, he broke up with her for Victoria Mills, who was followed by Jennifer French, then Lydia Martin, and so on. His type of girl hasn’t varied much since then, so I’m pretty sure that I’m never going to be one of the hearts he breaks.

We’re not good friends, or anything like that, and the only time we ever talk is at the barbecue that our whole street celebrates. And sometimes, if he doesn’t have a girlfriend, and the weather is really bad, he’ll offer me a ride home. He doesn’t like being seen with me. I’m the type of girl that his type of boy make fun of – the only makeup I wear is the occasional eyeliner, and I never EVER wear pink or anything skintight. I prefer baggy pants with tons of pockets – perfect for keeping various things I might need (rubber bands, safety pins, Sharpies, hair ties, scraps of paper with parts of poems or stories on them, that sort of thing) – and my “Leave me Alone” hoodie (it started out as a huge black hoodie, before I wrote “leave me alone” on it in silver sharpie). At the moment, my hair reached mid-back and was a darker shade of blue.

We generally avoided each other and stayed with our separate friends. It’d been that way since fourth grade, and I didn’t think that things would be changing any time soon. But then, she showed up.