"It's golden- I assure you, it's golden," I said, stressing the word "assure" for extra emphasis. It truly was golden. I had never heard better.
"I don't know, Joules, it's a tad bit risqué even for a dashing young man like me," Gare replied, striking a comical pose and shooting me a wide, lob-sided grin. His hand was placed against his opposite clavicle, his legged popped slightly up, and his eyelids were fluttering. I snorted. How manly of him and lady-like of me.
"I don't see how it's 'risqué'- it's not even perverted or anything." Gare was still holding the pose- he looked rather awkward like that. His tall, lanky body didn't quite fit the whole damsel-in-distress look, and I felt like pointing that out. "Babes, as hard as you're trying to attract Prince Charming, I don't think he'll fall for a six-foot dork like you," I said, rolling my eyes. He fluttered his eyes some more in response, and then jutted out a soft lower lip.
"He doesn't know what he's missing."
Rolling my eyes still more, I punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Get back to watching, Cinderella."
Now, I'll admit that we weren't exactly the most inconspicuous pair of watches that day, or ever, for that matter. I'm sure James Bond would've been extraordinarily disappointed in our hiding skills. We were stationed behind a display of artificial plants in the middle of the mall. Behind us was a display for a shiny, red, hideous box-like car of some sort. Apparently people would pay thirty grand for one of those, but here, they could win it for free. Go figure.
So, anyway, we weren't exactly well hidden. Or at least Gare wasn't. It was reasonably difficult to hide someone of his height anywhere. He towered over the front of the vehicle behind us, showing the world the back of his head, and totally blowing our cover. We had managed to get a few strange glances and looks that seemed to ask what the hell our problem was. None of this really mattered though. Because that was behind us, and what we were looking at, or more particularly for, was going to be in front.
I pinched Gare's arm. After pouting a bit, he gave me his attention. Forgetting all about the golden pickup line from before, I whispered, "Oh man, look at her. She's at least a seven, I'm sure."
Squinting out from behind an artificial fern frond, he spotted her and her mini-skirt, tight-tee, pink-purse-carrying, latte-drinking, ridiculously-large-sunglass-wearing glory. "I'm going to have to go with a six. She's too generic for my tastes. Looks as if she buys all of her clothes from some overrated, unjustifiably expensive store or something. Probably our age- if not, that's just creepy." Pause. Gare looked towards me. "Should I go for it?"
I nodded. "Which one?" he continued, acknowledging my approval.
"Go for something stupid. She won't get any of the more complicated lines. Oh, and do me a favor. If it doesn't damage your IQ too much, could you ask her what's on her reading list? I love it when they say they read so extraordinarily much, and then go on to list their favorite Clique Series and Gossip Girl books."
Gare snorted. We snort a lot, I know. He flashed me a large white-toothed smile and then left.
I watched, smirking, as he sauntered away. In a matter of seconds, he had managed to reach the short brunette, who was, at that time, speaking to someone on her pink cell phone.
Here we go. He put his arm around her and said something, god knows what, but it must've been good. The look on her face was priceless as she looked up at him and took in the words that he had said. She was quickly losing grasp of her latte, and when she looked up at him and saw his playful boyish grin, it fell over completely, sending cascades of light brown liquid all over. Being the perfect gentleman, Gare then went into a pizzeria, the nearest store, and informed them of his lady-friend's unfortunate spillage.
Needless to say, the girl's face was redder than an Irish sunbather after a long day on the beach without sun block. She was ardently apologizing to whoever she could, not quite sure what to do with herself. Gare, that womanizer, then draped his arm over her, raised a hand to the Italian man who had come out of the pizzeria, and led her away.
They engaged in conversation for about five minutes. I could see Gare's face twisted in a look of agony as he listened to her nonsensical high-pitched words. Cue my smirk.
He sent me a look that screamed, "Save me, please..." I shook my head and flashed him a peace sign and a massive grin.
Another seven minutes passed. He jerked his arm off of her shoulder, twisting his face in disgust at her. She must've put out already. Dang, that was fast.
She started screaming at him, making a scene. I could hear the commotion from where I was hiding behind the rubber plant decorations. Apparently she didn't take being called an easy slut-bag, or something to that effect, well.
I sighed. She was making more of a ruckus than the normal girl. Some just shrugged and laughed it off. Others cried. Sometimes we ended up with yelling matches, but most people were sensible enough not to make a scene over not getting to sleep with someone they had met twelve minutes ago. Although, Gare was reasonably attractive, I would give him that. Not attractive enough to really want a piece of after twelve minutes, though.
Time progressed and adults and store employees were starting to poke their heads out of nearby shops, so I figured it was time for me to break up the fight. Skipping, oh, I don't know, about twenty paces over to the video game store that Gare and the girl were then positioned in front of, I acted as if I had just noticed Gare.
"Oh, hey, you!" I greeted. We then linked arms and walked away from the mess of a brunette. She stood there, still fuming, rather confused and, well, just plain confused. It was as simple as that.
"So, tell me all about it," I said, rolling my eyes, once we were out of the brunette's hearing-range.
"Well, I started out with a stupid one, just like you told me to."
"Oh, really, now? What marvelous pickup line did the handsome charmer use this time?"
He used the next moment to take a bow. "Well, at first I was contemplating using, 'If I asked you to have sex with me, would your answer be the same as your answer to this question?' Then I overheard her cell conversation. She obviously was not the type who would understand that. So I went for 'I have the F, the C and the K. All I need is U.'"
"You man-hoe! She went for that?" I asked, extraordinarily incredulously. What kind of girl went for that line? More importantly, what kind of guy used that line? "She must've been desperate..."
"Nah, apparently she had a boyfriend. She would just make an exception for me because I'm so incredibly hot." Cue eye roll. "What, don't you think I'm incredibly hot?"
He pouted at me, and looked at me faux-pleadingly with wide dark, brown eyes.
I snorted. "Books?" I asked, disregarding the man-hoe's previous question.
"She doesn't read. Reading is apparently not cool enough for her." Snicker. "By the way, Joules," he said, dragging the word way. "It's your turn now."
"Yeah, well we'll just have to find the perfect person first, now won't we?"
"No, no, why bother? You can always hit on the next three to pass us..." I slapped him. I was not hitting on a three. I would feel bad about leading some poor guy on if I did. Definitely not that type of person. "What? The sooner you can use your golden line, the better, right? And it's not even a gender-specific line either, so I don't have to use it and you won't look like a moron using it."
"Psh, anyone who uses it will look like a moron. Albeit, an adorable moron, but a moron nonetheless." Okay, so maybe it wouldn't make me look like a moron, but it would make for an extremely awkward situation. That was only added to by the fact that most people wouldn't understand it.
"Mmm, that's where you're wrong. I'd totally go for someone who used that line on me. Now that farting line, what was it? That's really atrocious. That would make you look like a moron," Gare said, raising his hands as if exasperated.
"No, it's not! You're just mad because you didn't think of it. It's gorgeous."
I death stared him. There was no way that he was going to insult my line of choice and get away with it.
"Just like your face right now. And 'Did you just fart? Because you blew me away!' is far from gorgeous," he said, raising one of his dark eyebrows menacingly.
"But I thought my face was always gorgeous, Gare Bear!" I said in a childish tone, gently tugging on a loose strand of his dark brown hair. I actually had to reach to get there, despite his hair's chin-length, which was generally considered long for a boy. Then again, Gare was a good six inches taller than me, so I guess it worked out.
He laughed. Can you believe it? Here I am, pretending to attempt to maul this boy, and he laughs.
"You're lucky we're friends. Had anyone else laughed at my ferocious attack, they would have been so screwed. Consider yourself warned and your friendship at stake," I said, twisting my face and raising my balled up, currently somewhat fist-shaped right hand.
"Wow, that fist is so... intimidating. Consider me warned, wiser and wary," he said, winking along with his last line.
"Shut u-" Gare turned towards me and clamped a hand over my mouth.
"No, I think you need to shut up. Do you know how loud you are? Do you know how much you're blowing our cover?" he whispered.
I glared at him. It was all I could do aside from trying to wrench his hand off of me, and knowing us, the latter would be reasonably loud and cover-blowing.
He placed his index finger over my lip before letting go, shushing me. "Me? Blow our cover? I think the back of your head already did that ages ago! Plus, we're not even hiding," I hissed.
He rolled his eyes and pointed to the Smoothie Shack. "Then I think we should get hiding. I spy a seven."
Noticing the target, who I'll admit was pretty delicious looking- at least an eight-, I frantically looked around for a spot to escape to. Being seen with Gare could be a fatal mistake for our operations. Of course, being the wonderfully lady-like young woman that I am, I shoved him behind a movie-star cutout that stood in front of the theatre behind us. The blonde actress wasn't quite tall enough to cover Gare's head, but she'd have to do for now.
Once he regained his balance, he shooed me along. It probably would've looked reasonably strange from anyone else's point of view; a pair of hands flapping for no apparent reason behind a cutout of Scarlett Johansson. Hopefully no one noticed besides me, but I got the picture.
Turning on the ball of my foot, I hurried over to where Mr. Eight was. The tall (although not as monstrously tall as Gare) chestnut-haired boy was scanning the Smoothie Shack's list of possible overpriced goods. None of which, by the way, were ever worth it. He looked fairly unimpressed. Go him.
I took his moment of fierce concentration to give him an up and down. I'm subtle like that- checking guys out when they least expect it. Mr. Eight turned around to face me, giving me a strange look with a raised eyebrow. So much for being subtle. So much for having the element of surprise.
Well, I one-upped his eyebrow by licking my lips promiscuously and winking. He looked rather taken aback. "Babes, if you were sine squared theta, and I was cosine squared theta, together we'd be one." Oh snap. I pulled the golden line out on him.
He gave a hearty laugh. To be honest, I didn't expect him to understand it. I expected what he did next even less. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and said with a wink, "Hey, keep that up and we can go back to my place and view the exponential growth of my natural log."
My mouth gaped open. What the hell. Retaliation time. "I wish I were adenine... so I could be paired with U," I said, dreamily as I battered my eyelashes innocently.
"If I could be an enzyme, I'd be DNA helicase- so I could unzip your genes!" His voice was unmistakably triumphant.
"Mmm, that's a played out one right there, but you're good- I'll give you that. Maybe a tad bit too forward." I tweaked his nose, which I was elated to find had light freckles on it. How cute was that?
"So says the cute girl who licked her lips and winked at me. I was under the impression that you had certain thoughts running through your head- not that it's unusual, of course. I'm such a stud, I know."
"Keep telling yourself that."
"Do you come here often?"
"Was that another pickup line?"
"No, no, that was a serious question!" he said, feigning being offended.
"Oh, yeah, I do. Mall pickups are fun, if you catch my drift, huh-huh." Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, know what I mean? I elbowed him lightly in the ribs.
"Oh, so you usually have sex with random strangers that you find at the mall?" Mr. Eight asked, and for the millionth time, he raised his eyebrows at me.
Okay, so that was a really intrusive and offensive question. Naturally, I responded with a flame-thrower and insane screaming fit. Not really. But I probably should've. All I could do was open my mouth in disbelief. Who asks that? Honestly. Manners, people, manners!
"Kidding, kidding. Lighten up. Sluts don't use amusing pickup lines. In fact, believe it or not, they don't even use them! They just saunter over and flash you!" he said, getting excited and waving his hands as he spoke. He was pretty cute. He made me smile.
"Mmm, so I take it that you usually have sex with random sluts who flash you?"
Mr. Eight cocked his head at this question. "Yeah, how'd you guess?" A boyish grin flashed across his face, showing me that he had a small dimple on his right cheek. It highlighted his freckles, which were in fact scattered all across his face instead of solely concentrated on his nose.
"Julie," I said, stretching out a hand to him and making solid eye contact for the first time. He had sea-green eyes. And freckles. And chestnut hair. He was probably physical perfection.
"Caleb at the fair Julie's service," he replied, taking my hand and kneeling.
"Aw, whoever said chivalry was dead was a moron," I said, feeling a slight flutter in my stomach. This boy was probably getting to me.
"Nah, it was probably just an extreme feminist with a stick up her ass." As laughter erupted from my body, I confirmed that this boy was definitely getting to me.
"So, what brings you here on this fine spring day, Caleb?" I asked, linking arms with the boy, who I estimated was a good three inches taller than me. Not too shabby, not too shabby at all. He had light freckles on his arms too. Yeah, so freckles are an obsession for me.
No sooner had I linked arms with Caleb than I saw a six-foot tall figure storming my way. Oh lord, what had Gare done this time?