This is one-shot I wrote for a contest. The requirements were as follows: 1,000 words and under, good characters and good plot. Its crap in my opinion, but I'd like to know what you think. R&R?


It's always about the waffles.

The stupid, bloody, frozen waffles.

If she weren't my best friend, if she wasn't my first crush, if she wasn't the one girl I'd do anything for, I'd never have found myself in this situation; walking along the street, several boxes of frozen Eggo waffles tucked under my arm.

I mutter darkly to myself and several people stare oddly at the sixteen year old weirdo with the waffles.

Yeah, you guessed it, that's me.

My other friends tried to warn me about hanging out with her too much, how I would lose my 'pride' and become some love struck idiot. Looking back on it, I should have stuck to staying home and playing video games. I should have focused more on developing actual muscle this summer. I should be day dreaming about the cheerleading captain. But instead, I spent all of my free time at the library, doing homework and laughing at the hook-nosed librarian. I spent this summer along side her as a CIT at the local camp. And I spent my day dreams on her, my quirky, bubbly, and two-years-in-the-running best friend.

I could have been the hot football jock with all the chicks at his beck and call.

It's a nice vision when you think about it.

Yet, here I am, bringing my sick best friend a box of waffles.

Trying to prevent this all from happening was like trying to stop an oncoming hurricane. I can't even count how many times I told myself, "Don't let her get to you, Chase. Don't let her into her system."

I tried to keep myself away from her, I really did. But throughout the last two years and twenty seven days, something has most certainly kept me from detaching myself from her. It wasn't until other guys started asking her out that it hit me, like a truck hits a deer on the Interstate:

Claire Walsh had worked her way into my system.

And damn it all, she would not get out.

There is something extremely cohesive about her. The way her nose crinkles when she laughs, her absolute obsession for 1970's children's shows like 'H.R. Pufnstuf' and 'Sigmund the Sea monster', her love for knitted socks, her deep loathing of garlic, it all added up to a giant, out-of-this-universe personality that had me hooked from the start.

And now, as she's extremely sick with pneumonia, I'm bringing her waffles.

I trudge up the steps to her front door, stifling a yawn as I stick the key under the door mat in the lock, walking into the highly humidified room.

"Claire?" I ask, walking into the living room.

A head of red curls pokes out from under a pile of blankets.

"CHASE!" I'm suddenly swallowed whole by a bear hug, and then released as the waffles are snatched from my hands.

"Hey." I smile as she bounces into the kitchen, rips open the box and shoves three waffles into the toaster oven. "How's the fever?"

"One hundred point six and still counting. I started writing out my will before you came over. Would you be terribly hurt if I didn't let you inherit my H.R. Pufnstuf DVD collection?"

At the moment, I can't care less about anything but that smile. That freckled, familiar, pretty smile.

I have no man pride, I tell you. None at all.

"You know I'd cry myself to sleep." I reply, grabbing the syrup from the top of the fridge that she can never reach. "You won't die, Claire."

She snorts, "Have you felt my forehead lately?"

She grabs my hand and places it on the aforementioned area. It's suddenly very warm, and not just where my hand is touching her skin.

Chances of getting my pride back are thin.

She grins at me and then runs to the toaster oven that just dinged. I blink twice and try to clear my head.

Stick thin, those chances are.

In less than a minute we're both seated at the table, my fiddling with a napkin and her munching on syrup coated waffles.

"Oh! Dish ish so good!" She croons, smiling with a mouthful of food. "I luff you Chase. You're a life shaver."

I hold back a laugh at her ridiculous behavior and try to take control of my raging hormones.

"Glad to help." I rasp. "I uh—I've got to go. I promised my mom I'd do some errands for her."

She suddenly rises and sweeps me up into another hug. "Thanks," She whispers in my ear, "I owe you a lot."

I glance down at her sapphire blue eyes, and crinkled nose as she beams at me. "No problem."

I waste no time in getting the heck out of there.

I figure that I need a vacation.

A girl free vacation.

I think back to how happy she was when I brought her the waffles.

Where did my manly pride go?!!

I've got it bad. I've got it really bad.

Stupid waffles.

It's always about those bloody waffles.


A/N: Review please?