Page 31 of Foes & Cons
“I’m always cute,” I say, fluttering my eyelashes.
Roxy lifts an eyebrow.
“Wearing it down to breakfast every morning?”
I nod. “As long as I don’t barf on it.”
“Hmm.”
“Uh. What doeshmmmean? I’m extremely, extremely fragile, Roxy. Please, just decide what you want to say, say it, then stop saying it.”
She sits back in her chair and folds her arms.
“Just think it’s interesting that you chose to wear that vile T-shirt yesterday, when you could easily have worn this, your favourite onesie,” she says, gesturing at my attire like it’s an exhibit in a court case. I blink at her. “Why was that,do you think?”
I shrug. “Forgot I had it, I guess.”
“Hmm.” I could fake a post-drinking dash to the loo, but then she’d know I’m admitting to something. Which I’m not. Also, I wish Iris was here to divert this sudden attention to my motivations. “Some people might think you’d rather wear a misogynistic T-shirt just to make the friend who caused the latte drenching incident feel worse, rather than changing into something you felt perfectly comfortable in, thus making her feel less bad.Somepeoplemight think you get so blinded by a grudgeyou can’t see the bigger picture.”
“Thus?”
“Yes,thus. Is that all you have to say?”
“No.”
“No what, babe?”
“No, your honour,” I say, squirming.
Roxy watches me lick my finger and pick up croissant crumbs as I look all around the restaurant; everywhere but at her. Her napkin suddenly lands in my lap, and I look up.
“You are the most stubborn person I have ever met,” she says, smiling and shaking her head.
I spot Fake McKinley walking round the waffle station, peering at the toppings on offer before he heads through the restaurant.
“Hey.” I wave him over, before Roxy can cross-examine me any further.
He smiles and wanders over, weaving between the tables in his werewolf costume, minus head.
“Hey, guys,” he says, stopping at our table, his face bright. “How was your breakfast?”
“She couldn’t eat,” says Roxy.
Fake McKinley looks at my pathetic leftovers and raises his eyebrows.
“Too much fun last night?” he says. I glare at Roxy. “You should try and eat; it’ll make you feel better.”
“You obviously did,” I say, looking up at him. “Is that pain au chocolate or pecan twist crumbs in your beard?”
He smiles and rubs his chin but misses the crumbs.
“Both. What can I say? I’m a Taurus; we love our food,” he says. “Did I get them?”
“Nowhere near,” I say, pointing. “It’sthere.”
“That it?” he says, rubbing the opposite spot.
“I can’t cope,” I say, pulling myself up. “Let me.”
