Page 60 of Ancient History

Amosand I had caf duty again. I stayed busy cooling down a table that was getting rowdy and on the verge of breaking into a fight over accusations of boyfriend stealing. In a way, I was grateful for the distance. My willpower against not petting him and kissing him was not strong. Especially when he wore adorkable sweater vests like he had on today.

“Good job,” Amos said, eyeing the table that almost broke out in World War III. “What was that about?”

“Just some petty high school drama. Someone’s boyfriend was DMing this girl and I’m already exhausted.”

I hunkered down into my chair.

“Do you want one of my Ding Dongs?”

Chocolate sounded good right now.

“You’d share one of your beloved Ding Dongs with me?”

“Act fast before I change my mind.” He held out the chocolate disk which looked like a hockey puck. My stomach moved at the sweet smell.

I didn’t realize until I’d already leaned forward and bit into the Ding Dong that Amos wasn’t trying to feed it to me. He was giving it to me, like a normal non-boyfriend person would do. Friends and colleagues do not feed each other food.

I slowly moved back to my seat, Ding Dong sticking out of my mouth like I was a damn dog with a frisbee. Amos’s eyes were wide and awkward, but there was a smile in there somewhere.

“Um, thank you,” I said with half a Ding Dong in my mouth. I swallowed, the snack and my pride, in one big lump.

“Yeah. No problem.” He laughed to himself. I joined in, too. Laughter was the fastest way to wash away this weirdness. And the swoon I felt by the gesture.

“Do you want some of my chips?” I offered the bag of potato chips to him.

“Okay.”

I thought about trying to feed him chips before just handing over the bag.

I ate his Ding Dong, and he ate my chips in comfortable silence.

“This is good,” I said of the snack cake. “Really freaking good.”

“I know, right? That burst of cream in the middle is…” he made a chef’s kiss gesture with his fingers. “I doubt it’s real cream. Probably ninety-nine percent chemicals.”

“Still edible.”

I reached for a napkin in the center of the table. Scooting in, our knees touched. Heat rushed up my leg. I thought about the heat of his body on top of mine.

And because I was a rebel, I didn’t pull away.

Neither did Amos.

I reached under the table and gave his knee the slightest caress. Would we have to make another pit stop in my backseat this afternoon?

He snacked on more of my chips. We talked about classes and soccer games, all the while our knees kept touching.

Life was good. It was like I was drunk and loosened up.

“Do you want to go to a movie this weekend?” I asked, continuing to feel bold.

“Like a date?”

Before I could fumble for an answer, a foursome of guys marched into the cafeteria wearing matching sunglasses and fedoras. A loud song blasted from one of their phones.

They strode up to a table filled with girls who were either screaming or about to be.

The guy in front whipped off his fedora and held it over his heart. “Ereka Fraser.”

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