✌ Six

The only thing I wanted to do after that way harsh rejection was lock myself up in my room for the rest of the week, totally invisible to the outside world until my humiliation boiled over. But since I couldn't start ditching school all because of one lameazoid, I settled for vegging out instead. I slipped into my favorite silk bathrobe from Bloomingdale's, put Tiffany's brand-new album in the stereo, and laid back on my bed, my entire face covered in facial mud straight from the Dead Sea. The album was halfway to the only song anyone actually knew by Tiffany when the doorbell unexpectedly rang, rudely yanking me out of my much needed rest and relaxation. Sighing, I peeled off the cucumber slices moisturizing my puffy eyes and sat up in bed.

Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

Could this person seriously not wait two seconds? I groaned and dragged myself downstairs, opening the door without even bothering to check through the peephole first—only to unleash a bloodcurdling scream when I saw who was standing on the front doorstep.

Theatre boy. Ugh, he was just like that pimple that wouldn't go away no matter how many bogus garlic juice and honey remedies I tried, the one that always popped up the night before picture day or on the morning of a super important date. Plus, to top it all off, he was staring me down with a face covered in mud mask! So, I did the only thing I could do.

I slammed the door in his face.

Then I wheeled around on my heels and yelled for the maid.

"ROOOSAAA!" I tapped my foot impatiently as the little Chinese lady scurried down the hall and gaped at me with a look of horror like she had just been caught washing my whites with my colors. I pointed at the door and grumbled, "Tell that lamebrain visiting hours are, like, way over."

She nodded, and I turned without another word to trudge back upstairs. No sooner was the front door out of sight than I heard the maid's voice apologize, "I'm so sorry. Miss Mila is not home right now, Mr. Lamebrain. Maybe don't try coming back." I could practically hear a vapid smile in Rosa's voice as she relayed every phoneme of the message with unwarranted politeness. Not that I was really surprised—I mean, she had obviously learned from the best.

The fifteen minutes for my mud mask were officially up thanks to the interruption, so I made a quick pit stop by the bathroom to wash it all off before returning to my living quarters, my head still reeling with how much I totally did not want to see that Yixing kid ever again. I huffed at the mere thought of him as I reclined in bed and shoved my head under a pillow, wondering why he just had to drop by to torment me even more than he already had. Hadn't he had enough bullying for one night? Furthermore, how did he even know where I lived?

Just as suddenly as the super creepy thought crossed my mind, frenzied pounding erupted from right outside my bedroom window, sending me bolting upright with a hair-raising squeal. I slowly turned toward the window, feeling all color leave my face as I literally turned snow white. The knocking continued, so boisterous that it all but drowned out the music blasting from the stereo. I squinted in the direction of the noise and found a familiar head of bushy, brown hair staring at me through the glass plane.

It couldn't be. Like, how in Dennis Quaid's name was Yixing floating by my second-story bedroom window? Had he somehow climbed a tree branch? Had he scaled the wall itself? I marched across the room and shoved the pane open, groaning something along the lines of, "Excuse me, freakazoid! How did you figure out this was my room? How did you even get up here? Like, are you stalking me? What gives?"

"There was a ladder in the garden, I heard Tiffany blaring from the window, and no. Can I come in?"

"Ugh, whatever," I huffed, stepping aside as he surprisingly gracefully hopped through the open window and landed on his feet like a cat. I rolled my eyes and slammed the window shut while Yixing busied himself glancing around my bedroom, memorizing its features like a tourist out sightseeing: the four-poster canopy bed, the elegant gold-trimmed furniture, the walls covered head to toe in posters of pop stars and other hotties of the decade.

"Take a picture," I snipped. "It'll last longer."

Yixing completely ignored the remark and turned back to me, pointing at the stereo. "Aren't your parents going to hear?"

I crossed my arms. "They're in Europe. Now, what do you want?"

"You left this at Theatre." He held up my spare neon-pink, black-laced wallet and waved it between his fingers before suddenly chucking it halfway across the room toward me. It nearly smacked me in the face before I could even see it coming.

"Excuse me!" I squawked, fumbling to catch it. "My nose was very expensive, I'll have you know!"

He grinned. "So it is fake?"

"Don't you know it's rude to ask a girl if she's had plastic surgery?" I tutted as I quickly thumbed through the wallet to make sure he hadn't stolen anything. Everything seemed to be in place, from the credit cards to the secretly tucked-away picture of that dreamy dreamboat from Can't Buy Me Love. "You could have just given it to me at school, you know."

"Yeah, but I figured there might be something important in there." Yixing shrugged before sitting down on the edge of my bed, leaving me shuddering at the thought of his grody uniform pants coming into contact with my bedspread. But since he had done me a major favor, I opted not to shoo him off just this once.

"Oh. Like, thanks for being considerate."

"I wanted to talk to you, anyway," he added, and I cocked an eyebrow.

"Let me guess: you realized you haven't totally ruined my life yet and came back just to finish the job?"

Yixing chuckled. "No, actually, quite the opposite. Matter of fact, I wanted to rescind my refusal from earlier tonight. You know, put a big X over that whole incident where I totally burned you." I groaned audibly as he continued, "I thought it over after you left, and I decided, well, what the hell? I don't really have any other friends here in Genericville, USA, so I don't have anything to lose, right?"

I cringed as the word "friends" left his mouth, the implication being that I was somehow one of them, until the message suddenly sank in. "Duh," I quickly spat out, like he would change his mind again if I didn't reply fast enough. "I mean, you can only go up from here. Trust me, as a new kid at Exoplanet High, you totally need all the help you can get, anyway."

"...Right." He smirked and extended a hand toward me. "So, deal? I'll pretend to date you until that guy, whatever his name is—"

"Kai—"

"—realizes you exist, and you can pay me back later. I'll take an IOU," he finished with a wink.

"Deal." I took his hand in mine, shaking it curtly. No sooner had he dropped it and sprung off the bed than I secretly rubbed my palm clean on the fabric of my bathrobe behind his back.

"So, you're a fan of Tiffany?" Yixing promptly changed the subject as he moseyed over to a wall jam-packed with shelves of VHS tapes, cassettes, and CDs. Nosily, he began thumbing through my album collection. "Can't say I'm totally surprised. I mean, you reek of mallrat."

"Excellent," I scoffed. He really knew how to make a girl feel special. "Thanks."

"I don't mean that in a totally bad way," he laughed coolly. "I mean, I saw her live during her mall tour this summer, so I can't exactly talk. I'm more of a fan of Madonna, though. She's, like, an icon."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm so sure. Madonna's, like, so ancient. Tiffany is fresh."

"No way. Tiffany has 'one-hit wonder' written all over her."

"People said the same thing about Madonna when she first hit," I pointed out. "I'm so sure I'd, like, totally bet you. If Tiffany never has another hit single, I'll"—what was the worst punishment I could possibly concoct, something so totally heinous I would never dare put myself in a position to endure?—"I'll go to school without makeup for a day."

"Alright. You're on."

It was hard to believe, but I actually almost smiled as he shook my hand on the deal. Even harder to believe was just how much I soon found out I had in common with Theatre boy. Like, how was it even possible that I enjoyed all the same songs and films as a kid who spent most of his free time sweeping up stale popcorn? Somehow, we ended up wasting the next few hours chatting about our mutual interests, from Samantha Fox and Cyndi Lauper to Labyrinth and Pretty in Pink. He even liked a plethora of Dennis Quaid movies, which could only mean one thing: Yixing thought he was a total babe, too.

I almost enjoyed the prospect of having a friend I could geek out about Hollywood with. Not that Jessica wasn't the best BFF I could ever ask for, but how could I ever confide my love for cinema and pop culture in her? If she found out, it would gag her right out the door. But Yixing wasn't all that bad in the end, I realized as he bid me goodnight and slipped back out the window, his fluffy curls disappearing down the ladder and into the darkness.

I supposed I could get along with him—if I really had to.

✌ Author's Note

OK, this chapter monkey eggs. *sobs*

I APOLOGIZE, BUT FORGIVE ME THIS ONCE? I promise I'll make it better next time, OK? :)

On another note, I was super shocked by the reaction to Chapter 5—in a good way, of course! Thank you guys so much for all the comments and the new votes! Your speculation brightened my day. <3 I will say this: you're all going to be SUPER surprised by what I have planned for this fic! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° I may take a tiny breather to restore my dried-up cleverness juices before taking a stab at Chapter 7, but don't worry! I promise not to take a month again, lol.

Thanks for voting, -rhapsodic, JESSTER, UKELELESareCOOL, HeavensDescent, sailormoon77, dreamgirl_, i-like-nutella, ChiraqKimmy, sabrinawu, BangYongRachy, yukaria, happylacus, dreamyjournalist, keumjoo, myungster97, shinix, Sisawesome, Lillievil, TJKCPUI, swaglulu, maknaes4eva, forest, shifeng, alleksandra, Coralie_x_SHINee, sehoneysenpai, tah_dah_kpop, eatPie, beautyblob, HarmonyCloud, hibariharu, and lovingteentop! （●´∀｀）ノ♡