So, I headed out for groceries—because apparently, "grocery shopping" isn't a simple task anymore.
I tied my blonde hair into my signature two messy ponytails, or buns, or whatever you call those things where your hair looks like you lost a fight with a tornado.
I donned my glasses, because hey, the world's a blurry place without them, and since it was hotter than a sauna in July, I threw on an oversized pink T-shirt I stole from Jake's closet (don't tell him), and shorts that I definitely did not buy myself but… well, borrowed.
With my eco-friendly milk bag slung over my shoulder—because I like to pretend I'm eco-conscious even when I'm just carrying snacks—I strutted into what Google kindly labeled as "supermarket," or was it "mall"? Who knows anymore.
The place was practically empty; apparently, everyone was hiding from the heat, or maybe they'd all evaporated into thin air.
The AC was on full blast, and I was already feeling like a queen in her climate-controlled castle.
I pulled out my shopping list, which I totally remembered from my head—mostly. Then I paused, deep in thought.
Should I cook? Or maybe just buy a cake and pretend I baked it? I mean, I skipped all the healthy stuff and went straight for the ingredients for a cake—because who needs greens when you can have sugar, right?.
As I wove through the aisles, I suddenly spotted some familiar faces—Mark, Ethan, and Liam.
Of course.
Why does this always happen to me? I quickly dove behind a shelf full of floor tiles, trying to become one with the tile display.
Little did I know, Liam was right behind me, peering over the shelves with that mischievous grin.
"Ah, what are you looking for?" Liam asked, voice playful but confused, like I'd just asked him to solve a math problem in Greek.
Embarrassed, I turned around with my best awkward smile—probably looking like I'd just been caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar.
"Hi… uh… watcha doing over here?" I mumbled, clutching my shopping cart like a lifeline.
Liam smirked like he'd just cracked the code of my embarrassing hide-and-seek.
Mark nodded, calmly taking the cart from me and starting to stroll with it, like he owned the place.
Ethan, meanwhile, was busy picking up a note I'd been clutching and muttered, "Aren't these vegetables?" (He pointed at a bag of flour. Close enough, right?)
"No," I said, rolling my eyes.
"I want to bake my mom a cake. Is that a problem?" I asked, proud of my newfound baking ambition.
Liam shot back,
"Do you even know how to bake a cake?" like he'd just asked if I could fly to the moon.
Of course, I didn't.
I mean, I'd seen some YouTube tutorials—which are basically the internet's way of saying, "Good luck!" I tossed my hair dramatically, holding a crate of eggs like a trophy. "There's something called the internet," I said, as if that explained everything.
Liam snorted, "Aren't these vegetables?" He pointed at the eggs again.
"Yeah, and I'm going to turn them into a cake," I insisted. "Simple!"
Liam just shrugged, munching on a candy bar.
I crossed my arms and asked, "Why are you guys here?"
Before I could even finish, Mark chimed in, "We're here to buy your mom a present."
Liam nodded enthusiastically, like he'd just cracked some secret code.
My mom? Why? I mean, Jake's my brother, but why is he not even here?
"Yeah, we should just continue shopping, okay?" I said, trying to sound casual.
They all nodded in agreement—except Ethan, who didn't do anything. Classic Ethan—silent but somehow more annoying than a squeaky shopping cart.
Mark smiled, Liam giggled, and Ethan just kept staring at the shelves.
This was going to be a long trip.
Meanwhile, Mark, who apparently has the patience of a saint, muttered, "You're too slow."
"Excuse me," I said defensively, "I like myself like that," flipping my hair again because, well, why not?
Mark tapped the shopping crate, you know where babies used to be kept.
"Hop on," he said, with that tone that meant 'I'm about to push you into a fun chaos.'
I hesitated—because I might be lazy, but I'm also adventurous—then I hopped on. Honestly? It was fun.
I enjoyed being pushed around, grabbing stuff I needed like some grocery ninja, and laughing at Liam's terrible jokes.
Mark is genuinely a great guy—kind, patient, and a master of shopping cart rides. Liam? Annoying but funny. Ethan? Quiet but observant, probably plotting his next move.
And just because I was hanging out with them now doesn't mean this is the end of my story. Nope. The adventure is just beginning.
Who knows what hilarious chaos awaits next?
But one thing's for sure—shopping with friends? It's basically the best kind of chaos. And I'm here for it.
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After all the fun (and chaos), I finally returned home. Liam, from the background, cleared his throat dramatically—like he was about to make a speech.
Or announce the Queen's arrival. Whatever.
We all trudged into my house, and the three of them just plopped onto the bed like they were kings of some lavish kingdom.
Seriously, they have mansions but still love our TV like it's the best thing since sliced bread. Priorities, right?
Just as I was about to start bringing out the ingredients, my phone buzzed. It was Jake.
"Mom will be home any minute," Jake said, sounding all serious. "I'm waiting outside for her. You gotta get things ready!"
It was already almost seven o'clock.
Panic mode activated. I started rummaging through the shelves, watching YouTube tutorials and making a fool of myself—because, honestly, I'm pretty sure I could've been a professional clown by now.
Just as I was about to give up, I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I flinched because, hello, surprise! The hand was soft and reassuring.
It then grabbed an apron and slipped it over his head.
Yep. You all know who it is. Not Ethan. Nope. Not Mark. It was Ethan… nope, wait! It was Mark.
"Need some help?" he asked, looking surprisingly earnest.
Thank goodness someone asked! I was about to turn into a human pretzel, so I handed him everything—flour, eggs, and my dignity—and rested my head on the counter.
He started to bake, glasses shining like he was auditioning for a superhero movie.
Then he looked at me and asked, "So… uh… why are you always avoiding us? Like we've done something to you?"
Honestly? I just hate being annoyed—like, really hate it. And that's pretty much all they do.
"I hate annoyance," I sighed dramatically.
He gave me a smirk that said, Nice try, but I see through you. Then he asked, "Am I annoying?"
Why would he ask that? My heart was racing faster than a squirrel on Red Bull.
"You're the least annoying one," I said hurriedly, hoping to glide away from trouble. "You're just… a little different."
He looked at me, almost like I'd just confessed to being a secret agent. Then muttered, "You didn't come back for the tutor."
Wait—what? I didn't even catch that.
Without missing a beat, he just shrugged and said, "Let's bake it."
Ooh, typical Mark—always baking up trouble.
It was supposed to be a simple birthday party.
The four dumb-dumbs annoying pigs—Ethan, Liam, Mark, and Jake—had chipped in and bought a present for Mom.
We kept a cake with a flickering candle ready, and when she finally stepped in, we all shouted, "Happy birthday, Mom!" cheering loudly.
She walked in, delighted, and playfully gave us all some in-the-mouth birthday wishes, as she always did.
"Happy birthday, Mom!" I said, grinning.
She pulled my cheeks affectionately. "Thank you, sweetheart," she whispered.
Jake, smirking, turned to me and said, "Ugh, I wasn't sure a donkey like you could handle all this," with that mischievous grin.
I was pissed but secretly proud. "Yeah, now you know," I shot back.
Just as things were about to turn into a full-blown celebration, the door swung open with a dramatic creak.
In walked a man—probably in his mid-forties—wearing a crisp, white shirt tucked into tailored black trousers.
His blazer looked like it had been pressed with military precision. His blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, and his fit, muscular build made it clear he hit the gym regularly. He looked exactly like Jake—same jawline, same piercing eyes, same confident stance.
The moment Mom saw him, her eyes widened like she'd seen a ghost. She immediately stood up, eyes locked on him like she was ready to fight.
Jake's face hardened instantly, his expression turning tougher by the second. Ethan, Liam, and Mark
looked just as confused, eyebrows raised as if they'd just seen a magic trick gone wrong.
"Ronson… what are you doing here?" Mom asked, her voice low and tight.
The man took a deep breath, then moved forward calmly,
" Wait, My name is Ayana Ronson." (Wait—what?)
And then it clicked: Is he my dad?
I felt my stomach twist. I was sure he was my father.
Jake, never one to stay quiet, stepped forward and cracked his knuckles ominously.
"What are you doing here? I thought we agreed never to see you again," he snapped.
The man, Ronson, kept his cool like he had ice water in his veins. Then, he turned to me, and his face softened.
He took a step closer, reached for my hand, and looked into my eyes with a gentle, almost tender expression.
Jake tried to step in, probably to throw a punch or something, but Mark stopped him with a firm hand.
"My daughter," Ronson said, tears shimmering in his eyes as he leaned down and kissed my forehead. "I really miss you...my child." His voice cracked just a little, making my heart squeeze.
Then, he added, "I don't know how to explain this, but… it's all your mother's fault."
My heart did a flip.
My eyes widened in shock.
Jake, furious now, shoved Ronson away with enough force to make him stumble.
But Ronson, the calm, collected man he was, simply stood up straight, glanced at Mom—who was now having a full-blown mental breakdown—and without another word, he turned and left the house like he was on a mission.
Just like that.
What just happened? I looked around desperately, hoping someone would explain. But everyone's face was a mask of confusion or shock.
Jake, still fuming, started pacing back and forth, muttering, "Why does that guy think he can just come back after all these years? Disgusting."
His voice was full of anger, but I could tell he was also trying to process what had just gone down.
My heart pounded.
My hands trembled.
I looked at Mom—she was sitting on the couch, tears still rolling down her cheeks, but trying to put on a brave face.
"Mom, what happened?" I asked softly, my voice trembling.
She wiped her tears and forced a trembling smile. "Nothing. It's nothing. Thanks for the party," she whispered, but I could tell she was lying.
"I'm going to my room," she said suddenly, standing up quickly.
"Okay, Mrs. May. Good night," Liam said gently.
She nodded, barely able to look at us.
Mark ran a hand through his shiny black hair and said, "You should get some rest. You've outdone yourself today." I nodded quietly, still shaken.
As I was about to go upstairs, I swear I heard glass shattering downstairs. What was that? Did someone break a plate? Did the house explode? Or was it just my nerves?