Crepes

"People who are fine don't go darting out of the cafeteria like they're a mad person," Sofia says. She places the two white plates that are barely holding up the crepes on the nightstand; which I should mention is only ever clean thanks to me. "But if you're as fine as you say you are, do you forgive me for giving you a panic attack and not telling you about the guy," she says softly. "I didn't have a panic attack," I argue. Even though I'm not completely sure what caused me to run out of the cafeteria. Sure I didn't want this aforementioned guy to see me post-practice, right after those gorgeous cheerleaders who were ahead of us, but a part of me thinks there is another reason. "It's ok, let's just eat these crepes," I say. Sofia claps her hands then pulls two white, easily breakable forks out of her bomber jacket. Knowing me and my dislike for food on my bed we move over to Sofia's bed where it smells like ramen noodles and bath and body works perfume.