The Boiled Eggs

"You should stop texting Corey now, Lewis," I said, giving him a sour look of annoyance.

The blonde before me scowled, before tossing his head full of waves behind him. "I mostly text him for the laughs."

"Oh," I said.

Lewis leaned forward a little, causing to lose a bit of his balance and accidently step on my brand new Nikes. They were the same as Michael Zumba's, but that didn't change the fact that they were still new shoes.

"Lewis!" I complained.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, feigning horror. "This is a garden."

I rolled my eyes and sighed, wanting to respond to the small boy that was only a day older than I was, but not being able to. Lewis always won.

"Watch the eggs," he snapped, continuing to text the person who was known as 'Sea Pickle.'

Soon, they were good enough to eat, and Lewis put his sorry excuse for a cellphone in his backpack.

We peeled them, and if Professor Hill was reading this food memoir, she would never forgive us, for we ate more than our fill. I lost count of how many I ate. I'm pretty sure Lewis did too.

Sorry for telling on you, Lewis!

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