Title: The Showdown at CHS
One sunny afternoon at CHS, the school was buzzing with excitement for the big soccer game. John was practicing his tricks with a soccer ball, but his mind was elsewhere—on Arthur’s mom, who had just baked the best cookies ever.
"Yo, Arthur! You think your mom will bake those cookies again? They were bomb!" John said, kicking the ball between his feet, trying to look cool.
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Dude, chill. My mom is not a cookie machine. And why you always gotta bring her up? It’s kinda weird."
John smirked, "Weird? Nah, man, only if you think it’s weird. I just think she’s chill, ya know? Plus, she’s super nice." He winked.
“Okay, but you act like you’re in love with her or something! It’s just cookies!” Arthur shouted, crossing his arms like a referee deciding on a penalty kick.
“Who said anything about love? I just like her cookies!” John shot back, throwing his hands up like he was defending himself in a movie. “Maybe you’re just jealous I like her better than your lame soccer skills!”
“Jealous? Pfft! I’m not jealous! You’re the one with the weird obsession, dude! Get a grip!” Arthur huffed, kicking a rock across the playground.
John stepped closer, ball still between his feet. “Okay, but can you blame me? I mean, have you seen how nice she is? My mom doesn’t even bake, dude!”
“Your mom is not the problem here!” Arthur threw his hands up, eyes wide. “It’s your creepy attitude! You gotta stop acting like a total weirdo around her or she’s gonna think you’re, like, a stalker or something!”
John laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh. “I’m not being a stalker! I just treat her like a normal person! You know, unlike you who just hides in your room playing video games all day!”
Arthur's face turned red. “At least I don’t drool over my best friend’s mom! That’s just messed up, man!”
“Whatever! You’re just mad ‘cause I might actually talk to her!” John shot back, feeling the tension in the air like a storm about to break.
The two boys stood there, squaring off, when suddenly Arthur grinned. “Fine! You know what? If you’re so into cookies, then you can get them yourself! I’m outta here!” He started to walk away, but turned his head back and shot one last jab: “And don’t come crying to me when she tells you to cut it out!”
John watched as Arthur walked away, his anger melting into amusement. “Yeah, well… enjoy your dry toast!” he shouted after him, feeling a little lighter. Maybe they’d laugh about this later.
But for now, the soccer game was calling, and John was determined to score a goal—or at least, score some cookies.