BENCHED

by Abigail Graham

  Most of us scattered. Akele and Aheahe stand in the middle of the room, huge arms folded. Izzy Duquesne and Curtis Linkletter followed us from the bar, probably for no particular reason.

  "That went well," Akele declares.

  "Went well?" Curtis shouts. "Are you crazy? We got our asses kicked and we'll probably all get booted off the team for this."

  Curtis is our wide receiver, and he's a little twitchy. One of the lightest players on the team, he's more of a sprinter than anything. He gets up and circles the room, walking behind the ring of couches.

  "This is bad," he mutters, "bad, bad, bad, bad…."

  "Curtis, go home," I tell him. "You too, Izzy. Go with him."

  "He's had a little much," Izzy agrees, leading Curtis out by the arm.

  "Run, run, run, gotta run," Curtis mumbles.

  I look at Akele and Aheahe.

  They shrug. The motion makes the floor shake under my feet. We're probably going to lose our security deposit.

  "The girls okay?" Akele asks.

  "I'll check," I sigh.

  I trudge up the stairs, knock, and then swing open the door to my room. Dee is sitting up—barely—and swaying as she tucks the princess into my bed like a little kid after a rough day at school.

  Princess Anastasia lifts her head and looks at me.

  "You are having the nice legs," she says.

  Then her head falls on the pillow and she spaces out, her eyes drifting shut.

  I let out an exasperated sigh.

  "She just needs to sleep it off," Dee says.

  "Yeah. You two stay in here. I'll be downstairs."

  "You might want to put on some pants."

  I glance down, remember that I stripped them off, and grab a pair of sweats from the closet.

  "Let me know if you need anything, Dee."

  When I get back to the kitchen, I find the brothers cleaning up the mess and join in. We're no stranger to people tossing their cookies on our floor. With the three of us working on it, it takes about ten minutes. Aheahe carries the garbage can outside for the night. We'll need to hose it off.

  That fish she ate stinks.

  "I'm sleeping down here," I announce.

  "Right, cousin. Who takes first watch?" Aheahe asks.

  "Just go to bed," I snap.

  I flop down on the longest couch, the one that faces the television, and take a deep breath. I hate sleeping down here. The light cuts in through the curtains. After futzing with them for a bit, it gets dark enough for me to sleep.

  Then Aheahe opens the fridge and the light wakes me up.

  Of course brothers have to go to the bathroom. It sounds like a herd of elephants walking around upstairs. Then the girls go. At some point, Dee pukes in the toilet. Back when she was dating Akele, I learned to recognize the unique sonic signature of her vomiting.

  By about six o'clock in the morning, I've mostly given up on sleep. I drag my aching body in circles around the living room, replaying last night's game in my head. Trying to, anyway. It turns into a replay of the bar fight. Nothing is so satisfying as the sensation of my fist hitting Ransom Kaye's nose. I smile a little inside every time I look at his face. He never quite healed right after I broke it the last time.

  We're not finished.

  As I pace, my thoughts go back to Ana grinding on me on the dance floor. She's a nimble little one, she is. Well, not little. She's tall for a girl. Doesn't matter, everybody but the brothers is little to me.

  Knowing I shouldn't, I walk softly up the stairs, stopping to skip the step that always creaks. I check my bedroom door and find it unlocked.

  The princess is curled up in my bed, hugging my pillow. Her hair is a mess, thick locks pulling free from her thick braid to form a wild tangle around her head. Also she's drooling. On my pillow.

  She's fucking gorgeous.

  I step into the room and crouch by the bed. She sniffles and pulls at a lock of hair with her lip, trying to get it out of her face. I gently slip my finger under the hair and tuck it back behind her ear. She shifts, and I freeze until she relaxes again, her eyes darting back and forth under their lids.

  I wonder what she's dreaming about.

  Shit, if she wakes up now she'll see me, hovering about two inches from her face. I’d leaned down even more as I watched her. Until I was within kissing range. I shouldn't be in here anyway.

  As I slip out, I take one last look. It turns into a last stare. I could stare at her a long time. She draws the eye that way. I couldn't stop looking at her from the field either.

  It's those eyes of hers. I've never seen eyes like that. Different colors. Moss and sky. Leaf and water. It suits her.

  Listen to you, Jason. It suits her. You have a couple of drinks and grind on her butt and suddenly you're losing your head.

  I take the stairs slow, skipping the one that always creaks. I consider going for a run but change my mind when I hear the sounds of the brothers rising from their slumber. First the snoring stops, then the floor groans as they stand. Little streams of dust fall from the ceiling when they walk around.

  Akele comes downstairs first, and without a word he arranges a half dozen big plastic tubs on the countertop. He's a growing boy and needs his protein. We all do, although I drink my shakes by the quart rather than the gallon. The shaker bottles they both use are big enough for a regular person to drink from them all day.

  When Aheahe shows up, he puts on, I shit you not, a chef's toque. It barely fits his head, and the Velcro at the back holds on by maybe a squire millimeter. Then he straps on his XXXL apron and starts getting the skillets and oven hot.

  Yes, skillets. Plural.

  I walk over, grab my morning shake, and head to the couch. I should be hungover, but "wake up the next day" usually requires "sleep" to take place first.

  Once the food gets going, pancakes and French toast and waffles and Texas toast and regular toast and turkey sausage and regular sausage and regular bacon and turkey bacon and… right. Once that gets going, I think the smell wakes out guests. I hear them moving around and jog up the stairs to meet them.

  I knock once and Dee opens the door.

  Princess Ana is sitting in my bed, swaddled in my hoodie, hugging herself. She has that vacant look that comes from trying to piece together what happened last night, until she looks up at me.

  "I puked on you."

  "Good morning, gorgeous," I reply. "Get up."

  "My head."

  "I know, get up. Don't just sit there, it'll make it worse."

  I walk over and take her by the arm, and gently bring her to her feet.

  I forgot she wasn't wearing pants. My hoodie comes down just enough to cover her butt, but not enough to keep me from seeing that she wears cotton underwear with little blue hearts on them.

  "You need pants." I say.

  "Where are mine?"

  "Downstairs. I need to wash them. Here, you can put mine on until they're done."

  "Okay," she says, her voice a little vacant.

  I grab a pair of lounge pants from the dresser and hand them to her, awkwardly trying not to stare at her legs, and her ass. She has an incredible ass. I want to use her butt as a pillow forever. She steps into them. I watch her pull them up her long legs, and when she ties them around her waist, baggy as they are, I get a glimpse of her pale, smooth belly.

  She gives me a little shove and walks past me.

  In the living room, she flops on one of the couches and stares straight ahead. I bring her a glass of cranberry juice and shake it in front of her eyes.

  "Here. Drink."

  "What is it?"

  "Cranberry juice. Headache medicine. Best thing for a hangover. Then you need food and water. Come on."

  She takes the glass in both hands and drains it, then shivers.

  "Too sweet," she grumbles.

  I had her another one. "This one too. Drink it down. Then come on."

  Dee has already migrated to the kitchen table, where she points her thousand-ya
rd stare at the kitchen. I walk Ana into the room and sit her down. Then I help the brothers carry the feast out and set the table.

  Ana looks over our board of fare and asks, "Where's the fish?"

  "You don't eat fish for breakfast."

  "Yeah you do," Akele says, "just not around here. Here, pretty princess, try this."

  He stabs a slab of Spam and drops it on her plate.

  Ana pokes it with her fork. Then she examines her fork, flicking at the bent tine. She turns the cheap plastic handle in her fingers.

  "Is milady's silverware not adequate?" I say.

  "This isn't silver, but it will serve."

  She looks around the table and fidgets before she uses the fork to carve out a tiny bite of Spam.

  "This tastes like hot dog," she says.

  Akele and Aheahe look at each other.

  "I like it," she declares and starts shoveling Spam slices onto her plate.

  I pile up a healthy meal, Dee loads up her plate, and the brothers chow down. It's like watching that scene in the dinosaur movie where they drop the cow in the raptor pen.

  Princess Ana keeps up. She must eat an entire can of Spam herself, two stacks of pancakes, French toast with jelly and butter, and a half dozen eggs. She washes it down with about half a gallon of milk, chugging half a glass at a time.

  "Good," she declares.

  "High praise," Aheahe agrees.

  "I have to wash your clothes," I tell her.

  I grab the balled-up puke-laden garments and head down to the basement. To my surprise, she follows me down.

  "I wish to apologize for soiling your shoes."

  "It's okay, they were only my favorite shoes. Hand me that laundry detergent, will you?"

  She looks at the shelf and blinks. "Which one is that?"

  "Blue bottle."

  She plucks it down and hands it to me, and watches, fascinated. I give her a look, but she just shrugs. After I load the machine and turn it on, she watches the water and clothes spin around through the glass door.

  "I have to ask. You've never been in a laundry room before, have you?"

  "No."

  "Who does your laundry?"

  She shrugs. "Servants."

  She looks at the floor and scuffs her feet, and her cheeks redden. I stare at her for a moment, burning the image into my brain.

  I clear my throat.

  "Come on, upstairs. They have to dry after they're done washing. We'll have you out of here in a couple of hours."

  The princess rubs her arms.

  "You know, we could pick up where we left off," I say, moving closer to her. "You were telling me what being a princess is like."

  "No, I wasn't," she says curtly.

  "Maybe we could dance a little more, then."

  "I had enough of that."

  I don't let that deter me.

  "You know, it was kinda cool how you charged at a guy twice your size to get my back."

  She blinks. "What would I want with your back?"

  "I mean, back me up. Support me."

  "Oh." She shifts on her feet. "Yes. If you say it is cool."

  "So you know what 'cool' means, but not 'got your back'?"

  The princess glares at me. "I'm a foreigner. Not an alien."

  I laugh a little. "Right, right, I'll remember that. What was all that you were saying about being a warrior? Your mom or something?"

  She shifts uneasily on her feet. "Nothing. It is silly."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "How long does this machine take?"

  "About an hour."

  Huffing, she walks to the stairs and sits down.

  "We don't have to watch the whole time. It has a buzzer. You can go back upstairs if you want."

  She eyes me, chewing her lip. "Do you know where I'm from?"

  "Jyvaslka."

  "You're pronouncing it wrong."

  "I don't think anybody can pronounce it right."

  Her look could cut glass.

  "Sorry. I just meant it's a difficult language. I speak a little Spanish. Took it in high school."

  "I speak five languages."

  "Well, aren't you fancy."

  "I'm a princess."

  "Are you? I forgot." I grin.

  She props her chin on her hand. "I didn't."

  "What's that mean?"

  "Nothing. My people came to the island six hundred years ago. Until they found the oil off our shores, we were hunters and fishermen. While the men tended the nets and hunted whales, the women cared for our homes. That means defending them from raiders."

  "So you are a warrior princess. Cool."

  "Cool?"

  "Cool. Go out with me."

  "What? Out where?"

  "On a date. It's something we earth humans do."

  "I told you I'm not a—"

  "You've demonstrated they have sarcasm on your planet. I'm sure you can understand the concept of 'humor.'"

  She sighs. "Why?"

  "What? I like you. I want to buy you dinner. We can go to Burger King. They treat you like royalty there. You'd like it."

  "I don't mean why do you want me to go out. I know what a date is. I mean why me? Dee told me things about you."

  "What things?"

  "She said you fucked half the girls on campus."

  "Is that a direct quote?"

  "Yes."

  Oh, thanks, Dee.

  "Not half. Maybe a third. Don't you want to see what all the fuss is about?"

  "No. I'm not going to be a notch on someone's bedpost. You're a 'player,' aren't you?"

  "Hey, hey, where's this coming from? I wasn't getting this attitude last night. I thought we were having fun."

  "We were, but the children of wine are oft abandoned come morning."

  "We didn't have any wine."

  She rolls her eyes. "It's an idiom."

  "Did you just call me an idiot?"

  "No, I—"

  "I'm messing with you. I know what an idiom is. I'm an English major."

  "I see," she says, narrowing her eyes as she studies me. "I would not have guessed."

  "What would you guess I major in?"

  "Football."

  I snort. "They don't let you, and if they did, I still wouldn't."

  She cocks her head and stands up. "Oh?"

  "This is very clever. You're leading me away from the question. Will you go out with me?"

  She steps closer, fingering the strings of her hoodie.

  Wait, my hoodie.

  How the hell does she look so sexy in baggy clothes?

  "You want me to date you."

  "Yes. Preferably on an ongoing basis."

  "What do you Americans do on dates?"

  "What do your people do on dates? Club seals?"

  "We don't have seals," she snaps. "Why does everyone ask me that?"

  "I was thinking we could go for a long walk, eat dinner at a moderately priced restaurant, and then have a night of toe-curling sex."

  She snorts. "Then you'd never call me again. That's how I understand it."

  "No, I'd call you the next day. I'm all about the toe-curling."

  "I can feed myself. I don't need you to buy me dinner."

  She edges a little closer every time she talks. I close the gap between us, leaning on the dryer.

  "You still haven't answered my question," she says, poking my chest. "Why me?"

  "You saw me staring at you on the field."

  "It's not possible that you saw me from so far away."

  "I'd know you anywhere. You're the only girl I've met with mismatched eyes. Besides, my lover’s face is like the sun."

  I move closer.

  She gives me a light shove back with one hand. "I am not your lover."

  "Not yet, and the sonnet reads, 'my lover’s eyes are not like the sun.'"

  "So it does. I was making up my own. Shakespeare isn't good enough to describe a beauty like you."

  "I have had enough. I am going upstairs now. You can tell me
when my clothes are ready."

  The look on her face changes abruptly. She starts to say something, but stops, pursing her lips.

  "Oh, I can? What am I, one of your servants? Do I look like my name is Jeeves to you?"

  "What? I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

  "Never mind. Fine, go upstairs. All the cool people will be down here with the laundry machine."

  She turns, and with an imperious upward flick of her chin starts to leave.

  "I hate to see you go."

  "That is unfortunate," Anastasia says.

  "I love to watch you leave." I grin.

  She turns back to me on the stairs. "Dee taught me a gesture for situations such as this."

  Princess Anastasia gives me the finger, then jogs back up the stairs.

  I look at the washing machine. It chugs along, oblivious.

  "Women," I tell it and run up after her.

  At the top of the stairs, I find that Anastasia has joined Dee on the couch; the brothers have taken up positions the other two sofas.

  They have the Monopoly board out.

  "What the hell are you doing?" I ask.

  "We're going to play Monopoly while we wait for Ana's clothes to get clean," Dee says. "She's never played Monopoly before."

  "You think hangover Monopoly is a good idea?"

  Akele shrugs his huge shoulders. "A game of Monopoly without at least three deaths is considered a dull affair."

  "They're going to cheat," I warn Anastasia.

  "They will not," she says.

  "You don't know the rules. They could just make them up."

  "What would be the point of that?" the princess asks me.

  "Honey, cheating is half the point of this game."

  "Don't call me honey."

  "Okay, babycakes."

  "Don't call me that either."

  "Sweetie pie?"

  "No."

  "Honeysuckle. Popsicle?"

  "One more and I will slap you."

  I leap over the couch. "In that case, I'll just have to join the game."

  I drop onto the seat next to Anastasia, wedging her between me and Dee. Dee glares at me behind Anastasia's head.

  "By the way, Dee, thanks a lot."

  "For what?"

  "The preemptive cockblock."

  "Language," Akele says.

  "Are we still doing 'language'?" Aheahe says.

  "Whatever," I cut in. "I'm the hat."

  Ana turns to me. "You're hat?"

  "My token." I hold it up.

  "I see. I shall be the iron."