He slams his door, laughing. “Good idea. Night, man.”
“Yup.” I head to my house, which was built to look like some Southern plantation home, but it’s just barely older than me. I hop up the porch stairs and unlock the door.
“Russ! Hurry up! You’ve only missed one episode of The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya!” Izzy calls from the living room.
I take my shoes off—since Mom would cut off my feet if I didn’t—and go to see what crazy friends Izzy’s gathered for her late night dorkery. It’s the usuals tonight, just Admiral Colin Underwood and Izzy’s best friend, Daphne Whose-Last-Name-Will-Not-Be-Mentioned.
Colin isn’t really an Admiral, of course. He’s just a skinny nerd boy who follows my sister around like a little puppy. It’s horrible, but I have a feeling Izzy latched on to him because he’s the only Asian at school who doesn’t think she’s a freak. I just call him Admiral because the guy is obsessed with WWII battles. If you even mention a boat, prepare yourself for a three-hour dissertation on the miracle that was the Battle of Guadalcanal. Apparently, it was a Big Deal.
Daphne Whose-Last-Name-Will-Not-Be-Mentioned is half Indian, with intense dark eyes, jet-black hair, and the perfect skin white people spend hours in tanning beds to achieve. She hates her last name, and I don’t blame her. Any kid with her last name will get made fun of relentlessly. If you say it in her presence, she will hurt you. I know this from experience. Let’s just say I spent the next day with an ice pack on my crotch. Damn her and her brown belt in Judo.
And then there’s Izzy, who’s staring at me impatiently with her big, crystal-blue eyes. The girl could be raging popular if she wanted. It’s not like she’s fat or shy or ugly. She’s just…weird. Example: She’s wearing footie pajamas at sixteen—footie pajamas with Pikachu printed all over them. The cat ear headband perched in her long, brown hair isn’t exactly helping, either. But I’ve come to appreciate her eccentricities, at least in the privacy of our own house.
She has the big screen paused on a girl with giant eyes and short brown hair. “So are you watching or not? Because this is the perfect time to recap. We just started episode two.”
“Hmm.” I draw out my decision just because I know it’ll annoy her. Once she starts the marathon, it’s hard for her to stop. She even schedules bathroom breaks, and no one is allowed to get up until then.
She stomps her foot, which makes her look four years old with the footie jammies. “Russell Arnold Pearson, stop being such a nimrod! I don’t care if you’re Mister Awesome Running Back, I’ll kick you out of my party.”
I fold my arms, resisting the urge to smile. “How girly is it?”
Colin sets down his strawberry Fanta and straightens his vintage-style glasses. “Pretty girly—”
“Not as girly as Fushigi Yuugi, and you watched that,” Daphne interrupts. She doesn’t dress as weirdly as Izzy, though she does have a thing for crazy bright colors. In the blue tank, she could almost pass as a cheerleader with her toned Judo body. You just have to look past the nose ring, heavy black eyeliner, and neon orange lipstick.
“Wasn’t finished.” Colin throws popcorn at her. “But there’s a hot chick in a bunny outfit. And boob grabbage.”
I raise an eyebrow. I try to avoid the girly anime, though Fushigi Yuugi did have some sweet fighting scenes. But let’s face it, boob grabbage is an alluring thing. And anime boobs are always over-the-top and awesome.
“Okay, I’m in.” I grab a Fanta and sit in the recliner.
Izzy rolls her eyes, but smiles. Whether she admits it or not, she likes having me around. We never fight. I don’t know why, since I swear we come from different planets. But maybe that’s it—we’ve never had to compete with each other.
She fills me in on what’s happened so far and then restarts the second episode. I consider myself special for getting an episode restart. That hasn’t happened since Vampire Knight at the end of last school year, when Daphne threatened to burn Izzy’s Sailor Moon bed sheets if she didn’t let her see episode twelve. Grade A weirdo drama there.
This anime is one of those quirky high school comedies that I don’t like as much as the more action-oriented stuff. But the boob grabbage, so far, is worth it. And it’s kind of funny. Strangely enough, the main character reminds me of Izzy.
“Ten minute break!” Izzy bolts to the bathroom after episode ten. It’s approaching four in the morning, and both Colin and Daphne are about to pass out.
“So I take it we lost the Homecoming game,” Colin says, half slurring his words.
“We won.” I finish off my third Fanta.
They both perk up, staring at me funny.
“What?”
Colin glances at Daphne, and Daphne takes a deep breath, like she’s about to deliver a death sentence. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Why?”
“It’s just…” Daphne shrugs. “You usually come home drunk when we win.”
“Oh.” I’m mildly creeped out that Daphne knows my habits so well, but she’s hung out with Izzy every weekend since sixth grade. They’re practically siblings. Then I realize why Izzy restarted the episode; she thought I was down about the game. “No, Garr wanted to go to Parker’s after. So we went.”
Colin snorts. “You’d think he’d want to make out with his hottie girlfriend. Sweet Princess Peach, what I’d trade for a—”
“He’s breaking up with her.” I cuss under my breath. I shouldn’t have said that. Colin’s eyes go wide and Daphne chokes on a mouthful of chips.
“Breaking up with Mercedes Cordova?” He shakes his head wildly. “How? How can anyone break up with hottest girl in school?”
Daphne rolls her eyes. “He’s Garret Taylor, Col. He probably thinks she’s not pretty enough for him.”
“No.” I try not to glare at her. I get that people see Garret as this popular, shallow jock, but he’s not. So what if I’m biased? It’s still true. He treats all of his girlfriends like queens…until he breaks up with them. “It’s not all about how hot a girl is, Daph. Give the guy some credit.”
She folds her arms. “Then what is it?”
“It’s…it’s…” To tell the truth, I don’t have a clue. The way Garret talked about Keira tonight sure made it seem like it was about being hot. But if that was it, he’d have been happy with every girl he’s ever dated. I suddenly feel like I don’t know my best friend at all, but it’s not like mushy feelings are high on our conversation list.
“Well?” Daphne does this annoying half grin, half snarl when she thinks she has you stumped.
I can’t let her beat me, so I take a guess. “He’s looking for someone who gets him. Mercedes, yeah, she’s gorgeous, but all she sees when she looks at Garret is what you see—the hot jock. Would you want a boyfriend who only likes you because you’re a punk anime chick? You’re more than that, right?”
Daphne bites her orange lip. I win.
“Were you guys talking about me?” Izzy’s voice cuts through the silence. No one answers. She plops on the couch next to Colin. “I knew it.”
“We weren’t,” he says. “Russ was getting all deep on us.”
She laughs. “Good one, Col.”
“He’s not lying,” Daphne mumbles.
Izzy gives me her are-you-okay face, which makes her look like a baby kitten with the cat ears. I laugh. “I’m fine, Izzy.”
“You swear?” She holds up the remote.
“I swear.” And I’m mostly not lying.
Chapter Three
There’s bright light in my face, which is the only reason I’m awake. Stupid blinds have a kink in them, and if it gets past noon I get pelted with hot sun. The Dork Squad passed out around five. I went to bed after I paused episode nineteen when Izzy drifted off. She’d be pissed if I watched it without her.
I roll over, planning to sleep well into the afternoon, but my stomach growls and I know no one will feed me but me. Izzy and crew are probably still dead to the world on the couches downstairs, and Mom
and Dad always “sleep in” on weekends.
When I was five, Mom showed me how to get myself a bowl of cereal so she didn’t have to when Dad was home. They’re inseparable when he’s here. I should be more grateful that my parents actually love each other, but they don’t have to show it so often. One time I wanted to make pancakes, so I went upstairs to ask her and…let’s just say I got my first “birds and the bees” lesson. I developed a sudden interest in learning how to cook on my own after that.
My stomach lets out another desperate plea. I swear the thing is a parasite because it’s always hungry and I never get fat.
I reluctantly pull on the first pair of pajama pants I find in the pile of clothes known as my floor. I don’t bother with a shirt. It’s too hot still, though we’re halfway through October. The California valleys don’t get the ocean effect, so we fry all summer and most of the fall.
Sure enough, The Dork Squad is sprawled out in the living room. Izzy’s cat ears are crooked and she’s drooling slightly. Colin has the other half of the couch, and I respect that he maintains his distance from my sister even while sleeping. Daphne has the loveseat all to herself, but she’s curled in a tight ball. Her orange lipstick came off at some point, and now her lips are a nice, normal color. Her eyes, on the other hand, look bruised thanks to the smeared eyeliner.
The kitchen is pretty much my favorite room in the house. There’s a big counter perfect for spreading out ingredients and chopping. Our stove is gas, and there’s even a flat iron grill like they have in diners. We have chef grade pots and pans, too, back from when Mom made a New Year’s resolution to cook more. And to top it off, the double fridge is always stocked, thanks to home grocery delivery.
I grab the eggs, cheese, and bacon, salivating over the omelet I plan on creating. After throwing the bacon on the flat iron grill, I whisk the eggs together with some salt and pepper. A bar stool creaks and I jump, nearly cutting myself on the cheese grater.
“Don’t go all deer-in-the-headlights on me,” Daphne says, rubbing her black eyes like a zombie waking from the dead. “What are you making?
“An omelet,” I say.
“Are you going to make me one? Smells good.”
“Sure.” I crack more eggs and add more seasoning. Then I flip the bacon over. I like mine super crispy, so crispy it’s on the verge of burnt.
“You whisk those eggs like they insulted you,” she says.
“Makes them fluffier.”
She laughs. “How do you know stuff like that?”
I shrug, not really wanting to admit the truth. “Just a lot of experimentation. I’m always hungry, so I’m always cooking.”
She scrunches her face. “That looks more like skill than experimentation.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”
“Seriously, Russ. Spill it. I’m here enough to know that you’re a pretty good cook. You’re always in here making something, and not just frozen pizzas and other instant stuff.”
I sigh as I put the bowl on the counter. Despite our vastly different social circles, Daphne and I are kind of friends. She’s always here, so it just happened over time. “Fine. Remember when my mom got all into cooking? I think I was in eighth grade, so you’d probably just moved in.”
She nods. “She’d kick us off the TV so she could watch Food Network shows all night.”
“Right, well, she signed up for cooking lessons. Nothing fancy, just basic cooking.” I look down, the embarrassment welling up. “They had this two-for-one deal, so she signed me up, too. She made me go with her until she got bored of it.”
She got bored, but I was kind of sad I couldn’t go anymore. I like good food, and it was fun learning how to make it. Not that I would admit that to her or anyone else.
She purses her lips, trying not to laugh. “You took cooking lessons with your mom?”
“Yes, and if you tell anyone I will hurt you.”
“You’ll hurt me?” She raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
I glare at her. Nothing like knowing a girl can beat you up. I grab the bowl and flick on the burner. “Shut up.”
“You know I won’t tell anyone anyway,” she says while I pour half the eggs into a greased pan. “And, uh, sorry about last night. Sometimes I forget Garret Taylor is your best friend.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I swirl the pan around as the eggs cook and throw in some cheese. My view on cheese is the same as my view on bacon—you can never have enough.
“You’re…so not like him.”
I sigh. Maybe it’s because my sister is the weirdest person at school, but I’ve never bought into the idea that popular kids are any different from the others. I just like sports. The rest is because I’m friends with Garret, though the perks are nice. “You just don’t know him, and maybe if you didn’t refer to him by his whole name he wouldn’t seem so intimidating.”
I crumble bacon into the omelet, put more cheese on the top, and flip it onto a plate. As I grab forks, I can’t help but wonder why she wants to talk about this. Daphne always chats with me, but it’s usually more about her life than mine—her Judo training, her rebel Indian mom, her eBay bids on manga.
She glares at me. “I’m not intimidated by him.”
“Sure you aren’t.” I slide her the omelet, unable to hold back my smirk.
“Thanks.” She catches the plate and digs in while I make my own. “This is really good.”
I nod.
She sighs when I sit at the bar with my plate. “You know, maybe you’re right. I should get to know Garret before I judge him. He’s your friend, and I like you. So he can’t be awful.”
And that’s when I realize where this is going. I never would have pegged Daphne for a Garret-lover. She’s the kind of girl who works hard to go against popular culture, and Garr is the symbol of everything she despises. Or at least I thought he was.
“It’s only fair.” I dig into my omelet.
“Maybe you can introduce us.”
I nod as I chew. You’d think after so many years of girls using me to get to Garret, I’d know when one was searching for an opening. Usually I do, but I didn’t see this coming at all. It’s Daphne—my sister’s weird best friend. Picturing her with any guy, let alone Garret, is almost like picturing Izzy dating.
I force myself not to shudder.
“You didn’t make me one?” Izzy flicks the back of my head as she walks past. She stops at the stove and pouts. How I hate that pout. It’s been ripping my guts out since she was born.
“Just let me finish,” I say through my food.
Her eyes light up as she pastes on her you’re-the-best-brother-in-the-world smile, which is why I break down every time. No one appreciates me like Izzy does. “And Colin, too?”
“I’ll put extra bacon grease in his, help him bulk up.”
Daphne lets out a rather unfeminine snort, but Izzy flicks my head again. “Not everyone has to have unnatural muscle like you.”
“It’s not unnatural. I work hard for these.” I flex my arm then punch her lightly.
As I work on two more omelets, Colin waltzes into the kitchen and plops down between the girls. “Are we watching more today? If not, I think my mom said something about it being nice to see me sometime this weekend.”
Colin doesn’t like his mom, or maybe he’s just embarrassed by her. It is a wonder that such a proud, hardcore nerd came from a mom like her. She’s…well, she’s a stripper. She had him when she was thirteen, and they still live with his grandma.
I feel sorry for him, mostly because he never stood a chance at school. Daphne’s unfortunate last name might be bad, but try having a mom who dances topless. She works at a place called City Lights, and one time the team wanted to sneak in just to see her. I didn’t go, for obvious reasons, and I had to delete pictures from my phone for weeks after.
“We can watch more if you want an excuse,” Izzy says. Colin nods. “You staying home today, Russ?”
“So far. Garr will probably want
to lift at some point.”
“Okay, and can you put a shirt on?” Izzy scrunches her face. “I don’t want to throw up.”
I hand her the omelet. “Only if you take off the cat ears. They make me kind of queasy.”
She sticks her tongue out and pulls her bottom eyelid down like she’s an anime character. The cat ears come off, though, so I finish Colin’s omelet and run upstairs to get a shirt. A buzzing sound catches my attention as I throw on an old T-shirt and jeans—my phone. I grab it from the nightstand and look at the screen. It’s a text from Garret.
Broke up with her.
We lifting? I imagine Mercedes bawling as I type. The poor girl probably didn’t even see it coming, and she definitely blames herself. They always blame themselves.
Maybe. I’m at your door right now.
My eyes go wide. In all of our years of friendship, I have never let Garret see what goes on here during weekends. I’m always at his place or out at parties with him, which made it easy to avoid the topic. He has no clue that every weekend my house becomes the Mothership of All Things Strange.
The doorbell rings before I have my pants buttoned. I race for it, but freeze on the stairs. There’s Izzy, in all her Pikachu glory, leaning on a wide open door. Garret smiles at her. He knows she’s crazy, but I’ve hidden the footie pajamas even from him.
“Nice outfit. Looks…cozy,” he says.
Izzy shrugs. “I get cold easily. It’s better than a Snuggie.”
He lets out a booming laugh as I close the distance. I gulp as Daphne approaches the door, too, sporting a fresh coat of neon yellow lipstick. Garret glances at her then nods at me. “Hey, man. Looks like you had a party last night.”
“Just Izzy’s friends.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “So you decided what we’re doing?”
“Nah, but we’ll drive around and figure it out.”
“You could finish Haruhi with us,” Daphne pipes up. “Ever seen anime, Garret?”
“Garr, you remember Daphne, Izzy’s best friend,” I say. Weirdly enough, Daphne’s presence kind of marks the end of an era. Izzy used to hang out with Garr and me all the time as kids, playing whatever game we came up with for the day, from hunting snipes to collecting wood for a never-built tree house. Then Daphne moved in around the block, and that whole girls-can’t-play-with-boys thing happened. Or maybe Izzy was happy to leave the boy games and sports. I don’t really know, besides the fact that I was in junior high and stuff just changed. But here we are all together again. Weird.
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