I glared at Eli, rubbing my temples. He smirked back. God, he was annoying.
“How’s Nate? I heard he came back.”
“How do you know Nate?” I snapped. I was in a bad mood now.
“We used to hang out a lot as kids. Well, when I say hang out, I mean he was the snotty little kid who wouldn’t let go of my little sister, while I was the cool third grader who felt like being charitable and so befriended him.”
“I was friends with him?” I frowned. “How come I can’t remember?”
He shrugged. “Lack of brain cells?”
I grit my teeth. Eli was the only person who could abuse me like this and get away with it.
“Maybe you were confused,” I said, in a patronizing tone. “I’m pretty sure it was Noah I was friends with.”
“But it was definitely Nate.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Yes, it was.”
“It wasn’t!”
“It was.”
I glared at him, waiting for him to back down. Any other people in the world would’ve backed down. But not my brother. My brother was always the stubborn one.
“Are you dating him?”
“No!” I spluttered. “Why would you think that?”
“Ah, of course. My sister, the virgin.”
I glared at him. “Shut up. I’m not a whore like you.”
I’ve never been genetically gifted. I’ve always been average. I might’ve been okay with that, if it weren’t for the constant ribbing from my brothers. It was so annoying, the way they always brought up the fact that I was the odd one out – the dumb one, the weird one and the one with an insatiable temper. And the fact that I was a girl, of course.
“A whore?” he gasped, pretending to be shocked. “A dirty word like that, coming out of my sister’s mouth? And I’m not a whore, Ade. I simply court willing ladies. Is that so wrong?”
I made a rude gesture at him. Damn him for being so patronizing.
“Anyway,” he continued. “I was going to go around Nate’s house later on and invite him out for a beer. Are you coming?”
“I grounded, remember?” I snapped. “And Nate’s underage.”
“So what,” he said, rolling his eyes at my worries. “It’ll be fine. I gave Nate his first beer when he was in Kindergarten. He’s not going to worry about breaking a few pesky laws now. And since when have you listened to Mom?”
I continued glaring at him, until he sighed. “Fine, Ade. I’ll talk to Mom when we get home. I really am sorry, by the way.”
I softened. My brother should be a politician. His charisma was wasted.
“Okay,” I said, smiling. I grabbed my coat. “Shall we go?”
It was only when a smirk lit up Eli’s lips that I truly realized what I had gotten myself in for. I’d just agreed to go out for a beer with a boy I was simultaneously blackmailing and owning. And was also dating my best friend. While in the company of my brother.
Ade…When will you ever learn?
***
The situation was different from what I had imagined. I’d imagined a lot more bloodshed and fighting and yelling. In reality, nothing much was happening at all. Nate and Eli were talking, while I sat, distant from their conversation like an outsider. It wasn’t through lack of trying, either. Whenever I attempted to say anything, they would ignore me, like stranger who’d butted in. In the end, I stopped trying. I just sat, downing beer after beer as they chatted amiably about football.
I was feeling kind of lightheaded by my third beer. I could always handle my drink. That was the one thing I had over my brothers – none of them could drink more than about a glass before they went into overload, puking everywhere. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
Eli sipped his coke. A couple college girls passed behind them, visible checking both my brother and Nate out, while staring daggers at me. This always happened. Whenever I was out with my brothers, the girls in the room would all glare at me, mainly because I was so different from them it was hard to believe we were actually genetically related.
I know, though. I’ve checked. Many times.
“You know, I actually have some tickets for the Rangers next month,” Eli said, studiously ignoring me. They were talking about baseball now. “Do you want to come?”
“Sure, man. Good seats?”
“The best.”
I rolled my eyes. Great. They were going on a little man date.
Eli’s phone buzzed and he frowned. “Sorry, but I have to take this. Excuse me for a moment…” He backed away, his phone pressed to his ear. He left me and Nate alone at the table, both staring at our drinks awkwardly.
“Uh…” I said, breaking the ice first. “So, uh, what’s up?”
He stared back at me, unresponsive. I turned away, feeling awkward. The last time I’d been talking to him, I’d just blackmailed him into setting up a date with his brother. I still felt really bad for that, even though I had no idea why.
I bit the bottom of my lip. One of my old habits was suddenly resurfacing. It only happened when I was nervous. You see, when I’m nervous, I have a habit of drawing pictures on the roof of my mouth with my tongue. When I do it, I look particularly unattractive, which was one of the main reasons I stopped. It looks like I’m trying to swallow something and whenever I do it teachers think I have gum or something.
And I was doing it now.
“What are you doing?” Nate asked. His tone was emotionless and bored-sounding. He didn’t sound inquisitive at all, mainly just bored. He hadn’t spoken to me a word all night, and this was the first thing he’d said.
“Uh…” I flushed. “Drawing pictures on the roof of my mouth.”
“Oh.”
There. That was it. The end of our conversation.
I stared at Nate, annoyed now. Why was I so depressed whenever he ignored me? How did he have the power to make me feel this way? Why did it annoy me so much whenever I didn’t know what he was thinking?
I glared at him. Nate was looking away, into the distance, gently tapping a rhythm on the neck of his beer. I took another swig of mine.
What was wrong with me?
I raised my hand, about to slam it down onto the table in annoyance, but I froze, suddenly.
Nate looked like he was swallowing something.
Suddenly, my tension vanished. I watched him in astonishment. Then, a smirk appeared on my lips.
“So what are you drawing?” I asked Nate.
“I’m writing,” he replied. “I’m writing a book.”
He smiled at me. My heart felt light, as I smiled back. Suddenly, I knew everything would be okay between us. I suddenly wanted to laugh.
“So what’s your book about? Idiot’s Guide to Being a Player?”
He scowled, pretending to be mad. “No. It’s a highly intellectual book, discussing the merits of Cheetos.”
“Cheetos?”
“Cheetos.”
***
Author's Note: That's how I write most of my books.
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