How Boys Think

Lesson #10: When Electrical Fires Break Out, Use Flour Not Water

CAIDEN

I was an ass. And not just an ass, but a major asshole. 

I loved my brother, I really did, though at times I wanted to kill him (like now) and I wanted Mina to be happy, which (though it hurt like hell) she clearly was. With my brother.

And I was planning to fuck it all up.

I put a popcorn packet in the microwave and pulled out a giant popcorn bowl and placed it on the counter, before leaning against the kitchen island while I waited.

Amina Lawrence had quickly become one of my best friends since my brother met her in eighth grade. She was easy to be with, always made me laugh and I swear to God things had never once been boring with her around at all, not with all the weird situations she managed to get herself into. Like this one.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, irritably. Were Christian and I that identical? So alike and similar in mindset and appearance that we would both fall for the same girl? Was nothing mine? Would I ever just be me rather than just one half of a whole? And the lesser half, apparently, at that.

I heard Chris and Mina come down the stairs and come into the kitchen behind me. I turned and glanced back at them with a grin, trying not to let the sight of them holding hands get to me. "What are we watching?" I asked no one in particlar.

Mina shrugged. "I leave that decision to you guys. I'm just here for the popcorn. Which should be popping right about now." She frowned and glared at me. "Why isn't it popping?"

She sounded so accusatory, as if it was my fault the microwave was being wonky. I held my hands up defensively, warding her off before she started spitting fire. "Hey, don't look at me. I followed the directions to the letter." 

Christian went to stand in front of the microwave, examining the clock. "It has forty-five seconds left. How long did you set it for?"

"Uh, two minutes and thirty seconds? That's what it says on the pack." I replied, picking up the box and rereading the directions. "Yep. Two minutes and thirty seconds."

"You shouldn't stand in front of the microwave, Chris," Mina said, coming out of our pantry with a pack of two-foot Twizzlers. "The radiation'll mess you up." She paused and considered for a moment. "You'll probably grow an extra arm from your forehead or something. Hmm. That would be interesting, wouldn't it?"

I had to hold back a laugh at that. She looked like she was actually considering the idea, with that adorable little frown on her face and her head tilted to the side. "Mina, where'd you get those?" I asked,  nodding at the pack of Twizzlers.

She tensed and moved them behind her back protectively, putting me in mind of an animal getting ready to attack. "Mine," she warned in a low voice.

I crossed my arms. "Didn't I just finish sharing my sandwhich with you?"

"I helped make it. That makes it ours." She shot back.

"I allowed you to help. Then I allowed you to partake. Share."

The microwave beeped, interrupting our arguing and Christian opened the microwave, taking the unpopped packet of popcorn out. "Yeah, I think we have a problem."

I took the popcorn packet from him, giving it a little shake. "You're telling me. Not one of these things popped. And you call yourself a chef, Chris."

"This is your fuckup, not mine," He replied indigantly. He held his hand out for the pack. "Here, let me have it; I'm going to put it back in, see if my touch alone helps it do what it's supposed to do."