Eenie Meenie Minie Mo

Chapter Fifteen

So, just as I had always suspected, my mother hated me. She was actually going through with the plan to have Alaric and Leander over for the Fourth of July. Independence Day. I found that statement to be quite laughable. There was nothing independent about my mom needing her boyfriend over for a holiday. There was nothing independent about the way Kaitlyn clung to my brother every second of the day.

  So I guess the only independent one in our small family had to be me. I didn’t wanna admit it—out loud or in my head—that I was starting to soften towards Leander. Darn dude probably figured I would, too, after that whole horse thing. It was all part of his evil plan, you see. I had no doubt about it.

  Today, though, I would not rely on anyone. Which is not to say I was going to be a bitch; I had pretty much filled my quota for that.

  I was pretty sure I was missing the entire point of Independence Day. Oh freaking well.

  Alaric and Leander came over early; which is to say they were there at exactly twelve o’clock. Alaric, playing the part of the perfect boyfriend, brought over store bought potato salad and some other things. The potato salad was what really stood out for me, though. It had pickles in it.

  For years, my mom had made this amazing potato salad—with small pieces of egg, green olives, onions, mustard, mayonnaise, and, of course, potatoes—but she didn’t make it this year. She left it to Alaric to buy it.

  It was sweet. With pickles. Freaking pickles! The smell itself warned its company of its foul taste. I should have listened to my nose.

  We sat at the little picnic bench in our backyard, eating. While conversation bubbled around me, I simply stared at my plate. At times like these it really sucked to be a picky eater. I hated barbeque and this awful “potato salad”. I guess my delicious glass of cherry Coke would have to do.

  Leander, for the most part, didn’t really talk, either. He kept sneaking these little quirky smirks at me, though. Apparently my disgust was all over my face. Oh well.

  After a while, he nudged my shoulder and asked, “Looking forward to the show, Hollywood?”

  I raised my brow slowly. “I think you stop being excited with fireworks after you hit puberty.” Although, truth be told, I still adored fireworks.

  Leander laughed. “Aren’t you so cute, acting so mature!”

  That was the thing about Leander. He always seemed to call my bluff. Either he didn’t believe a word that came out of my mouth, or he just knew when I was lying. I had to give him that much.

  The conversation died down a bit to a lull until all you could hear was the sound of forks on plates and chewing. I tried to chew quieter, but it only seemed to make the sound more loud. Why was that? So unfair.

  “Hey, Ric,” my brother started. “Isn’t Tennessee supposed to be really historical?”

  “It is,” Alaric answered. “There’s a lot of Civil War battlefields where people reenact.”

  “Oh, dude, like a sorta Renaissance Festival?” I asked, totally interested.

  Alaric smiled. “A little less weird and more time period accurate.”

  “So no Storm Troopers.” I had gone to a Ren Fair with my mom once. No joke, there were more Trekkies and Star Wars cosplayers than Renaissance blokes. It was still awesome, though.

  “No,” Alaric said with a laugh. “No Storm Troopers. We try to stay really accurate. Some people can go overboard with it, like get obsessive about stitching.”