Tea For Two

10

Disclaimer: This is part of an original work of fiction. These characters are part of me, they belong to me. Do not steal them from me. Thanks. Enjoy.

~~~

I wait, tense, for the door to open. There's no way Sellers would knock before coming in; he's one of those people who feel just entitled enough to come on in.

Chris, who is still sitting next to me on the couch, elbows me in the ribs and mouths the word 'chill' at me.

God, I wish I could.

The door opens, and before it's properly closed, Sellers calls to us: "Hey. I'm here."

It only takes his long legs- he's a foot taller than me, easily- a few steps before he's in the door of the den staring at where Emily and I sit on the couch, my arm secure around her waist, his face twisted up like he's sucking on mold.

"Oh, that's just fucking great."

Emily smiles at him, almost looking genuinely happy he's here. Almost.

"Hi, Sellers."

It's a peace offering, we can all see it.

Too bad Sellers ignores it.

"Why the Hell are they here?" He asks, without taking his eyes off of Emily and I.

Kyle replies. "It's a team party, Sellers. You've been going to them for two years; everyone on the team gets invited."

"That doesn't explain her," he swivels his head to look at Kyle. "Why is she here?"

Though there are two 'she's in the room, we all know that I'm the one he's talking about.

Dan answers. "Mr. Johnson invited August."

"To say thanks for taking Kyle to the E.R.," Michael adds.

"Yeah, because that makes a shitload of sense," spits Sellers, shaking his head.

"Dude, chill," says Aiden.

"No," says Sellers. "I came to the fucking party, all right? I'm done here. I'm leaving."

Don't let the door hit you on the way out.

I quickly decide that that thought, though I've tried so hard to hold all of the other quips, this one can go loose.

"Well, don't let the door hit you on the way out, Sellers."

He smiles at me, thumbs in his front pockets, and I'm reminded against my will of a lion, snarling and waiting for prey to come to him.

"Don't worry, I won't," he says, backing up to the door of the den.

Right before he's about to exit, he stops and hold up one hand.

"Just wondering, Shoemaker. Are you going to tell your parents? Or should I?"

When I was little, I was terribly afraid of heights. One day, in a bleak attempt to rid me of this, my father climbed onto the roof of our one story house with me on his back. I may have been hyperventilating, but otherwise I was doing well- until my foot slid across the shingles. It was only a foot or two that I moved, but my heart stopped.

Right now, I feel like I've slid ten feet down the roof of my house on a bitterly cold day.

"Because, last I remember, aren't they kind of conservative?" he continues.

Kyle answers for me, and not a moment too soon, because my hatred of Sellers is pooling up in my mouth like the bile I usually taste right before I throw up, and I'm sure I can't contain this word-vomit much longer.