Mom is doing her best to appear sober, "Kirk darlink - we have a pest - hic - I mean guest - hic - one of your school friends has - hic - come to visit - hic," she slurs, while attempting to top up her glass from a box of wine.
"Here, let me help you Mrs Russel, most of that hit the floor," says Dale, ensuring her glass is full to the brim.
When he looks at me, it's with an expression I can't quite read. "Your Mom's been telling me some pretty heavy stuff here Kirk."
"I guess that's the wine talking Dale, I wouldn't take much notice of what Mom Says these days," I reply. Dad taught me to say this, to dilute and divert anything Mom may have said. Dale beams me a big fake smile, "Don't try and bull-shit me buddy! The truth drops outta drunks like crap from a big binge-eaters behind. Talking of which, are you and Casey dating?" I don’t know the answer, so remain silent.
Mom's eyes swim round the room, struggling to focus. "Look at her, she's a pathetic excuse for a Mother," says Dale, with a vicious sting in his tongue. Mom, unsure of what he said, slurs a sorry smile.
Dale tops up Mom's glass and places it in front of her, "Here you go Mrs Russel, have another glass and tell me more of this zombie stuff, I find it really interesting."
Even though I feel a little anger, I don't show it, this is the good thing about my current condition – mortals can't read my emotions, they're hidden.
I remove the glass from Mom's grasp, like Dad showed me, "Enough Mom."
"Hey come on Kirk, your Mom and I were enjoying ourselves, don't can the party – give her the glass, your Mom's dying for another drink," he says, with an inappropriate smile.
"Dale, I want you to leave my house, I need to take care of my Mom." His eyes darken, "I’m not going anywhere Kirk; not until you tell me what Toby and my uncle are doing here?" My response is fast, instinctive, "They're not here."
Mom emits a drunken and confused yelp when Dale's fist slams into the table, "Don't lie to me Kirk!" he hollers, his voice laced with a potent anger.
His face pushed in mine, Dale hisses, "I followed them here – watched them walk right through your door Kirk."
"They've left with my father, some business to attend to," I lie. Dale breaks his stare, nods his head, "Business my ass hole!” He sits on the couch and continues, “You know something Kirk, this sudden friendship between you guys, it don't feel right." He takes a seat, "I'm suspicious Kirk, very suspicious of you guys."
......
Mom is slumped on the couch, her slow snores rattle round the room. Dale moves away from her, "Or man, she smells real bad!" He picks up Jess's book from the armrest and scans the synopsis on the back cover, "You gotta get your Mom some other reading material, her pickled brain's believing this zombie stuff."
Dale throws the book on the couch, then fixes me with an expression I read as sincere, "I'm gonna tell you something Kirk. These friends of yours, Casey, Jess, my cousin – they don't really like you.” His smile widens, “No, they just hang with you cos it makes them look good, makes them appear all liberal and caring, non judgmental, supporting the under dog." He moves closer, "The truth is, they think the same as everybody else in School – that you're a total freakathon! A born loser."
He gives my face a soft slap, "A make-up wearing miss-fit." He slaps a little harder, "Everyone laughs at you." Slap. "Even the teachers think you're a useless joke." Slap. "You disgust decent minded people." His final slap is hard – I don't flinch – don't feel his hand, only his words – they sting me a little.
