Not a Bestseller

Doom in the Form of a Dude and Julia White

I usually end up reading it anyway. I've got to figure out how the fiddlesticks the book gets there. If only life worked like that.

"BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN!"

I flipped the pages and let the wind flow on my face. I read the beginning. Wow, I'd saved so many tears by knowing that Romeo and Juliet were going to die in the end.

"BEN!!!" That one was in unison. Impressive. "Get your butt down here!"

I guess I had to make an appearance sooner or later.

I mumbled an insult about sharks and searched the room for a bookmark. I ended up finding one, but I sprawled it across the floor instead, beside another book of a non-public domain title.

Before heading downstairs, I pulled a girl by checking myself in the mirror. (Sorry, but I need to sound sexist so you hate me.) I've conducted scientific studies on everything that scares away a psychologist. It all starts with appearance. Lanky, hoodlum jacket...I ruffed my hand through my hair to bring static to those dark curls. Yes, I was ready to scare off another psychologist.

I really needed to rethink my theories.

I stumbled down the stairs, let my hand slide down our intricate railing. The moment I toppled to the same floor as the commotion, I heard Dad's politician voice.

"...Thank you, Dr. White. I'm sorry about him. I'm sure he'll be down in a minute."

"Oh, it's quite alright," the psychologist dude chuckled. "You'd be surprised how many times I get this."

His voice had a different ring to it. Was that politeness? Shoot, I needed to suck this out of him before it was too late.

Dad whipped his head for the chandelier. "BEEEEEEENNNNNNNNN!"

There's the frustration I'd shimmied all day. Mission accomplished.

"Calm down," I said. "I'm right here."

I turned the corner, a mental image of my death bed prepared. But, as the realities of the scene before me unfolded, any coolness I had evaporated. The confidence, founded inside of me so briefly, scampered into the woods. Far, far away.

For, where I should have seen a psychologist, my mom, and my dad, I saw a psychologist, my mom, my dad, and a girl.

Don't get me wrong here. This wasn't one of those moments on TV when the sound effects guy plays some Lionel Richie song. It's not like we both fell towards each other's presence before getting bombarded by an outside force. It wasn't one of those times when the guy gets caught staring while the girl pretends to be naïve. Time didn't stop.

I honestly can't tell you what this was. In real life, moments aren't as vivid and precise as they should be. Perhaps it was the fact that I was rarely around peers. I'd never met someone of the opposite gender who looked less than twenty.

All I knew was, she made me more uncomfortable than usual.

I loathed her with everything I had. (Loathed is my fancy word for really, really, really hate...a lot.) Her image engraved into my brain, so I could know exactly what figure I would dream about in my recurring nightmares.

Let me paint you a picture.

Her hair was long enough to go down to her chest, lighter brown than mine. I promise I didn't go feel it, but with the way her hair shooed the light, I knew it was thick.

I don't remember what she wore exactly. Probably some tight long-sleeve shirt and jeans or something like that. (Only girls pay attention to that crud.) One thing that remained vivid: a bracelet. It was so out of place. Against every perky goal her clothes were trying to accomplish. The bracelet was dark, with four bright blue beads separating the brown, grey, and black.