If I Had a Taser, You'd Be On the Ground Spasming Right Now.

If I Had a Taser, You'd Be On the Ground Spasming Right Now. (6)

"That was actually pretty good, Momo."

"Thanks. Don't call me that."

"But we've only been sitting out here for like, three minutes."

We sat on the curb of the sidewalk that led to the library. Katy was long gone; she'd sped out of here without a second glance back at us.

I resisted the urge to growl at Chris and instead, returned my focus to my French homework. We had to write out phrases that we might use when describing some of our family members.

For example: when describing Chris, I might say...

Mon frère, Christian, est maladroitet achalant. My brother, Christian, is clumsy and annoying.

I wrote the sentence down in French and English and bit on the tip of my pen. Was I bashing my step-brother in French? Yes. Did I care? No. I was tired, hungry, a bit creeped out by the fact that there was no one around but my ex boyfriend aka my step-brother aka the bane of my existence.

It was something that I would never, ever wish on anyone. Right on cue, Chris began whistling "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." Again. I peered at him, irritated. "It that the only tune you know?"

He stopped for a moment, thinking, his brow creased. Finally, snapped his fingers. "Got it!"

He began to whistle again, a different tune this time. I listened more closely. It sounded familiar but...

I looked at him. "You have got to be kidding me."

"She had dumps like a truck, truck, truck, thighs like what, what, what, baby move your butt, butt, butt."

He nudged me. "Come on, Mona, you know this is our song."

"No."

"But--"

"NO. Absolutely not. There no way in--"

"Please?"

I heaved a sigh. "I think I'll sing it again," I sang dully into the night. He smacked my back, standing up and starting to dance around like a teenage girl.

"She had dumps like a truck, truck, truck, thighs like what, what, what--"

"All night long!" I sang as he danced over to me. He grabbed both of my hands and hauled me up, my pencil falling to the ground as he swung around and we both sang, "Let me see that thong!"

Unwillingly, I began dancing around with him.

"I like it when the beat goes--" I said.

"Duh dun duh." Chris jumped around like a little puppy dog.

"Baby make your booty go--"

"Duh dun duh."

"Baby I know you wanna show--"

"Duh dun duh."

"That thong thong thong thong thong!" We yelled together. 

"Well, it looks like someone has no street smarts at all."

Chris and I jumped simultaneously and whirled around.

A guy, really a dark character, stood with his hands in his pockets. His blonde hair stuck up at all angles, but still seemed stylish at the same time. He was tall, like Scott and Chris (what was with it with all of these tall people) and his eyes shone like brownish gray orbs under the dim streetlight. He was wearing a black shirt with a silver chain underneath, and black pants. His hands were in his pockets. He wasn't smirking; just eyeing us with curious yet amused and wary expression.