The Dark Ice Chronicles - The Magi

Chapter 13 - You Can Twist Perceptions, Reality Won't Budge

Jeremy puts on a sullen face as he leaves his penne pollo on the counter. “Let me know when the microwave’s free,” he says, slinking out of the room.

After Jeremy leaves, Dad starts on his line of questioning again. “So, you and your friends...would this Evan girl be one of those friends, by any chance?”

“Yes,” I say innocently. “Why do you ask?”

Dad’s smile turns diabolical. “Now, you wouldn’t be planning anything stupid, would you? Because, Jason, if you are, I might have to subject you to the-”

“Oh please,” I groan. “For heaven’s sake, Dad, I’m not gonna do the do with this girl. What?” I ask as he snickers under his breath.

“‘Do the do,’” he says. “Where did you pick that up? If I remember correctly, that’s how teens of my generation would say they were having sex.”

“I thought teens of your generation said ‘doin’ the nasty,’” I say, adding a British accent just like Dad’s to the last part of that sentence. Having imitated it for years, I can do it almost pitch-perfectly.

“You could be right,” Dad says. “But the point is still the same, regardless of how we’re going to say it. You don’t intend to ravish this poor Evan, do you?”

“God, no,” I say. I’m starting to lose my appetite from this sex talk. “We’re all gonna be there just as friends. Nothing else. I swear.”

Dad holds out his hand, extending his index finger and pinky.

“No,” I say, backing away from his metal horns. “You’re not serious.”

“I want to make sure you’re telling the truth,” Dad says, that horribly familiar mischievous smile on his face. I haven’t seen that smile since the night I first brought Dani home.

I roll my eyes. “Fine.” I complete the Dark bond with Dad, flinching as the spark of energy escapes into the air. “I swear, no do will be done on this campout. At least, not by me.”

“Good boy,” Dad says, ruffling my hair like I’m five years old again. “I’m trusting you now, so don’t go and abuse it. Be good on this camping trip!”

“I take it that’s a yes?”

“Of course.” Dad smiles again, this time less mischievously and more good-naturedly. “I can’t just let you pass up any opportunity to socialize. God only knows you’ve not had enough, Jason.”

“Gee, thanks for the reminder,” I say. “I bet next you’re gonna say how you were just the same when you were my age.”

“How’d you guess?” Dad asks. The microwave finishes, and he removes his steaming pre-packaged pasta dinner.

“It’s about the only thing in your parenting playbook,” I say, taking the time to put my own dinner into the microwave. “It means you’re tryin’ too hard to relate to me.”

Dad nods sagely. “Er, you do realize if you stand in front of that thing too long, it’ll make you sterile, right?”

“Don’t change the subject,” I say, but I move away from the microwave anyway. I need to conduct a bit more research into that, see if it’s really true or just bullshit waiting for the Mythbusters to debunk it.

Dad stirs some grated Parmesan into his pasta - not that it needs it, but we’ve both found that double layers of the stuff really improves the taste. “I just want you to know that we’re not so different, you and I. I was a punkish adolescent once. I may not have had too many friends, but it sure didn’t stop me pissing around like the youth I was.”