I'm going to murder Jason.
Specifically, in his sleep. I'll choke the life out of him when he least expects it with one of his pillows and stuff feathers into his mouth as soon as he stops breathing.
Or, even better: I'll slip some hemlock in his water during dinner and he'll die in his sleep. But where could I get something that hasn't been used since Socrates killed himself a couple of millennia ago?
Side note: I don't know the answer to that.
Regardless, I still want to kill my brother for using that damn Sharpie on my walls. I don't mind a little harmless prank now and then. This, however, was not harmless at all. Do you know how much rubbing alcohol I've had to use to get it off most of my walls?
A shit ton of it. And I'm not even finished with it, yet.
I don't even know how he managed to not wake me up when he was doing this. I could easily applaud him because I'm not exactly what one would call a deep sleeper—even a drop of a hat could wake me up. But how did I not wake up to the sound of a squeaky Sharpie over my bedroom walls is way beyond me.
I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand as I finish up one side of the wall, standing on my tallest tiptoes. I've been at it for a few hours now and I have one more left to do. I definitely have better things to do than deep clean my walls on Labor Day, after a long-ass three-hour drive from my aunt and uncle's house.
One extra hour, another emptied bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a folding chair later, my wall is free of the permanent marker. Take that, Sharpies! Guess you're not as permanent as you thought you would be.
I take one breath in and immediately walk out of my room coughing because now my room reeks of rubbing alcohol. I leave the door open to let some of the smell out and I head to the bathroom to wash my hands. I should probably take a shower but I don't have any clothes I can change into.
All of my clothes probably smell like the strong liquid substance that was used on my walls only an hour ago.
Screw it.
I turn on the faucet and step into the shower. As the warm water runs down my body, I start to think of ways I can get back at my brother for this little prank. We've been at this little prank war since I got him back on April Fool's Day earlier this year for changing the password on my laptop. I could have lost this big project I'd been working on that entire school year because of him.
So I added bright orange dye into his three-in-one while he was at practice as payback. He looked like an Oompa-Loompa until the next morning when he had used Dad's instead.
An idea finally comes to mind as I finish washing myself up head out of the shower and put on my bathrobes. When I begin to towel-dry my long, dark-ombre hair, I spot the tube of toothpaste still sitting right in front of my sink from when I used it this morning.
Then an idea hits me fast as I begin to towel-dry my hair.
I head in and out of my room to grab some clothes to change into, making sure I hold my breath the entire time until I head to the bathroom. After changing into them, I grab the toothpaste and rush downstairs to the pantry. Jason just happens to be running out of his family-sized pack of Oreos. I don't know how many are left because I don't really like Oreos myself but they could definitely use a little TLC.
So I spend my time removing the cream in the middle and replacing it with toothpaste. I'm thankful that my toothpaste is white so the cookies don't look so suspicious.
I head back upstairs to my room so I can open a window because just leaving the door open isn't going to cut it. It fucking reeks but I want to remain as innocent as possible in the case that Jason enters the house at this exact moment.
I spent most of my time this summer mainly going back and forth between reading a book that my bestie Amy had lent me the last time I saw her and writing ideas for my next big project in my school's animation club. So instead of sticking my nose into my sketchbook or laptop, I crack open the book that Amy had lent me. To All the Boys I've Loved Before by Jenny Han may no longer be as popular as it once was but I'm only just getting into the realm of reading outside of school.
And it's a good one. Fake dating, secret love letters, and Korean culture? I think I may have fallen in love with Peter Kavinsky already, too. I'm also definitely not Korean—I'm the most white-looking Cuban you'll ever meet—but I've noticed that interracial romances in YA books are far and few in between.
It's not until I reach chapter thirteen that I start to feel parched. I mark the page that I'm on and head downstairs for a glass of water. Just my luck, I hear the garage door open and just know that Jason is finally home. My Ryder radar is never wrong.
Knowing better than to stand in the middle of a war zone, I walk out of the kitchen and find myself a suitable place to hide. Far enough to where I could not be detected yet close enough to hear my brother's horror when he reveals the surprise hiding in those lovely Oreos of his.
I'm drinking my water when I hear footsteps. I wince when I hear more than one set of feet pitter-pattering around the kitchen.
"Hey, thanks for telling me this," Jason's voice rings as I hear the door to the pantry open. "I'm glad you came to me."
"I'm glad you didn't belittle me when I told you." Wait a minute, I know this other voice...
Derek!
Shit! He brought Derek over??
I give myself a mental facepalm before quietly sipping my cup of ice water. I can't do anything to give myself away.
"It's still crazy you've kept it for so long," my brother is saying. "When did you know?"
"Honestly? I think I've always known."
"Is that why you turned down Macy when she asked you out last month?"
"Yep."
What could they be talking about? The suspense is killing me!
But my question is never answered because only a second later, I hear an eerily quiet crunch before Jason practically shouts, "fuck! Bro, give me a napkin." I'm pretty sure he's spitting the toothpaste-filled Oreo out of his mouth.
"It can't be that bad," Derek's voice says before biting into another cookie. "Nope. It's worse. Yuck!" He spits the cookie out of his mouth too.
I'm only going by sound here but I can tell that both of them are a little angry—if not both of them then definitely Jason.
I really hope Derek's not angry.
I quickly run upstairs to grab my headphones and blast Taylor Swift's rerecording of her Speak Now album in my ears so that I act all clueless to the events happening and then walk back downstairs. This time, I direct myself over to the kitchen, where I grab a bag of jalapeño chips.
Just as I open the kitchen cabinets for a bowl, I feel a tap on my shoulder. Taking a headphone out, I turn around to find my brother's glare pinned right at me. His hazel-green eyes are seething with rage. "What happened to the Oreos?"
I cross my arms over my stomach. Not in insecurity—I'm wearing an oversized t-shirt—but to try to assert dominance. And because I'm no longer hungry. "Wow, no greetings? You just got home and all I get is your attitude. Tsk, tsk."
"You know damn well what I mean." He grabs a napkin from the counter and spits in it. "Ugh, that was gross. I'm gonna brush my teeth," he says to Derek. "I'll be right back."
As he heads out of the kitchen, I call out, "I hope they tasted fresh!" I try to hold back a laugh.
"Fuck you!" He shouts back and whatever control I had is relinquished as my head falls back in laughter. Man, did I get him good. I think it might be my best prank so far.
"Damn," Derek mutters as he watches the display. "What did he do to you?"
Wiping the tears from my face, I shrug and answer, "Sharpie all over my walls. It took me hours to clean it all up and my room still smells like rubbing alcohol."
He winces. "Remind me never to get on your bad side, Attie."
My cheeks turn a rosy pink. "You'd never get on my bad side, Derek."
He smiles in return. "Thanks."
"I'm sorry that you got caught in the crossfire."
Derek waves a hand over to dismiss it. "No worries. At least I wasn't the target." He gives me a warm smile and I almost melt right there.
I've been crushing hard on my brother's best friend since middle school. Yeah, four years of pining after someone who is somehow friends with my brother pretty much sucks. But I couldn't help but fall in love with him. I don't know exactly when it happened. Maybe I had always been in love with him, who knows?
But have you seen him? He's got the whole package. Tall and lean after years of playing volleyball, wavy brown hair, and smooth skin that is slightly sun-kissed due to the amount of time he's spent outside. And on top of all that, his eyes are just so pretty! Sure, they're brown, but they aren't dark brown. They're like a light, honey-ish color. Twelve-year-old me just couldn't help herself.
Where was I?
Oh right!
"So, Attie, how have you been?" He asks.
"Oh. Uh, just fine. A little tired after driving back from the Inland Empire last night. My prank was also a huge success." I start to feel warm again. And not in a good way, but as in a this-is-so-uncomfortable kind of way. I swear my voice just went up an octave or two because I'm rarely ever alone with Derek. Usually, Jason is a buffer or Derek's older brother is around.
He chuckles. "I can tell. Maybe I'll try that with Ian someday."
I let out a little giggle at the thought of it. Ian Bale is just about Derek's polar opposite. If you put them side by side, you wouldn't be able to guess that they were related.
"What are you laughing about?" Jason asks as he steps back into the kitchen, grabbing two soda cans. I try to grab one from his hand but he brings it out of reach. "Fuck no! Not until you apologize for the Oreos."
"Hmph. Then you have to apologize for the Sharpie on my walls that took me hours to get rid of."
"I didn't damage anything. Besides, you can paint over it."
"I wouldn't have been able to." I hold my hand out. "Keys, please."
Jason's brows fly up to his hairline. "I didn't hear a magic word."
The glare I give him could easily shoot lasers right into his pretty face if given the ability. "Por favor."
Sighing, he grabs the keys to our bright blue Jeep Wrangler from the pocket of his shorts. I take them with a pleased hum and head upstairs to grab my bag. As much as I would like to be around Derek today, I need a break from the testosterone, rubbing alcohol, and bullshit I endured this weekend. "Gracias."
When I head back downstairs and towards the garage, I unintentionally overhear yet another conversation between Jason and Derek.
"Wait, how am I gonna get home now?"
"Ask Ian. He can't be that busy right now, can he?"
"He still has football practice and painting the parking lot. And if it wasn't that, he's probably jumping off some cliff with one of his friends or something."
I roll my eyes at that last sentence. Ian is basically the all-American teenage boy you'd read about in coming-of-age stories. Tall, starting quarterback, blond Clark Kent look-alike with a hint of boyish charm and a slightly wild persona.
I've known him since he and Derek moved to Santa Barbara back in elementary school.
It doesn't even surprise me at the thought that he'd be doing something crazy. It's why I don't really hang out with him when he's around. I prefer to keep my distance. He's not a bad person—at least, not to me—he's just too spontaneous in my opinion.
But could you blame me? I'd like to live to see my high school graduation.
When I hop into the driver's side of the Jeep, I look out the open window and rest my elbow just above it as I press on the brake and turn the key. It's still crazy to me that summer is officially over—then again, it's Southern California, a state that looks like summer all year long—but it's nice to know I'll be getting back to a more familiar routine.
A safe routine, with no more crazy mishaps that occur outside of homework and obnoxious tests.