17 | Tiramisu (with M&Ms)

"I'm so hungry, you already know."

Brennan danced into the kitchen - literally danced. I was talking about hips swaying, feet shaking and fingers snapping. To make matters worse, he was singing his own demented version of Fancy louder than the legal volume at morning. From the corner of my eye, I saw him go behind a kitchen island, lost in his musical world.

I only sighed, aggravated, and plopped a ladle of baked mac and cheese onto a bowl. The week flew by quickly and my sleeping routine had been changed by the trips to the Dale mansion to cook breakfast and pack lunch. I was starting to get used to missing sleep hours, but I definitely could not get used to Brennan and Jackson in the house. It was hard to believe how two people can be so amusing and chaotic at the same time.

"I'm so hungry, can't you hear my groans?" Brennan sang in his falsetto. If he didn't have such a great voice, I would've pushed his face into the stove already.

"Will you keep it down?" I looked at him, pushing a finger to my lips.

"Give me some food, or I'll blo-o-ow," he finished, and then stared at me expectantly, as if he was waiting for a round of applause.

"Boo," I mocked and pretended to chuck tomatoes at him, "You suck."

"No thank you, but I'm not homo," he smirked, "I want food now."

I only rolled my eyes. I had finished the lunch they'd bring over to school and work, but I had barely started breakfast. Now here he was, asking for food when I was the one terribly hungry. He was acting like I didn't see him sneak out a Kit Kat bar a while ago when I had arrived.

I was about to tell him to go shove a microphone down his throat when he burst out into his own song, Fate vs. Coincidence. And I had only known the name of the song because it was overplayed in the radio.

I let out an exaggerated hybrid of a groan and a sigh as I tried to focus on the kitchen. But then, he started singing off-key on purpose and that was when I marched over to him with a spoon in my hand.

"You stop that now," I pointed the utensil at him threateningly.

As defense, he snatched a stray vegetable peeler and posed ninja-style. "I can't do that!" he said, "This is like, the anthem of all the fangirls."

My inner voice scoffed. The tune wasn't even that catchy, and in my opinion, it wasn't real music. I could understand if the female population liked a certain artist for both looks and quality of songs, but it was absurd for them to adore Brennan, who had great looks, great talent, but had the worst songs composed for him.

"How funny," I pushed the spoon at him, "I'm a fangirl and my anthem happened to involve head banging and Fall Out Boy."

Brennan huffed, "You're not even a girl!"

Pardon me, dear, I do have a perfectly working uterus and a pair of tatas.

I advanced towards him, and he yelped, moving backwards. "Stay back!" I heard him stumble through his words, "I have a peeler!"

I sneered, "And I have a rust-free spoon. I won't hesitate to gouge your eyes out!"

"Aha, but not before I peel your face off!"

Jackson picked the time to stroll into the room. He stopped, looked up from his book and his eyes went back and forth between Brennan and I. "I don't even want to ask," he told us.

I pushed Brennan out of the way and made my way towards Jackson. These past days, he had been rude and smug, but it was the side of Jackson that was better than anything else. It meant that I could insult him and he'd gladly throw back a clever comeback.

I grabbed Jackson by his shirt, went behind him and used him as a human shield. It was such a shame his uniform was now all rumpled, but I only grabbed tighter. "Watch out, he's got a peeler!" I peeked at Brennan over his shoulder.

"Girl, don't make me get the whisk!" Brennan yelled.

"Good luck getting peeled and whisked." I stumbled when Jackson turned around and faced me, his passive face on. "I don't want to be in your kitchen wars."

"You miss all the fun - how do you live with your life?" I crossed my arms and then spread them wide as I faked a grin, "A good luck hug, then?"

Gently, he used two fingers on each hand to lower my arms and without blinking, he went around me and headed towards the kitchen table. I chased after him, dazed, "Jackass Dale, Oliver hugs are a rare opportunity and you're special enough to be offered a hug by me. You dishonor."

He merely shrugged one shoulder, "Well I don't want it."

Why, that was a major blow on my ego.

"Ollie? Are we still playing?" I looked for Brennan and saw him crouching behind the island, a colander over his head as armor and a strainer poised in his two hands.

Sighing again, I looked back once at Jackson, who was reading, and then I put my hands on my hips. "Later, Brennan. The breakfast won't cook itself even if I wanted it to."

He stood up looking dejected, and stormed off the kitchen. I crossed my fingers that he wouldn't suddenly enter his parents' bedroom armed with kitchen tools. Another part of me was betting that he would be in the living room, singing his songs while using the strainer as his microphone.

As long as he didn't disturb me, it would be fine.

I went back to the counter and started fixing the morning's meal, which consisted of potatoes with bacon, and cheese omelet. Mixed scents started to go around the room; they were more satisfying than starting kitchen wars with Brennan.

Jackson was silent on the kitchen table. He and I managed casual conversations throughout the week, and the main topic of our chatter was Brennan's misfortunes and schemes. It felt nice like that - we'd laugh and eat until Brennan himself decided to come by and throw the chicken-block stuffed toy at us.

But whenever Brennan did that, I threatened to behead his chicken and he'd come fetching the toy from my hands and running out the room. I felt a slight sympathy for him sometimes, but once he would think up of a crazy idea, Jackson and I were a team to stop ourselves from getting into trouble.

"It's finally Friday, thank God," I began, pouring the whisked egg into the frying pan, "Time flies so fast."

"At least it's the last day of school," Jackson sighed in relief, "It's been busy - really busy."

"I wonder how you survive with that principal of yours," I told him, "He sounds like a total villain."

"What do you mean?"

I turned away from the stove, spatula in hand. Jackson was looking at me with a mixture of disturb and bewilderment. "Mitch told me all about it," I recounted, "Dex Sanchez visited our school after classes to see his girlfriend, our Principal Vasquez, in case you don't listen to the news around your school. Wait, does Acewell even know who your principal is dating? Ah, nevermind . . . "

I continued, "Anyway, apparently he was bad-mannered to us Clevies. 'A pervert, a disgusting slob, whose head has more air than a bag of chips,' I quote. He even pushed a sophomore aside and acted as if he just ran into a wall. He scowled at everything and he littered everywhere. Our Yearbook Club president was ready to claw his brains out."

"Worst of all," I finished, "Vasquez acts like she didn't see a thing. It's either she's planning something against him, or she's blind. And if it's the second thing, Mitch said that Zafra Bernardo should do something about it."

Jackson sat in silence for a while, his unsettling stare pointed at me. Feeling a little discomfort, I went back to the sizzling egg on the stove.

Then, he finally spoke up, "First, we call him our headmaster, not principal. Second, we don't see him that way."

I was about to open my mouth to speak of injustice and fakery but he spoke again. "He's just a puppet in our school; he doesn't care about us. The real person who's running the Academy is our Second Headmistress, Mrs. Fuller - "

I stifled a gasp. Fuller was Vasquez's cousin.

" - and she's strict about everything. PDA in the hallways? Suspended. For every curse word there's detention and speaking back to our teachers meant a slap or two. Out of uniform means you are considered absent for a day and in detention, you're not allowed to do anything but keep quiet. Teachers have boring lectures and tons of homework, some due immediately the following day. If you're a teacher's pet, you're on top of the food chain. If you're poor and weak, you're at the bottom."

My jaw unhinged from hearing his description of his school.

"That's plain torture!" I shouted, "No school should be like that! That's horrific and sadistic and terrifying!"

It was like Dolores Umbridge ruled the place.

Jackson was silent again. "We get used to it. In fact, it helps us be even more successful, you know. We get to be the angels our parents always wanted."

I snorted, "But that's taking away happiness and freedom. No wonder Acey Spawns are so cruel. No wonder you're so moody - "

"But again, we don't mind," he said firmly.

"You can't speak for the whole student population!"

"Well, we deal with it and we survive in it. You know Clevemore graduates? They end with no job, no life and no dreams whatsoever. They're wild and uncivilized and they need to be tamed - "

"Hold up, you don't get to talk to my family like that - "

"I'm surprised you're not like them." He paused, "Hold on a second. You already are!"

"You school is like a prison - "

"Just wait a few years and you and your classmates will be in prison - "

I felt like growling - louder than my stomach. "Look at you; you become this judgmental person because they made you like that."

"Look at you, you're just insulting me because you know what I'm saying is true."

"Imagine, sweets," he taunted, "If you were raised by your father, you would have a better life in Acewell. You'd be brought up well in Acewell. And you'd be loathing the public school and siding with Acewell. I have to defend my school here."

Oh no, he did not just go there.

"You're doing that because you feel like you have to defend your school. What would you be proud of then, when you graduate? A silly piece of paper? No friends? Your sophisticated extensive knowledge?"

"Better than a criminal record."

My hand shook as I tried to stir the potatoes and bacon. I didn't want this. I didn't want the perfect relationship we were already forming to crumble just because of a rivalry between our schools.

"Stop it," I said breathlessly, "You've got opinions and I've got mine so stop it."

Silence again.

"But I beg to differ," I got riled up again by the system of their school, "If that Fuller led our school, give it a day and Zafra would be ready to kick her out, the Yearbook Club would have already built a catapult, and the Marching Band would be already rehearsing for her funeral."

Was that a chuckle I heard from him? Covered up by a cough?

"I'm sorry," Jackson apologized. I faced him and saw that he looked exhausted.

"I'm sorry, too," I said casually, walking to the fridge to fetch the milk. Struck again by the idea, I went closer to him and spread my arms, "Limited edition Hug?"

"No, thank you."

♫ ♫ ♫

As the five of us sat around the dining table for breakfast, I gazed curiously at Brennan, who was trying to pick off the bacon from his mashed potatoes in intense concentration. Walter, also, was discreetly trying to do the same, glancing once in a while at his son to copy his actions. Maira was eating a generous helping of the cheese omelet and she kept on coming back for more.

Meanwhile, Jackson was both eating and reading. I had to suppress myself from telling him to focus on his food. But nonetheless, during the days of cooking for them, the Dales seemed to become a family to me.

There was a time when my biological family had been together like them, too, when Mony was still perched on a high chair. It was a time when Mom and Dad appeared to be 'sweet' to each other, when Montana's mind wasn't poisoned by Hollywood, and when I was still clueless about what real separation meant.

"Brennan, stop that." I looked up from my plate to see Maira scolding his son while grabbing another piece of omelet. "Just eat them together. You too, Walter."

This drew Jackson's attention from his book as he stopped to snigger at Brennan. Brennan then reached out to ruffle his hair, much to Jackson's protests.

"It took me hours to get this right!" Jackson glowered and attempted to smooth back his disheveled hairdo.

"Jackson, your hair is fine and Brennan," Maira said to them, "Finish your food! I have an announcement to make."

The noise died down at the table. Even I stopped chewing my breakfast. "Good, now will everyone listen?"

"Walter and I have to go to New York to meet his business partners there," Maira told us, "We will be gone for three days and I want to make sure I'm making the right choice of leaving you boys in the house."

I spoke up, "You leave them in this house? And no accidents happen?"

"We've done this before, Ollie," Maira explained, "Usually Jackson gets to control his brother before Brennan does anything life-threatening. They'll be fine, but I still need you to be here. They might set the deliveryman on fire again."

Brennan was eerily quiet, and Jackson seemed like this was the usual for him. "Three days with the boys?" I repeated, not believing my own words.

"Yes," Maira replied reluctantly, "We'll give you a bonus just for tolerating them if you want. We'll be home soon before you know it."

"And I think you don't need to come to cook dinner later on," said Walter, a smirk popping on his lips, "Maira can prepare dinner for them before we leave in the afternoon."

That was when Brennan jumped into protests, "No! No! Just let Ollie come by tonight, please? You don't need to cook, Mom." Something in his hideous face and his tone told me that he wanted me here for another reason besides his mom's cooking.

Suspicious, I thought as I locked eyes with Jackson.

"Shut up and eat your potatoes," Maira scolded, and then she turned to me, "It's your call, Ollie."

I breathed - once, twice - before I answered, "Sure, I think I can drop by tonight."

"Yes!" Brennan bounced in his seat, his face speaking of mischief. I faced Jackson, hoping that he would tell me something about what his brother was planning, but he went back to his book.

"So, we're done here," Maira stood up, shoving the last piece of omelet into her mouth, as she smiled, "Walter, we need to pack." Quite hesitantly, Walter stood up and followed his wife out of the dining room. But I didn't miss his fleeting glances at his plate full of mashed potatoes and bacon.

I used that time to twist my chair and look at Jackson beside me, "Is your brother going to do something devious?"

Guardedly, I looked at Brennan, who was stood up and downing his milk. His feet were dancing excitedly and his hips were swaying again. He was eager - but what for?

"Devious?" Jackson turned a page of his book - he still hadn't looked up at me, "I don't think he'll be summoning demons any time soon. But we'll never know, will we?"

"I'm serious - "

"Hi, serious, I'm Jack - "

"Ass," I hissed, "You know something about it, don't you? And I'm going to be affected by this whole thing?"

"Pretty much."

"Jackson Dale!" I raised my voice. Brennan was waltzing - literally - out of the room and was probably heading upstairs to plan his secret. He wasn't even trying to be secretive; he was rubbing it on my face. He was silently telling me to be careful.

Jackson shut his book with one hand, grabbed his bag and then grabbed my arm to lead us out of the place. He was driving me to school, like the usual, and he got pretty fed up when I was slow.

"I'm asking you right now," I pried my arm from his hold, rubbing it, "What in the name of chocolate is your brother going to do?"

"Fine," he said. We stopped in front of the front door. "I have a hunch about it, but I really can't be sure. All I know is that we should better go along with it and help him clean up the mess after unless it really bothers us."

"What if I rat you out to Maira?"

"Then dishonor on you and dishonor on your chocolate," he replied coolly, "This is part of our brotherly relationship and since you're with us now, you better roll with it. Or else, you're going to be as plain and uptight as my teachers over there at Acewell."

I frowned. It was making me nervous, whatever Brennan was up to. But I couldn't help but feel an adrenaline rush.

"You don't want to be boring and killjoy like my teachers, do you?" Jackson smirked.

I wanted to shake my head 'no' but I stopped myself. "It really depends. What if what he does is way over the top? Remember Swissybuns?"

"That dog was really obnoxious," said he, "But the other than that my brother's other plans go smoothly. It'll be fun. The only fun I'll ever have besides learning math."

"Gross, you have fun with learning math?"

"Just cos, my sweets." I almost vomited on him for that pun. "Now, are you in?"

"I'll see for myself later," I murmured, hauling my bag over my shoulder. "Can we go now?"

Jackson smiled and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me to him. "You're hugging me! You're submitting to the limited edition hug!" I yelled in surprise.

"It's just a side hug, not a real one." he looked a little flustered.

"Whatever," I grinned, "I need more of these hugs." Jackson said nothing.

♫ ♫ ♫

School went by quickly, too, and the main reason was that somebody set off the fire alarm and took almost an hour and a half before the teachers gave the 'false alarm' sign. Mitch and I had decided that it was one of the teachers who set it off to cancel a whole period of class, but that was until Chad Moreno was found giggling all by himself.

The day was also spent with varied theories about Vasquez and Dex's relationship. It was a rare moment when Mitch and I sat at the Yearbook Club table at lunch along with a bunch of junior and sophomore supporters. As the conversations kicked off, I swore Winston's head was boiling.

And then the day continued as Mitch had driven me to the shop and had bought me a Popsicle as I worked for a few minutes. It was only because she had dropped my ice cream in the cafeteria after she had a lick. We had fooled around with our homework, turning to Wikipedia for believable answers and after that, we had gotten on Tumblr for thoughts about the new Supernatural episode.

So far, the day had been normal. That was until the raging party inside the Dales' mansion attacked.

So Brennan had texted me to come over while I had been washing dishes at the shop. Before I had even stepped a foot off the bus, I already knew what Brennan did. The colored lights and the loud racket of music told me everything.

I froze in front of the front door, which was wide open. Outside, at the front lawn, people I didn't know were bathing in the fountain - I saw one flirting with a cherub statue - and others were playing baseball with the plastic flamingoes. A group of girls were playing hide-and-seek in the hedges when nobody was really hiding.

The interior of the house was more bizarre. Brennan himself, the host of the party, was swinging on the chandelier and he was laughing as he tried to splash beer on himself. Sober people were dancing, the horny ones were gyrating on inanimate objects and drunken people stumbled and shouted.

There was a gay couple swimming on the floor - except there wasn't any water and they were just flopped on their stomachs, flapping their limbs wildly. One girl was trying to eat a disc while the DJ tried to stop her. A group of people was gathered around a bottle and they would point at it and laugh crazily.

Where did Brennan even find these people?

I didn't even want to stare too long. I took small steps, going inside. Maybe I had to leave, but I felt like I was responsible for whatever was going on. And Brennan did invite me over. I had my fair share of teenage parties, but Clevemore's were crazy in an innocent way.

While I submerged myself deeper into the sweaty bodies, I wondered where Jackson might be. He might be off doing something as extreme as all the other people around me, but I didn't see him as the type. He might be in here somewhere, sober, sane and dressed decently.

I screamed in surprise when my hand was pulled back. A boy who looked my age was frowning at me, and in a split second, he was crying. And then, before I could register anything else, I was splashed with something cold.

I pulled back, sputtering, "That does not smell like alcohol!" I felt like gagging.

The boy left me alone to probably get a refill of whatever that stuff was. My hair was half-wet and drops splattered on my shirt. I was too overwhelmed to decide what to feel.

Finally, I kicked my way out of a sea of people once again and hopped up the stairs. This time, a trio of girls dressed in swimsuits came up to me, speaking in gibberish. They pulled and twirled my hair and I struggled to get away from them.

"Let go!" I yelled at them, and soon I was tumbling down the stairs.

Powered by fear and desperation, I stood up and ran up the stairs, but my luck was running out. A person covered in a cloak hurtled towards me, knocking the both of us down. He made some kind of deep guttural sound at me and it was enough for me to kick him in the face. He passed out.

The upper floor wasn't any better than the bottom. There were middle-aged people playing golf through the halls and the rest were doing something equally surprising. I caught my breath; I was even afraid to check out the rooms because God knows what I might find inside.

To my relief, I found Jackson's room, located at a quieter part of the corridors. Unusually, no trace of party visitors could be found near his door. That made me anxious of what he would be doing right now.

Closing my eyes, I braced for impact as I turned the doorknob.

Locked.

I released a breath. Carefully, I brought my knuckles up and knocked.

"Who is it?" Jackson's voice was muffled through the door, but thankfully it wasn't slurred.

"Oliver Ridge, and I'm not an impostor," I called out shakily.

The door swished open and I was pulled inside. I was afraid that Jackson's room looked worse, but to my shock, it was perfectly clean and normal. Jackson stood in front of me, staring at me with concern but he looked well. The music and voices could still be heard from here, but they were faint.

I looked back at the closed door, which I had come from. "Is -"I swallowed, "Is your room in another dimension?"

"What?" he slowly blinked, "Ah, I'll explain in a minute."

He took a step towards me and held a piece of hair between two fingers, "What happened to you?"

"I just walked into a party," I huffed, "Amazingly, I'm not dead."

I stomped past him and ran into the bathroom. The smell was putrid and it contrasted with the fragrance of the bathroom. I splashed water on my face a couple times and dried off - there was no way I was going back out there. Jackson's room was my safe haven.

Jackson was sitting on his bed when I came out. "I don't even want to say a word," I shook my head to get rid of the things I saw. Unfortunately, that wasn't working and it only made me think of them more. I helplessly lied down on his bed.

"Then I will," Jackson faced me, "The thing to expect when our parents are gone for a long trip, you see, is a huge party from Brennan. He just throws it out of the blue - calling up every single person in his contacts list and spreading the word, getting barrels of alcohol, shopping for solo cups. I learned to live with it."

"How?"

"The first party he threw - that was when I first tasted alcohol. It was awful. Then, I got dragged into really weird stuff that I don't want to speak about again. So I learned to stay in my room, install heavy duty locks and keep the peace and quiet in here."

I fiddled with the sheets, "Nobody ever comes in here?"

"Nobody. They don't find this part of the house amusing anyway. I also locked Mom and Dad's room before anyone goes wandering in there."

"But I still don't understand," I said, "How could he suddenly throw a party? Did he forget about the Sweatybuns incident already?"

"He only gets in trouble if he gets caught," Jackson smirked mischievously, "And it's my job he doesn't. After the party, I help clean up everything. And tomorrow, you will, too."

Brennan must have overdosed in bacon or hit his head hard. This was a norm for the Dale brothers? It was utterly impossible they get away with a party, especially with a mansion as big as this. It was like every scheme's of Brennan's was a suicide mission; if he didn't die in the party, he would surely die by the hands of Maira.

"What are you talking about?" I sat up in a hurry, "Me helping you? That's about as ridiculous as an anti-Destiel protester."

"What, you don't want to stay here? You want to go through all of that again? Chances are, you don't survive as soon as you're out of this room." With his words, I involuntarily pictured the scenes in my mind.

"You stay here, help us clean up and you go home tomorrow," he proposed.

"You think I want to be here? I can't stay here with you!" I told him in disbelief, "You can't keep me in here!"

"Sweets, Brennan's your responsibility, too. Shouldn't you stay and watch over, in case there's an explosion, or an accident? I mean, Brennan did call you over, didn't he?" said Jackson, "You're safer here."

My eyes were darting towards the door. "You're bad at persuasion, Jackson and - wait!" I gasped, "You were the one who texted me to come over, weren't you?" I gasped again when I saw Brennan's phone on his nightstand.

"I only took it to keep him from drunk dialing anyone," he justified, "Plus, I was bored. I never got to do anything interesting during his parties. I wanted to have company."

I snorted, "Well, this company wants to leave - "

"But sweets - "

"No." I walked to the door and opened it, only to be greeted by a guy in a Jigsaw mask. Screaming, I shut the door and locked it, my heart beating rapidly from the scare. Jackson was on the bed, watching in amusement.

I sunk down on the floor, "On second thought, a sleepover would be fun."

"Great," Jackson's face lit up, "Now you call your mom now and tell her."

"Don't tell me what to do!" I said to him while fishing out my phone to call Mom and tell her.

Hello, mother, I'm stuck in a rabid teenager's informal celebration. SOS.

P.S. I'm staying over so don't worry if I get mauled by Jigsaw!

"Hello? Ollie? You didn't starve yourself again, did you?" Mom said from the other line. I sandwiched my phone between my ear and shoulder while crawled to the bed and propped myself up on it.

"Mom, I was calling to ask -" Jackson was staring at me. "- if I could stay the night here?"

"Why?"

You see, Mom, I was trapped here by a wild party and the only safe refuge is Jackson Dale's room.

I carefully explained everything to her, emphasizing the fact that the party was Brennan's idea and it was Jackson who asked me to come over. Thankfully, she seemed to understand my predicament.

"Wait a minute, did you say you're sleeping in Jackson Dale's room? Absolutely not, Oliver!"

"Mom - "

"Jump off the window and run for your life and catch a bus home for all I care! You're not staying with a boy! Didn't you say he knows about the . . . ?"

I winced, remembering that I told her that Jackson knew. "It's okay, Mom," I tried to assure her, "We're fine now. He's a gentleman - sort of - and I'll quit eating chocolate first before I can let him do something to me."

"How convincing," she said, unimpressed.

My phone was suddenly stolen from me. I stared with wide eyes as Jackson conversed with my own mother. "Ms. Ridge? Yeah, this is him . . . No . . . No . . . No . . . No - maybe. Ye - no. Alright. No. Yes - I mean no. Okay, I'll keep that in mind. No. Goodbye."

He hung up and tossed the phone back to me, "You're staying here."

"What charms did you use with your 'no's and what did she say to you?" I asked frantically.

"She's letting you stay here," he said with all finality. I stared at my phone - it was probably magic. He got into her head. Then again, Mom believed Brennan was perfection.

"Okay, now I want to jump out the window," I mumbled. The bed was soft and inviting, but I didn't want to be stuck for a night with Jackson Dale. It sounded revolting and exciting at the same time.

"There are grills on the window, but if you can shrink yourself, I'd gladly welcome you," Jackson grinned at me, taking the time to lie down on the bed and put his arms behind his head. Confidence oozed from his demeanor - prick.

"But, but . . ." I looked around the room, "What about dinner? I'll starve to death!" I ran a hand through my belly.

"I have hot pockets around here, somewhere. A few leftovers, too," said Jackson, "You thought I wouldn't come unprepared." He motioned towards an open cabinet which encased a microwave and the shelf above it held a mini-fridge. I gawked at the sight.

"You have a microwave in your room?" I said weakly, "Then you could just live here all your life! The only reason to come out is to check on the Wi-Fi signal or get more food!"

"I've wanted to do the same." Jackson sat up, got a textbook and started to read. I frowned at him but he only tossed me a remote control to the TV.

The next few minutes were the opposite of the party. While downstairs, Brennan and the others were cooking up a pandemonium, we were here in boring peace and quiet. I had gone through every channel and finished one episode of Spongebob, but it didn't make everything enjoyable. Jackson was reading a textbook, and he seemed too occupied with it.

"Jackass," I sat on my knees and poked him on the side of his nose, "You got me to come over and you're not even talking to me. I thought you wanted company."

"By company, I just meant another human being to be around me so I wouldn't feel alone. The TV's getting repetitive." Not once did he look up from his educational book.

"Okay, but if you won't let me leave, then can I at least raid your fridge?"

"No."

"Go around your room?"

"You're smarter than that."

I shuffled to the end of the bed and put one foot down on the floor. I looked back at Jackson who said, "I have handcuffs, sweets. Don't make me trap you on the bed."

Then, shuffled back to his side and took both sides of his head to shake it. "Talk to me then," I grumbled, "I can't live in this boredom!"

He sighed, giving up. At last, Jackson put the book down and we laid side by side on the bed for casual talk. I liked talking with him - he was an easy talker and our conversations never ended up in awkward silence. I never had to ask a very random question to get the conversation going.

"You happy now?" he asked.

"We're not talking yet, genius," I turned my head to look at him. "I was thinking about how you could clean up this whole house in one morning."

"No, remember Mom and Dad are gone for three days," he held up three fingers for emphasis, "That gives us three days to clean. That's why Brennan picks these times to throw parties. First, we clean up the living room, kitchen and the main hall. So even when Mom and Dad arrive and we still haven't finished, we cleaned up the rooms they are rarely in."

"So you haven't been caught?" I was amazed at how they could pull it off so nonchalantly. "Not once? Won't they notice if something breaks, or if something's missing?"

"No, not once," Jackson's eyes held pride. "Brennan and I prepare before he lets loose and gets drunk. We lock up breakable things, I lock important rooms and he makes sure the food in the fridge is stored somewhere safe. When Mom and Dad come back, they don't suspect a thing."

"You two work so hard as a pair," I said sadly, "Kind of jealous of that."

"Why?" he asked softly, "Were you and your sister . . . ? Were you close before?"

I recalled when Montana and I were masters at sneaking around. That was how we could get away with things.

"We were very close then. But I was the one who caused trouble for everyone. Montana was more . . . mature. But we were still inseparable as kids. Not as fun as you and Brennan, but it was a childhood to remember."

And a childhood to miss.

"Sorry," he squeezed my shoulder, "Brennan and I were like this ever since the very beginning. Mom told me once that he would purposely steal my blanket and my pacifier when I was a baby. At age five, he'd make me cry and laugh about it. When I was old enough to fight back, I made him pay for being a bully."

"Whoa," I said," He must be really annoying as a kid."

"Very -our aunt gave him a mirror at age six. He spent the whole day staring at it - at his reflection."

I guessed pride was in his nature.

"Tell me more," I pressed my lips together eagerly.

"He was the usual big brother," Jackson shrugged, "Not usual, though, but you get the idea. He duct taped and tied my face to a Hulk mask once. I went to school in it and when I came back, I put lizards and caterpillars on his bed."

"You have an exciting life with him then."

"Why are we talking about my brother?" he laughed, "It's only feeding his ego. I want to know more about you."

"Me?"

"Yes."

"But I want to ask you . . ." I told him, "I was wondering what you want to become. Your dream, your future job. You can even tell me you want to live as a cat and I won't judge."

"You want to know." I nodded. "Okay, I'm leaning more into other arts, actually. I always wanted to do something different from the music industry. My dad's a producer and businessman. Mom used to be a game show host. My brother's named Hollywood's Duke. But I . . . I want to be - "

"a ballerina?"

"No, an engineer," he corrected, "I've got a talent for infrastructure designing. I don't know how my parents would react to that."

"Are you kidding? I'm a hundred percent sure Maira and Walter would be proud of that. At least you don't spend your life singing crap for teenage girls and being fake in front of a camera, or being stalked by hundreds of reporters."

"True," he agreed, "And you? What do you want to do?"

The expected answer would be to cook. But although I was perfect at cooking and baking, I always dreamed of singing. "A singer. Sue me, I'm a hypocrite, but it's what I wanted for years."

He looked genuinely surprised, "Really? Do you even sing well?"

Only Brennan had heard me actually sing my best - he, in all seriousness, adored me for it. He would always coax me to sing, even if it was in the shower, at work or alone in my room. And I did.

"I wouldn't know," I whispered, "But other people say it's good."

"Just good?'

"It's better than nothing."

"Okay, I have another question," Jackson piped up, "I'm curious how Clevemore's like. What do you even do there? Is it fun?"

His question brought a smile to my face. It meant he was over our argument this morning and he was willing to look at Clevemore from my perspective. "Almost everyone knows almost everyone," I began, "We are against social discrimination and stereotypical views. Our school isn't perfect, but occasionally you'd find a teacher conducting a remedial group study with flash cards, or a freshman standing up for a senior and then you'd think how well grown the place is."

"At one sign of abuse, our Yearbook Club is immediately on it, and the Debate team will be ready to broadcast through the speakers. The football team is on the go, and the teachers understand the meaning of 'mental health'. We're wild, sure, but we consider ourselves as family. And you graduate knowing that you can bring what you had in the school to the outside world."

I let out a breath after everything. "What about Acewell? Is it so bad there?"

"The greatest advantage, really, is the luxury," Jackson said, "We get free lunch; our rooms are air conditioned, with office chairs and desks. There's a Starbucks and Baskin Robbins inside the buildings and the library is huge as hell. Every corner has a strong Wi-Fi signal and we get to use computers almost every class."

"You start there in a rough patch, but you'll soon learn to adapt and survive," he said, "Once you find out how things go, you can use them to your advantage. It prepares you for the whole world out there."

"Wow," I had no words as I stared at the empty air.

Silence. Comfortable quietness.

"I'm hungry." I told Jackson, "Don't make me sing the Fancy parody."

He chuckled and stood up to go to the microwave.

A few minutes of microwaving food later, the hot pockets were ready on makeshift plates (also known as cardboard which we found in his closet) and chicken nuggets were also served.

"Didn't we have pizza left from yesterday?" I asked Jackson, suddenly, my fingers recoiling from the hot, hot pocket.

He smiled sheepishly, "Brennan took the boxes from me to serve at the party. Sorry - he took my homework as a bargaining chip."

"What about dessert? Don't tell me we don't have dessert!"

"I have tiramisu in the fridge," he said, "I didn't know how it got there; I just took whatever I saw from the kitchen. I guess Mom and Dad brought it over yesterday. And there's still M&M's in my candy stash."

"You're lucky you have a candy stash," I mumbled, "Mom could sniff out mine before I could carry anything to my room."

Why did he have the luxuries I always wished for?

After we finished 'dinner', which was hardly classified as 'dinner' (it was more like a college person's 'dinner'), we were back to talking. Jackson couldn't get to his book mainly because I put it on hostage, so there was nothing else to do.

"Hey Jackson?"

"Yes, sweets?"

"What's your opinion on SuperWhoLock?"

I looked at me for a long time that I was starting to think that was an outrageous question for him. Finally, he spoke, "They're okay, honestly. I tried watching Supernatural but I quit because it crept me out a little. I got hooked on Doctor Who, though, especially when it got to Ten and Eleven. I watch it on my spare time. Sherlock - finished that a long time ago and I think I'll be dying first before the next season comes out."

He smiled and asked me, "You?"

"I can't understand how you can get crept out by Supernatural," I crossed my arms, "You just haven't watched the next season, so you don't know how wacky it is. And don't you think Weeping Angels are creepier? They gave me nightmares!"

"You're a Whovian?" he leaned forward in interest.

"I'm more on SuperLock, sorry," I said, "But you get enough information about the Doctor when you're in Tumblr."

"You have a Tumblr?"

"You have a Tumblr?"

"Of course I do," Jackson shrugged, "But do you think I'll let people in real life find me online? I hide well."

"Touché. But can you follow me?"

Soon, we finished up the meal by dessert - the tiramisu was delicious - and a little M&M's game which involved us trying to shoot a piece into each other's mouth. Then, after that, we decided that we should get ready for bed. Jackson wasted no time getting into the bathroom and changing into pajamas.

But I had nothing to wear.

"I thought you slept half-naked," I eyed his white shirt and pajama bottoms when he came out of the bathroom.

"I thought it would be uncomfortable for the both of us if that were the case," he stood in front of me. I wanted to say I won't be uncomfortable at all but I held my tongue. "What are you going to wear?"

My face twisted in distaste, thinking about how he'd have me wear his clothes. "I could go sneak and get clothes from the boxes," I suggested.

"Sweets, you can't at this time of the night," he said, sitting next to me, "As it goes closer to midnight, the party gets wilder."

"But I can't wear your clothes!"

He was quiet and I was out of options. "I think I have something you can sleep in, but I'm not lending you any underwear." I wanted to protest when he moved to his closet and began shuffling through the clothes. Then, he picked out a huge sweater and pants.

I inched backwards, away from him and the clothes, "What are those contaminated with?"

"Sweets, don't be overdramatic. I haven't worn these at all. They're just sitting in my closet for who knows how long."

We spent a good amount of time bickering about the clothes. Not only did they look uncomfortable, but the design was horrid. In the end, Jackson won when he threatened to throw me out of the room and lock the door. I came out of the bathroom, refreshed, but feeling small in these enormous clothes.

Now, we were lying on the bed, but the lights were still on. The sheets were pulled over to cover us.

We talked about endless things - about our fandoms, our childhood memories, and about Hollywood. I told him how it scared me to be involved in the entertainment job, and I found out from him that his first words were a long sentence ("Mother, Brennan is sucking on my pacifier again."). I told him I started to cook before I could read and write and he told me he used to be picked on in elementary.

"So, enough about our lives and families," I turned to my side, facing him, and folded my hands under my head, "We need to talk about something really important."

"Really important?" he echoed.

"Yes, it's extremely important." I told him, eyes wide, "I have something to confess and it's a deep secret of mine. Only three people in this whole world know about this and you're lucky enough to be fourth. This is my biggest secret besides the one about my family. Can I trust you with this?"

"Yes," he said slowly.

"You know when I always say I accept every kind of pizza and pizza topping? Because pizza is pizza no matter what?" He nodded in response.

"I lied," I whispered, "I don't like Hawaiian Pizza. I hate it."

He didn't say a word. Jackson blinked rapidly, several times, and then went back to staring at me.

"Not really the whole pizza but," I continued, "I just don't like pineapples in pizzas. I hate pineapples in pizzas. Even when I try to pick them off, the taste lingers and sometimes when I miss a stray chunk of pineapple and I get to taste it, it's horrible."

"There, I said it," I buried my face on the pillow, "So how do you feel about pizza?"

"Like a normal person," he looked at me pointedly for effect, "I actually don't mind pineapples on my pizza. But I have a pizza confession, too."

"Tell me."

He chewed on his lip before saying, "I eat pizza from the crust to the tip."

"Wait, huh?" I gaped at him, "Explain yourself, mister. I didn't see you eat from the crust to the tip."

"I didn't want to offend you so I ate from the tip to the crust," he reasoned, "I always start with the least to the best, and so I begin from the crust. That's what I do with all my food - the best is last."

"Even if it's stuffed crust?"

"Even if it's stuffed crust."

"Whoa," I turned to lie on my back, "I'll never look at you the same way again."

Jackson chuckled, "You got anymore food quirks?"

I searched my brain for more. Sometimes, I didn't realize I had oddities because food can never be weird for me. "Cake. What about cake? Monster, don't tell me you eat it from the middle to the outwards!"

"If you're talking about one whole cake, sweets, I don't eat a whole cake in one sitting. And no, I don't eat it that way. I just make sure there's enough icing and cake whenever I get a piece. Too much icing is too sweet and too much actual cake is tasteless," he said," You?"

"I eat cake with both a spoon and fork," I told him, "Not really quirky, but it's hard to get the crumbs with just a fork."

"Hey, you have a point."

"But there's another thing," I realized my other food quirk. "This is something big, too. It's about ice cream." I stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought for a while.

"What is it?" Jackson asked.

"Wait! I'm afraid," I glanced at him, "You go first."

"Ice cream? Like you hate Hawaiian pizza, I hate Rocky Road ice cream," He held a hand up before I could accuse him for hating such a heavenly flavor, "Now wait. I just don't like marshmallows in my ice cream. Or marshmallows in general. They taste ugly."

"You malicious mallow monster!" I pointed a finger at him (yes, the middle one), "Now I don't feel so bad about my ice cream secret!"

"And that is . . .?"

"Okay," I blew out a breath, "I have sensitive teeth, you see, so when I bite into cold things, it hurts as hell - especially when you accidentally sink your teeth in. Shuddering. That's why it takes time for me to eat ice cream. Or any cold dessert for that matter."

"But that's not the thing," I braced myself, "I love melted ice cream. I eat my ice cream that way."

"What!" Jackson looked like he was about to shoot up from bed and push me to the floor, "That beats the purpose of its name! It's supposed to be iced cream. Cold and solid! Freezing!"

"But melted ice cream tastes better and sweeter!" I argued, "Plus, it looks so weird when you're in public just licking and sucking an ice cream cone because you can't bite into it." I took out my tongue and started licking an imaginary Popsicle to prove my point.

"I'll never look at you the same way again."

"You shut your mouth."

After we laid in silence, holding hands under the sheets, Jackson got out of bed to turn the lights off. His hand laced back into mine when he returned to the bed.

"That's enough with the secrets. I think we've had enough for a day." He reached over to my side to turn off the lamp. I squeezed his hand and made a sound of agreement.

"Good night, you mallow monster," I said as we basked in the dark, with the faint sounds of pumping music coming from outside.

"Good night, melted cream."

♫ ♫ ♫