6 | Chocolate Covered Raisins

I finally found some Doritos inside one of the upper cupboards.

And it looked like this was where they kept all their junk food and snacks. After I mixed the batter for Brennan's pancakes, I had searched the kitchen for Jackson's chips. I checked the fridge first, then the cupboards, then everywhere. Except for the little cupboard smaller than the others, located at one corner.

Why is the thing I always look for always in the last place I search in?

I looked at the pancake batter by the sink. Pancakes first, chips later. I started heating up the pan on the fancy non-flame stove. Then, I poured in the batter in a perfect circle. After using up all the batter for three pancakes, I took out some whipped cream – which I learned was Brennan's favorite pancake topping one time when we were talking – and formed some kind of shape in it: the shape of a music note, just as a joke.

Once the stack of pancakes looked satisfying to me, I grabbed the milk from the fridge. I wondered if Jackson – or Brennan, maybe – ever drank straight from it, too. If so, I pitied their parents.

I poured in the milk to a glass and held it in one hand, while my other held the plate of pancakes. I delivered it to the living room, where I saw Brennan watching TV. He nearly leapt up to me when he saw his snack.

"Pancakes!" he exclaimed, diving towards the food as soon as I set it down the coffee table.

"Do you need anything else?" I asked.

He waved me off, "Leave me with my feast, servant."

I rolled my eyes and went back to the kitchen. Right. Chips time.

I grabbed the bag of Doritos I set aside on the kitchen counter. Then, I realized I didn't know where Jackson's room was. I shrugged to myself as laziness came over me. Brennan did tell me to leave him, so I couldn't come back and ask.

I went to the opening where I saw Jackson disappear earlier. Like I guessed, it led to nowhere but the stairs (which were covered by a red rug, like a royal carpet). I went up on it to find myself in a hallway leading to other halls and rooms.

By the mansion's size, there must be more than twenty rooms in this house. I didn't want to snoop around – or feel the urge to snoop around – because I opened the door to the wrong room. I strained my ears and lifted my nose but I can't hear or smell anything that can lead me to Jackson's room.

Then I thought of something stupid.

"Marco!"

I held the Doritos tightly as I tried to listen if he'd respond.

"Polo!"

It was a little faint, but I tried to navigate my way around to find the source of his voice. A ghost smile appeared on my lips. My stupid idea did work. He responded. Mitch's words echoed in my head: "It's not stupid if it works." I guess she's not really wrong then.

I shouted "Marco" and got the response of "Polo" a couple more times until I found Jackson. His room was the middle door in one of the halls. The door was painted a plain blue, fitting in the lighter blue walls. I twisted the knob and went inside.

Jackson's room was like any other typical guy's room – excluding the fact that it had a lot of expensive things in it. There were a few clothes strewn here and there, the bed leaned against one of the walls (its sheets and pillows were messy) and beside it was a nightstand with a lamp on it. There was also a flat TV on the wall facing the bed along with a videogame console and a desk with a laptop sat by another wall. My eyes raked over the other boy stuff around – action figures, comic books and sporty things. A door in the room caught my eye. I was guessing it led to the bathroom.

Jackson sat on the bed in a wife beater and jersey shorts. On his lap was a book and around his neck were Beats headphones.

He looked up at me and smirked, "Nice strategy."

I ignored him and tossed the Doritos in his direction, "Here's your chips."

He stared at it blankly. Then, he said to me in a bored tone, "I want Lays."

I made a sound of frustration. Spoiled little brat. Does he think everyone's going to do everything for him? I breathed deeply, "If you want Lays, then use those things attached to your legs. Do you know what they are? They're called feet. And if you don't use them often, you'll look down and not see them anymore."

"You know why?" I continued, "Because your fats will block your sight of them, you lazyass."

"Nevermind," he tossed the chips behind him, and returned his attention back to his book, "I'm not hungry anymore."

"You know Jackson?" I boldly walked up in front of him, "You should learn a thing or two from me."

He looked at me through his eyelashes, uninterested. I didn't know why. But I just hated something about him. I didn't like the way he acted like he could get anything he wanted.

"In the real world, you won't know what's out there for you. You can't rely on your Mommy and Daddy forever. You can't act like you're a prince and everyone will be at your aid all the time," I told him firmly.

"You don't know me," he murmured.

I slightly shook my head and went back to the door. But before I could reach for the knob, his voice stopped me.

"Grades do matter, right?"

I turned back towards him and snorted, "Of course they do matter. You'd need high grades to get a good job."

"You don't know me, Oliver," he said, "So don't judge me quickly. If you might not know, I'm a straight A student at Acewell. You're talking about being out there in the world when you're the one not prepared for it."

"I judge too quickly, you're right," I crossed my arms, "But ever heard of first impressions? And don't you think you're being hypocritical? You don't know anything about me."

"I may not know much, but I have enough proof that there's a chance you won't get a decent job in the future."

I narrowed my eyes, "What do you mean?"

He reached at his side and brought out a paper – something I hadn't noticed when I came here. "Judging by your report card, the highest grade you've gotten here is a B plus." He held out the paper, and sure enough, it was my report card.

"Where'd you get that?" I instantly lost my cool and tried to grab it from him. But he was too fast. I knew it was with me. I knew it was in my bag –

"Ollie, you should learn a thing or two about watching your belongings." His eyes flickered to something at the foot of the bed. I recognized it as my bag.

I dove towards it and clutched it tightly. I piece of hair escaped my ponytail and hung in front of my face. I blew it away with a huff and scowled at Jackson, "You can't just take my stuff like that!"

"And you can't just lecture me when you didn't know me."

"I knew enough when you walked in the kitchen. You're a total jackass," I spat at him.

He arched an eyebrow, "Is this because of Brennan? Do you think I'm like him because he's my brother? Sweets, if you haven't noticed there's a little of sibling rivalry between us."

That damned nickname again . . .

I stayed silent. He handed back my report card and I clenched my fist around it, not caring about the wrinkles or anything.

"And don't think I haven't noticed," he said in low tone.

I tensed up. What's he saying? Am I busted now? "Noticed what?" I asked as his eyes examined me. I felt a bit uncomfortable under his burning gaze. He was eyeing me like a science project. Or how like I'd look at a confusing recipe book.

I stared back at him. His eyes reminded me of chocolate. Maybe I was just hungry . . .

He leaned forwards. I was still sat on the floor, holding onto my bag. "You act like you've known Brennan for a long time," Jackson said, "Other girls would be screaming and swooning when they saw him but . . . you did not."

Make up something, Oliver, I told myself.

I shrugged, "Isn't that the point why your parents hired me? Someone who's here for the job and the job only and not to ogle at Brennan?"

He shook his head, "I know my parents wouldn't hire a fangirl, but you're different. I can see you know Brennan. The way you act around him, the way you talk to him. It seems so natural to you."

"Maybe you thought wrong."

He didn't looked convinced.

"Are you sleeping with my brother?"

I almost choked on my own spit. Never. Ever. Why would he think that? Doing . . . that with Brennan is so wrong that I couldn't even imagine it.

"No!" I denied, "Of course not! Why the . . . I'm not!"

"Oh really?" he asked, "I won't be surprised he'd be after some girls when he has a girlfriend like Montana."

Yeah, I agree with him. A guy dating my sister would crave for other girls. Of course they'd want to escape Montana right from the first date. Brennan would crack sooner or later but I knew him. He has had morals. He'd never do that to Montana.

I sighed, "We're not cheating on Montana."

"I'm not going to pry more," said Jackson, "But there's something else."

"You're the first staff we've ever hired – in years," he continued. What?

"Mom never hires any staff, since a long time ago. Maids, drivers, cooks, there's none around here except you. Mom does all the housework because she works from home. That's how it's been for years."

I was impressed, Maira Dale. It would take forever to clean this whole mansion. And babysitting these two. But moms sometimes have unknown powers.

"So?" I asked him.

"Why would she start now? Why would she hire you?"

Why would she?

"I don't know!" I answered honestly, "Maybe she's busy now and she needs someone to help around?"

"No. She only goes to Dad's business meeting and parties every once in a while. Like now. But even if she's gone, we'd do fine here."

"I highly doubt that," I mumbled.

"Why are you really here, Oliver Ridge?"

"To work," I replied bluntly, "Cook for you, and earn some money."

He leaned back a little, but he was still looking at me. "Now that I remembered, you seem a little familiar."

I froze. He must have seen me in Sweet Moments. But only Clevemore students hung out there. No Acewell brat would be caught in a store like that. Or maybe it was Montana. Did we even look like each other?

Jackson snapped his fingers, "You're the one who scratched Isaac's car."

"Who now?"

"Isaac Mendez. Word got around that you scratched his car. His family is one of the richest in the country. There were pictures and videos of the whole thing. You're famous around Acewell."

Oh, yeah. Ginger. The one with the car "scratch".

"Happy to be finally a celebrity," I said, tone laced with sarcasm.

"I'm going to find out the truth about you, sweets," he smiled, but it wasn't really a happy smile, "There's something about you. And I'm going to find that out."

"Good luck with that." I stood up and dusted my jeans. "I'd have to wash these a hundred times. You infected it with your jackass-ness. Your room smells like it."

With my bag in tow, I went out the door.

I would never tell him, but I was scared of what he might find out.

♫ ♫ ♫

With one last swipe of the kitchen rag, I was convinced that the counter was sleek and shiny.

My gaze swept around the kitchen. I had cleaned this territory of mine for almost half an hour, and I think I did a pretty good job. The little mess from making Brennan's snack was gone, dust was nowhere to be found and all the dishes, utensils and glasses were perfectly clean. I took a deep breath while removing my apron.

Jackson entered the kitchen without even sparing me a glance, not that I wanted him to. I just didn't want to pick fight after fight with him. I knew I wouldn't last long that way. I glanced warily at my bag at the counter, thinking it might disappear into thin air and reappear in his hands.

To my relief, he went to the living room, probably off to Brennan. I didn't know if I could break them apart if they fought. I didn't know if I wanted to. Brennan always found my fights with Montana entertaining. Now that I'm here, it should be my turn to laugh at him. And maybe get some popcorn while watching them, too.

Maira wouldn't be able to blame me because after all, I'm just the cook. Not a maid. Not a babysitter. And my sanctuary, the kitchen, was spotless. I deserved a bonus for that.

I fished out my phone and played with it for a while by the counter (it involved texting Mitch and Mom and playing a few rounds of Temple Run). When I looked at the time at the upper right corner, it was ten minutes since I finished cleaning the kitchen.

"Ollie!" Brennan called out from the living room.

"What?"

"Can you get me the jar with choco covered raisins," he paused and added, "Top middle cupboard."

At least he tells me where things are.

I hopped from my seat and opened the said cupboard. I found the jar right away and got it – I'm a walking chocolate detector, after all – and walked to the living room.

I almost laughed out loud at the sight. The TV was on, Brennan was sitting on the couch and Jackson was lying down asleep, his feet propped on Brennan's lap. His mouth was wide open and he was snoring.

I forgot the urge to laugh when I saw something in Brennan's hands. It was a "Y" shaped stick with a yellow band attached to it.

"Is that a slingshot?" I asked Brennan.

He only looked innocently at me, putting his index finger to his lips. He took the jar from me and took out a chocolate covered raisin.

"Brennan," I asked slowly and quietly, "What are you doing?"

He pretended he didn't hear me. He positioned the little ball on the slingshot, pulled back and launched into the air. It sailed up in the air and landed on Jackson's face then rolled down his cheek, finally stopping at the base of his neck.

Brennan cursed and got another chocolate ball. I stayed by the entrance to see what would happen. Guys had this amazing superpower to sleep even with the worst distractions. I bet Jackson can sleep through an earthquake, storm and tsunami put together.

Did they do things like this all the time? When their parents weren't here?

Brennan launched another ball and it hit Jackson's nostril. When he exhaled, it rolled down to his chest.

Another ball by Brennan. It rolled down from his forehead.

Another one (by this time I was already hungry for those chocolate covered raisins) and it sailed higher than the others and down to Jackson's mouth.

He woke up with a start and started coughing. "Oh my gosh!" Brennan exclaimed dramatically, "I got one in the hole!"

Jackson glared at his brother, "You fagging little – ," he burst into a fit of coughs. I almost wanted to help him out. Almost.

Hey, he could still speak.

"It's stuck." Cough. "In." Cough. "My throat." Cough. Jackson choked out.

Brennan began standing up from the couch but Jackson suddenly tackled him. "Get it out, you bastard!"

"Alright, alright!" Brennan shifted to a sitting position and held his hands up.

He forced Jackson to stand up and wrapped his arms around his waist from the back. I suppressed a laugh. This is golden. Pure gold.

"Chill," Brennan said as Jackson struggled from his hold, "I'm doing the Haymitch maneuver!"

"It's the Heimlich maneuver, idiot!"

I chuckled softly.

Brennan pressed down his hands to Jackson's middle. Jackson made a sound like a cross between a cry and a cough. Brennan pumped again, harder this time. Jackson was squirming against him.

"Something's on my ass!" Jackson managed to say.

"Don't pretend you don't like it!" Brennan pumped some more.

"Brennan!"

This was so wrong.

With one final pump, the chocolate ball flew out of Jackson's mouth and zipped through the air in a blur of brown. Brennan looked around, still holding his brother, "Hey, where'd it go?"

My eyes followed the chocolate covered raisin as it hit the wall and bounced back, only to hit Brennan on the side of his forehead. He released Jackson in surprise and stumbled back and slipped, then tumbled on the floor. All because of one chocolate ball.

Jackson wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at Brennan. Then he turned to me, glared, and stalked off the room. I was still trying to hold in my laughs.

Brennan got up and stared at the discarded chocolate covered raisin.

"Don't tell me you want to eat it," I smirked at him.

His face flushed red and he looked away, "Of course, not."

"Uh huh."

"I don't! I don't even like raisins."

I gasped and put a hand over my chest, "Don't be raisinst!"

He went out of the room, his face still beet red.

I was officially in love with chocolate covered raisins.

♫ ♫ ♫