8 | Sticky Toffee Pudding

I had this urge to squeeze their bathroom into my bag and take it home with me.

It was absolutely amazing. It was the kind of bathroom where you could take a long shower or soak in the bathtub, drowning in your immense thoughts and your own wonderland. It literally put the 'comfort' in comfort room that I could sleep in here or have a party or two. I was serious. They had these shiny lights around the delicate mirror, the subtle details in the walls and tiles made everything beautiful and a gorgeous array of soaps and toiletries sat in the swirling shelves beside the bath area. If this is what the guest bathroom looked like, I could only imagine what the master bedroom looked like.

With Brennan waking me up way before my wake-time, I already expected the dark creases under my eyes. But I couldn't care less. As I stood in front of the full length mirror in nothing but a towel, I cackled – laughed, to put it lightly – as I blew the blow drier on full-blast at the side of my head. It made my hair fly in different directions.

For anyone's information, I was used to letting my hair dry naturally, because I had lack of experience with a blow drier. I used to think it was strange – women would spend loads of electricity to blow hot air into their heads (as if they weren't already full enough of that). But experiencing it myself now, I loved the blast on my face and cheeks and on my hair, it tickled. I didn't bother to comb through my locks – the tornado-inspired hairdo after the blow drying was worth it.

Loud knocks from outside the bedroom pulled me out of my reverie. Frowning a bit, I set down the blow drier and marched over to the door. My phone woke me up this morning (set to an alarm which was a recording of my mother waking me up) but I might or might not have hit the snooze button a couple times. I wouldn't be surprised if they were asking for me already – there was school today and I needed to cook. I had planned to pull off a five-minute in the bathroom, but unfortunately the room itself was so inviting.

It was not Maira on the door, nor Brennan, but jackass himself. Jackson stood there, all dressed in his Acewell uniform, consisting of a jacket and slacks. I grinned in amusement as I saw his blanched face, "What? Haven't you seen a girl in a towel before?"

Those words tainted his cheeks with a pink color as he cleared his throat. He handed me some clothes, "Mom wanted me to give these to you. She hopes they fit." I took them from him and squinted at them – simple tee and simple jeans.

"No underwear?"

Another clear of throat. This one should really gargle some water. "No, sorry."

Of course no underwear – you can't expect that lying around anywhere. I shrugged, "Fine with me. Thanks, by the way." That was when I realized he was looking everywhere but at my face. My grin grew wider - he was so flushed.

Jackson was about to leave when I held him up. I took a step forward. He took a step back, blinking rapidly. I crossed my arms in front of my chest. This boy was so calm and collected yesterday and he even stole my bag. Obviously, he wasn't who I judged him to be because he complimented my Nutella spaghetti last night. But that could be the lack of sleep talking. And now, he was so flustered as if he was embarrassed in front of millions. "What is wrong with you?" I waved a hand in front of his face. "There is exactly one layer of cloth separating my naked body from your eyes. Tell me, is there something wrong that? Does it make a difference if I'm dressed?"

It was a pretty big towel, too.

And actually, I didn't mind prancing around our empty house in this. Towels were pretty comfy. So were bathrobes.

"No," he said through gritted teeth. But damn, he was still avoiding my eyes.

"Alright." But it wasn't alright. "Is your mom waiting for me to prepare breakfast? Tell her, I'll be down in a minute. It's still pretty early anyway – "

"Don't bother," he cut me off, "She's already cooking."

My eyebrows shot up. I knew I shouldn't have hit that snooze button. Now, I'm missing my work. "Oh. Then, tell her I'll be down anyway."

He merely nodded and stalked off, hands in his pockets. I tried to call his name, but he only looked back once, and walked faster. I chuckled - maybe if I pushed the right buttons I could push Jackson Dale off a cliff. Probably have him drag Brennan with him, too. I closed my door and began to change.

By the time I was ready to leave the room, I had my bag slung over my shoulder, I had sent a text message to Mom, telling her that I was fine and still well-fed and I had a last session with that heavenly blow drier. I had also mustered the strength to make the bed to be polite enough for the Dales. The clothes Jackson gave were snug, not too loose that they dragged behind me or too tight that they made me waddle. I ran down the stairs and into the kitchen to find Maira busy making food. She was like a fairy and the boys . . . What happened to the boys anyway? Their mother was so nice.

"Morning," I panted, slumping, "Sorry, I woke up late." Jackson was nowhere in sight and so was Brennan. If the former was waking the other brother up, I'd hate to miss the show. But speaking of the boys' antics, I would save the one they did last night for ammunition of mine if I needed it. I wanted to laugh out loud at all the things I can hold as blackmail pieces if I stayed here long.

"Good morning," Maira turned towards me, smiling, "And don't worry about it, Ollie. I'll exempt you from breakfast meals because I know you have school and a home to take care of."

I settled awkwardly on a stool, bouncing a leg. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Of course," she waved her hand to summon me to the counter, "You can pack up their lunches for them. They'll love to have some food from the house for once." I began getting some ingredients and materials to make up a meal. If there was any work that I had the motivation to do in the morning, it would be eating. Cooking came a close second.

A few minutes into making cheese-covered tacos, the boys hopped down from the stairs, with Jackson pushing Brennan and Brennan swatting his brother's hand away. Though the younger Dale was already dressed, Brennan looked like he rolled over to all sides of the bed. Slouching, he yawned as he made his way to the kitchen. Brennan mumbled a little 'good morning' as he scratched his back.

My face twisted into distaste. When I thought boys looked hotter waking up than girls . . . Oh my, was that drool dribbling down his chin?

My hands itched to grab my phone and snap a photo.

"What's for breakfast?" Brennan went over behind the kitchen counter and dropped his head on it. I spotted Jackson shuffling through his bag, trying not to look annoyed.

"Ah, just the usual," Maira walked back to the stove, "Some eggs, bacon and pancakes."

Brennan's head snapped up in a sudden, and then he looked back and forth between me and his mother with his eyes so wide. "Wh – what?" he stumbled through his words, "Mom's cooking?" This caught Jackson's attention, too, as he stopped with whatever he was doing and looked up in surprise.

My eyebrows furrowed. So what was wrong with Maira cooking?

"Yeah," Maira shrugged a shoulder, "Oliver here still has school to think about, and I think we should at least keep her off work for a while. She's preparing your lunches, though."

Brennan was already fully awake. "What!" he said in a high pitch, "But – but she's supposed to cook breakfast."

"Don't start with me now, Brennan," Maira turned back to her cooking and I put my focus into what I was doing. Seriously, what was these boys' problem?

"No," Brennan said softly, "No." Jackson was following suit. I felt two hands on my shoulders and then I was pulled to the side by none other than Brennan. He had his eyes wide in fear and worry as he shook me back and forth. "No, no, no," he whispered.

I pulled back, scowling, "What is wrong with you?"

He took hold of my shoulders again. I remembered one time when I stayed in Reynold Records – I did visit that cursed building – I found him hiding behind extra props in the storage because apparently, he screwed something up and he knew his manager had the feeling that it was him who did it. It turned out that he was the one who broke the coffee machine in the lounge, which sent the room flooding with the hot beverage. Let's just say that in the end, he received a good scolding from Dad and a slap from my sister. Anyway, that look he had when I found him was the look he was wearing now.

"You can't let Mom cook our breakfast, do you understand?" he enunciated every word carefully, "One of the reasons why we love you being here is that Mom is the worst cook ever – hands down. No joke, she got Dad food poisoned one time. That's why for the past years, we have been living off Chinese takeout, restaurant food, and pizza. Do not let her cook, please."

I glanced at Jackson. Even he had this pleading look on him. Now I knew it was serious.

"Okay," I said softly and slowly, taking Brennan's hands from myself, "But he's your mother, Brennan. I'm afraid I can't do anything. Look – she's already cooking." Maira was humming and floating around. I found it hard to believe that the result could be disastrous.

"But – "

I shut him up with one look, and then went back to their lunches. Brennan walked over to my side, peering at the meat I was cutting aggressively. "You're making us packed lunch?" he mumbled. In the background, I heard Jackson trying to persuade his mother to let me cook.

"I think that's what I'm doing," I aimed the knife at him, "And if you come any closer, I won't hesitate to poison this one."

He just took tiny steps backward, "Oliver food can never be poisoned food. That would be impossible."

I snorted, resisting the desire to spit on what I was making. Even though these two seemed to enjoy whatever I made, I found it hard to taste my cooking as 'delicious'. For me, food prepared just for me (like Mom's cooking or the shop's products) tasted way better than the actual food I cooked.

When breakfast was all set on the table and the boys' lunches were packed up in paper bags, Brennan's hands were shaking and his eyes darted around as if he was looking for any means of escape, Jackson was staring at the (good enough-looking) food on the table like it would be the meal that would kill him and Maira looked pleased with herself as she sat down. In my opinion, the food didn't look half as bad. So what were the boys on about?

The boys merely watched me as I scooped up a generous amount of bacon and pancakes into my plate. I narrowed my eyes at them and dug in.

And that wasn't what I really expected.

The bacon tasted like it was burnt and for some reason it was bland – not like how bacon should be. The pancakes felt like cardboard in my mouth, and were all hard to chew, as if the batter was tainted. Trust me, I was not on Gordon Ramsay standards here, but the food . . . should not be considered food at all.

I almost cringed when I thought of spitting it out as I saw Maira, who was looking at me hopefully. This lady was so kind and overall great, but the flaw in the beauty was cooking. I fought hard to chew the food properly and force it down my throat. So this was what the boys were talking about. I almost felt sorry for them.

"Well?" Maira beamed at me, "How was it?"

My mouth quivered. "Good. It was awesome."

"I'm glad to hear that," she grinned widely as she munched happily on her own cooking. Was she immune to it, or something?

I heard a snort from Brennan and a snicker from Jackson but I shushed them up with a glare. I took small bites of the food, not wanting to kill myself and also not wanting to appear rude. Meanwhile, the brothers were picking at their food and taking occasional bites out of it – Brennan was even wincing at each time he eats out of it. Maira didn't seem to notice, though.

"Um," I leaned back, gazing at my plate which was only half-empty – not once did I expect the day to come, "I'd hate to leave you early, but I really need to get home because I have school. I have this ride that will pick me up and . . . "What a great white lie I have made up. Or half-made up. Mitch did pick me up every morning.

I was about to stand up but Maira stopped me, "Oh come on, Ollie, finish your food! I'll have Brennan take you and Jackson to school. Tell your mom that you won't need a ride."

I sat back down slowly. "Ride from Brennan?" I repeated in a whisper.

Before I could protest and say that she already had done so much for me, Jackson beat me to it. He sat up straighter, "No, Mom! I don't want a ride from Brennan. I can drive on my own."

Maira's gaze snapped up to him. She pointed her fork at him, "Don't try to argue with me now. You left Brennan when he was picking you up last week, so you have a full week of ride from him." This elicited a whoop from Brennan.

Jackson scowled, "Okay, but I don't want her to ride with us. She's annoying." He didn't need to point for me to know he was talking about me.

I faced him, putting on my straight face, "I probably should, because you're a little low on estrogen. Your life must be really boring." Brennan had completely left his plate and was looking at us as if we're about to pull off a battle more epic than the ones in Pokémon.

Jackson ignored me and looked at Maira, "Mom, please not her. That thing and Brennan combined . . . it's a nightmare."

Maira was busy texting on her phone. She looked at her son with a nonchalant expression and said, "You and Brennan combined is a nightmare, honey. I think Ollie can be a pretty good referee."

"Or audience," I piped up smirking, pulling out my phone to send that text message to Mom. And probably tell her that I wanted to stay permanently with the Dales as long as I got to cook the food.

"I'm out," Jackson grunted and left, probably the argument an excuse for him not to consume any more of the 'breakfast'. Smart boy.

Maira sent me an apologetic smile as Brennan started to pick at his food again. "I'm really sorry for these two. You have no idea how humiliated I am with them sometimes." Hearing that, Brennan stared at his mom incredulously. "My husband Walter isn't here yet," she continued, "But he'll be home this afternoon when you come by. You don't mind cooking us up snacks and dinner, right?"

"As long as I have enough time for homework." I looked forward to using this job as an excuse, but hell knew that Mom was going to run me on a cheese grater if I put this ahead of school.

"Thank you," said Maira.

I always wondered what Walter Dale was like. I have never seen him in person, nor met him and that often left me to wonder if he was like any of children or if he was different. I wondered if he was the successful dad who took pride in making Dad jokes or if he was as neglectful and much of a workaholic like my own father. I wondered if he harbored the same hate towards my Dad.

And it looked like I was finding out for myself later on.

"Was he . . ." I avoided my gaze from the unappetizing food in front me. "Was it him who hired me for this job?" Maybe making small talk with Maira can get me out of eating. Or else I had to inject all these bacon and pancakes down my esophagus.

"He was the one who suggested hiring a cook," Maira replied. Well that explained a lot. If he tasted his wife's cooking . . . "But I helped him pick out the person to get."

I tensed up. If Walter had chosen me, did that mean he knew me, the less known Reynolds daughter whose father tried hard to keep out of public buzz? Shouldn't Dad have considered that he knew me, being his business rival? Or was my resume made that convincing? I glanced at Maira warily, and then at Brennan, who was frowning but still silent. I had to thank him for keeping his mouth duct taped.

Thinking of meeting Walter Dale for the first time made me think that tonight's dinner could be an awful episode. It would be like serving royalty and receiving critique from them. Or maybe I was just out of my mind. Or maybe I was just paranoid of getting found out. If only I could verbally blame Dad.

Brennan cleared his throat (it was so fake that his acting manager would have smacked him) and pushed back his chair. "Mom, I think we have to go. Ollie and Jackson still have school. Paul would be looking for me, too."

His mother nodded, "Okay. Remember to get your brother. Drag him to the car for all I care." Then she looked at me, "Thank you so much for working here, Ollie. These boys really need it."

"No, I should thank you," I laughed shakily, taking hold of my bag, "You let me stay the night. And these clothes."

"Just remember to keep it shushed about being here, okay?" she reminded me, "You don't want reporters hanging around wherever you go. Or scandals."

"My experience here is not something I'm proud of anyway," I glanced at Brennan, who was calling his brother down like Jackson was a dog.

♫ ♫ ♫

As I stared at Brennan's car, which he was pulling out of the garage, I paid close attention to the tires which had my sandwiches' corpses on them last Friday. Now, the front tires were clean, with no trace of meat remains. Thinking about them made me hungry for a proper breakfast. But I shook my head and hopped into the car, next to Brennan, who was checking himself out on the mirror. I dumped my bag underneath and propped my feet up the dashboard.

Brennan looked at me and opened his mouth to speak, but I stabbed his nose with a finger to keep him from speaking. "I'm glad you kept your mouth on a leash," I thanked him, "But you have to keep it on for a while because I'm not talking if he's in the car." I knew Brennan was craving why I really got a job at theirs. But it would have been easier if he received an explanation from Dad beforehand. But I trusted him on this, because I planned on telling him everything.

Brennan nodded and kept his hands on the steering wheel. "But I told you so," he said to me, "I told you Mom's cooking was poison." Jackson then came in, headphones on, and took the backseat. He put his legs across the whole seat and leaned against the door as Brennan started driving.

"You should've listened, sweets," he told me, shaking his head.

I whipped around to glare at him, "I'm sorry, okay? But you both deserve eating that kind of food because you woke me up in the middle of the night!"

"Actually it was already morn – "

"Shut up!"

Jackson looked at his brother, "Drop me off first. Acewell's nearer."

"Alright princess," Brennan mocked, "Why do you hate it so much when I give you a ride anyway?"

"Because if you drop me off, there's a huge chance girls will be flocking around the car." Jackson then continued in a white girl accent, "'Oh my gosh, Brennan, show us your man boobs!' "

My eyes switched from brother to brother, my lips tugging up in amusement. I couldn't help but spot a bit of Oliver-Montana relationship in them, but theirs is ten times more playful and less hostile. They were like dogs and my sister and I, the cats. And as much as I didn't like Jackson, I snickered to give him credit for that impression. I couldn't have done it better myself.

"Excuse me, princess," Brennan puckered his lips in the most glamorous way, "I don't have man boobs. I have muscle boobs, and those melt the ladies to the ground." He touched the left side of his chest and squeezed. Now my hand was inching closer to my phone.

"You're disgusting," Jackson deadpanned, "Why am I even related to you?"

Brennan nodded, "I wonder the same thing, too. I'm too good for you, no offense."

Yes offense.

When his brother fell silent, Brennan looked at me. "Like you and Montana," he whispered faintly.

"Please," I scoffed softly, "We're way worse. I admit I'm kind of jealous of your relationship."

"Oh, it gets better," his eyebrows moved up and down.

I stared out the window and watched the scenery mold into the familiar streets of Los Angeles. I put my fist against my cheek, probably making my face looked all mashed up and ridiculous. Not yet two days with the Dale brothers and they're driving me crazy, but also leaving me in intense laughter. I wondered how it would be if Montana and I were locked together in the same room. I'd lose a nail and a tooth and maybe a few clumps of hair if that was the situation.

And that led me to admire these two. They argue and insult each other in their clever ways, but when it came to a crisis, they immediately worked together. Take Maira, for example, a force equaled both brothers and maybe more. Avoiding her food was something that seemed like teamwork motivation for the two of them.

They were just so . . . sibling goals.

"How long?" Jackson suddenly said, "How long have you both known each other?"

Brennan met my eyes through them mirror, but I instantly averted my gaze. This thing bothering me was that the other Dale brother might find out. Jackson was not an idiot like Brennan, so there was a huge possibility that he'll force it out of us or look for answers himself.

"A few years or so," Brennan finally answered, telling the truth. I did meet him when I was fifteen. "More than a couple."

"And you know each other so well, how?" Jackson pressed on further. He was leaning towards us now, eager to hear what was between us.

"It's none of your business," I still kept my eyes out the window, "Don't pry into it, princess. We know each other – that's it." From the corner of my eyes I saw Brennan sneaking glances at me. I pushed my head harder into the glass. I wished they would go back to fighting.

"Really?" Said Jackson, "Because I think you both are having an affair."

"Hold up there," Brennan spoke this time, "I may be the heartbreaker, but I would never cheat on anyone. Even if it's a fake relationship."

So the Dales knew it was fake.

"How do you expect me to believe that?" So much suspicion laced Jackson's tone, "I know you're hiding something. I'll find out soon."

Then the car rested in silence. The trip to the school seemed to last for hours. Fortunately, I busied myself from the tension as I read through Mitch's texts from yesterday and this morning. Her messages said nothing about my current job with the Dales or Brennan, but there were implications on the posts and messages she was sending. And by implications I meant sexual implications. And by that I meant implications involving the two brothers.

There would be no shutting her up when I get to school.

A loud and shrill ringing erupted in the car. Brennan yelped and the car sped out of control for a millisecond. I looked out back, "What was that?" Jackson was already raking through the back, and then he pulled out a sleek Samsung phone which was causing the racket.

He pressed 'decline' on the phone. "Why is your phone here?" Jackson asked Brennan. So it was Brennan's phone. I had no idea he had the Hannah Montana theme song as a ringtone.

"Don't blame me!" Brennan ground, "Montana won't stop calling and texting me yesterday. I had to throw it out somewhere." Montana? Why, that explained the ringtone. And if I were Brennan, I would definitely do the same. Probably throw the phone into the river or toilet.

"And why was Mr. Reynolds calling you? Eleven missed calls here," Jackson browsed through the phone. For a moment, I locked gazes with Brennan. It was Dad trying to call him about me. Personally, I would be more afraid if I had that much missed calls from Mom, but Brennan would be toast once he had a word with my father.

"Give me that!" Brennan tried to reach out for it as the car swerved a little. "How did you even know my password?"

Jackson looked up, slowly, "I don't think zero-zero-zero-zero is even valid as a real password." Why, of course. I knew before that Brennan's password was his birth date and it was that for three years until Montana figured it out and snooped through his phone. It was so brilliant of him to change it into something more complicated.

"Ollie! Get me my phone!" Brennan yelled as he drove.

And that was how I ended up with my butt hanging from the top of the seat and half my body trying to reach for the stupid phone. Brennan was still yelling and shouting encouragements and I would kick him to shut him up – and he won't.

Jackson, on the other hand, held the phone between two fingers, dangling it in front of me but pulling it away before I could grasp it. I had to side with Brennan this time, because who knows if Dad left voice messages or texts in there, consequently revealing my ulterior motives to Jackson. I glared and grunted at him, seeing a slight smirk forming on his face.

"I take it back; it's fun riding with you," he said.

"You'll regret this!" I told him. And I'll regret it, too.

I crawled over to the backseat – hurting my middle in the process – and went on top of Jackson. He held it high above his head, but I snatched it, almost letting it go. On my trip back to the front, Jackson caught hold of my waist and pulled me back, but I kicked and squirmed. I flung my arms out and the back of my hand slapped his face. As payback, he pulled at my hair as we tumbled back on the seat. My leg tried to aim for his precious jewels but he had me on a tight hold.

"Kids, kids!" Brennan tried calm us down, "Not too much fun on the backseat. My poor car . . ."

"I'm just trying to – " I bit Jackson on his finger and he, in turn, flicked my forehead. " – save your ass!"

And mine, too.

I wouldn't be surprised if the police pulled us over. Nonetheless, I didn't care. I fought and screamed like crazy as Jackson did the same.

"Calm down!" Brennan's voice rose over our little battle. "I've got it!" And in his fingers he held his phone.

Like it was a pause button, Jackson and I pulled away from each other. Frustrated, I leaned back and caught my breath, wanting nothing more now than to strangle Brennan's pretty little head. I glared daggers – guns, if you don't mind – at the back of his head as he hummed and tapped his fingers. Bastard. Son of a . . . No, that would insult Maira.

But that was the picture – the idiot couldn't have told us sooner.

I decided I didn't want to go back to the front seat, fearing that I might attack Brennan if I was nearer. He was the driver; doing that might bring on an accident on the way to school. If paparazzi heard, they would be like ants to chocolate.

I spared a glance at Jackson, who was fixing his hair and clothes. He huffed and stared out the other window, going back to status: moody teenager. I couldn't blame him – my attacks on him hurt like hell after all.

Finally, we pulled up in front Acewell, past the gates. It was closest I've been to the buildings and everywhere all I could see were maroon, white and black. Jackson seemed to fit in perfectly. He scrambled out of the car quickly and wordlessly shut the door. I watched him disappear through the doors.

"In case you're wondering, Jackson overworks himself in school," Brennan told me as he began driving out of the area and headed the way to my school, "That guy's a perfectionist – never slacked off once. I worry about him sometimes." I pressed my lips together. So far, Jackson Dale was surprising me in many ways.

"Okay, so now I can talk to you," Brennan continued, "What's up with getting a job at ours? Not that I'm complaining."

I didn't want to answer because I was still made at him. I leaned forward and fetched my bag from the front and hugged it to my chest. "What's this about, Ollie?" Brennan looked at me through the mirror, "Was it the phone? Come on, it was fun watching you both."

I wanted to avoid the topic. That was stupid – I rarely fought with anyone with anyone physically (by that I mean it only applied to Montana) and yet not more than ten minutes ago, I was forced to bit, kick and punch for that stupid phone. I hated it. It required moving and sweating. I didn't like moving and sweating.

"Does Jackson or your parents know who I am?" I asked him instead.

"What do you mean?"

"Do they know that there's a third Reynolds daughter who lives with Grant Reynolds' ex-wife?"

He shrugged, "Your family isn't much of a topic at ours. If we would be talking about a Reynolds, it would be Montana or Grant. But my dad doesn't hate yours – in fact Grant's the least of his worries. Your dad's like Mr. Turner and mine Dinkleberg."

"So they don't know about me? At all?" I pressed on.

"No, I don't think so."

I leaned back. Even though that was the case, I knew Jackson would investigate about it. He's curious. And suspicious. That was a deadly combination I didn't want to think about. "Then I trust you to keep this secret," I said to him.

"You want me to pull over or something?" he asked.

I snorted, "The last thing I want is to be caught in public talking to you. I'll make this quick." Then, I began recounting what the contract said. Brennan listened intently to every word and instead of amusement dotting his eyes like the usual, it was a whole other emotion I couldn't place.

When I finished, he took a deep breath, "You really think this would work?"

"It should. This was Dad's crazy plan, not mine. So keep your mouth shut, yes?"

"That's fine with me," said he, "As long as I get to eat Oliver food and see you fight with my brother, your secret's safe with me."

"Dad will probably talk to you about it or something," I peered through the window. We were nearing my school. "Stop over here." I motioned towards the sidewalk not far from the entrance.

"Shouldn't I come in?"

Then, I repeated Jackson's impression, "'Oh Brennan, show us your gorgeous bellybutton!'" As soon as the car stopped, I hopped out after saying a little thanks to Brennan.

"You know I'm always gorgeous," he winked at me before I closed the door.

I trudged towards my school and went inside, where Mitch promised to be waiting. She grabbed my bag from behind and cornered me on the lockers. Today, her hair was tied up into two braids, and she had a butterfly hairpin which was always, part of her collection. "Slow down babe," I smirked at her, "I know you missed me."

She ignored that comment, "Two words. Describe everything."

My eyes shot skyward. "It was similar to being stuck in a tornado, and then it spits you out to paradise then eats you up again. Over and over again. Same process."

Mitch stared at her fingers, "That was not two words."

"I don't know man, high school screws you over."

She looked at me again with wide eyes, "Come over at mine later? Or do you have work right away?"

"So you really did miss me – "

"Okay I did. Now Oliver!" She frowned. I chuckled.

I rubbed my chin, thinking about it. "I may have little time before I go to work. Supposing I don't get detention today."

She took my hand as we walked through the halls, "Great. Now don't get detention so you could come over and do homework with me."

"You mean procrastinate with homework and eat and lie around?"

"Exactly." We trudged faster as the ringing of the bell sounded around the place.

What a day to be late.

♫ ♫ ♫

"Added another photo?" I flicked through the album, paying particular attention to the bookmarked pages. We were at Mitch's where I was looking through one of her best collections, a photo album of car license plates – she took every single one herself and printed them right away. The colored paper marks pointed out the cool ones like MEH247 and more. Meanwhile, Mitch herself was dusting her collection of antique dog figurines.

"Page one hundred and forty-seven," she glanced at me once, and I immediately searched for the page.

It was bookmarked, and one photo stood out of the four. It was a license plate with SNP394 written on it. I snickered, "Snape three hundred ninety-four? Shut up."

"I know," she crawled next to me on the bed, "The van had Harry Potter spray painted on it. I had to take a video because it wasn't steady. I had my head outside the car window." Not to mention, she was also driving.

I grinned and closed the album. Mitch's bedroom was fairly neater than my plain one, with her different collections spread out to show off. She was also obsessed with Do-It-Yourself antics so her room was more than colorful and wild. For me, what stood out were the Polaroid photos of food hanging a bit below the ceiling. They even came with those cute little wooden clothespins.

"You have food around here, or do I have to raid your kitchen?" I asked her, leaning against the wall.

"Hold on to your panties, I've got pudding," she crawled to the mini-refrigerator that proudly stood on top of a dresser. I was always envious that she had that inside her own bedroom. If I had one in mine, my life could change. Unfortunately, my fridge and I suffered a long distance relationship.

Mitch took out two cups of delicious toffee pudding. It was her mother's trademark snack. Mrs. Morgan wasn't a better cook than my mom but she didn't go way below Maira Dale level either. Her pudding rocked, though. It was sticky and sweet and it was always toffee flavored. Mitch and I loved it.

"Oh yes, yes, my precious," I brought the spoon to my mouth, enjoying it as it melted in my mouth.

"I thought I was your precious," Mitch frowned. I waved her off and shoveled spoon after spoon in my mouth. I was so hungry – I had to take care of homework so that left me with a sandwich for lunch and after that Mitch and I went straight to her house. By the time I will come home later, I'll probably eat out the whole kitchen.

"I want you to tell me how it went," she jabbed her spoon to my direction, "In the craziest way you can. I need drama, come on."

"What do you want to know?"

"Their younger son Jackson, who is our age and totally single, in case you didn't know, was he as delicious as the photos show?"

"I don't know Mitch, I didn't taste him." I would prefer not to talk about that boy.

"I'm serious!"

I looked at Mitch straight in the eyes. "He's a massive jerk. Maybe not an idiot, but he's mean. He demanded me to bring chips to his room, which he didn't bother giving me directions to and then when I found him, he said he wanted a different one. He wants to find out why I'm really working there so that's scaring me."

"Are all guys jerks to you?" asked Mitch.

I licked my spoon, "Misha Collins is not a jerk."

She laughed, "Alright. What about Maira Dale? What was she like?"

"Mom and Maira have a lot in common, actually. They're both bothered by their kids –" Actually, Mom was bothered by only me. " – both snarky and not so uptight about things . . . oh, and both have mom powers. Maira's really nice. She likes me more than those two boys."

Then, I lowered my voice, "Only thing is that the woman couldn't cook. At first it looks okay, but then it's horrible once you taste it. Apparently, the boys have been suffering through that for years. They were so grateful to have me. This morning, she cooked breakfast and I didn't want to appear rude."

Mitch sucked her teeth, "Ouch." I nodded in agreement. "What about Walter Dale, though?"

"I haven't met him yet," I told her, "But Maira said he'll be coming for dinner. I don't know what he's like."

"Okay. How's my darling Brennan, by the way?" I could practically see her irises forming into hearts. Creepy.

"Same old," I said then recounted what had happened in the car. She listened carefully, laughing in some parts. "He's stupid to be around," I babbled, "But I know he'll keep my secret."

And at that moment, my phone chose the time to ring. I took it out and almost wanted to decline it when I saw the caller ID. Sighing, I answered, "Brennan's Sperm Donating Center. How may I help you?" Mitch looked up at the mention of his name. She hastily took a mini-speaker from her nightstand and pointed to it, mouthing the word. I put the phone on speaker.

"How funny, Oliver, I actually ran out of laughs," Brennan said from the other line. I held my finger on my lips to keep Mitch from saying or doing anything idiotic.

"It's too early for you to call," I groaned, "Whatever poop comes from your mouth, Dale, I don't want any part of it. Goodbye." My finger hovered over the 'end call' button.

"Wait! Wait!" He yelled, "Ollie, please! This is an emergency!"

"Define emergency."

"You have to come here, please! I'm hungry and if you don't come over here to make snacks, I'm going to eat Jackson!"

"How tragic."

"Hurry, Ollie! I'm already biting him!" I heard some shuffling from the background and soon followed Jackson's yelp and curses along with Brennan's zombie impressions.

I sighed. I was not a cooking machine. Had they ever heard of a microwave? Or junk food? Or restaurants?

"As much as I want to hear more of your kinky stuff, I'm busy Brennan," I told him.

"Busy what? Eating?"

"Let me tell you about the wonders of homework." Ironically, I wasn't doing anything about it. "It's this task to do some schoolwork at home which completely opposes its definition. Unfortunately, there is no getting out of it. So I have to cut this wonderful conversation short – "

"Oliver! No!"

"Don't be a child." Then beep, there went the call. Right after it ended, Mitch erupted into laughter – intense laughter that involved tears in your eyes.

"They're hilarious!" she clutched her stomach.

I stared at her accusingly, "Only them? Where's my credit?"

"Eh, you too."

Mitch looked at me, "Are you going? Brennan needs you."

"And you need me more."

♫ ♫ ♫