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My mother had insisted on Gary and Ronny staying for dinner because she was making her famous Sloppy Pepper as she called it, because when I was six years old she had introduced me to the sloppy goodness, turned her back to me for a smidge of a second, and then turned back around to see that I had literally face planted into my plate to get the last pieces of slop.

                  It was that good.

                  So there I was, enjoying the first forkful of mother's famous, mouth watering, slightly spicy sloppy goodness when mother dearest set down her fork, folded her hands together, and with a bright smile asked, "Gary! How long have you and Pepper been "shaking the headboards" as you young people say?"

                  Gary paused mid-bite, his eyes widening.

                  My father choked on his bread.

                  Ronny gave me a look and then slowly and discreetly started to hump the table.

                  "Nobody says that mom and we're not having sex," I muttered, cheeks burning. And not the cheeks that cry for mercy after my 10 mile runs. I'm talking about the cheeks on my face. I, Pepper Ballard, was blushing like a school girl.

                        "I would never have sex with Pepper, she's Pepper," Gary said, quickly shooting me a look when he realized what he had said.

                  I looked down at my food, frowning. She's Pepper? What the hell did that mean?

                  "And what exactly is wrong with my daughter that you wouldn't have sex with her?" Dad's expression was absolutely blank and his eyes were unblinking as if he was seconds away to challenging Gary to a duel."

                  I could see it now. I sat amongst my throne, gazing down at my peasants and my father and true love battling against each other in an arena. BAM. Swords collided. They were evenly matched. Or so I thought when-- BAM! My father had lost. Gary ripped off his golden chest piece, threw it thousands of feet in the air to me, then floated over the crowd like a beautiful angel towards me, his arms outstretched and his delicious abs exposed. He landed before my throne, kneeling and flipping his ancient braid in slow motion that had brushed along the dirt in the arena over his shoulder.

                  "My beautiful Queen," he would say seductively, then stand up and do a pelvic thruster right in front of my face multiple times. "Bear my hundreds of children, or I shall draw angry demonic pictures of you outside your palace!"

                  "Sigh," I would say dreamily and rip off my clothes.

                  I would then leap into his arms and we would float magically across the world to his bedroom where we would make sweet, sweet--"

                  "Peppy what are you doing?" Mom wondered as I dreamily put my hands up towards the ceiling, imagining Gary's naked chest floating me across the ocean.

                  I snapped out of it. "Oh, what?" I laughed nervously. "Just stretching!"

                  Gary and my father kept screaming. Appearing uncomfortable, Ronny coughed into his hand. I couldn't blame him, he was sitting in the middle of Gary and my father who was clutching his knife in his hand like a weapon after all.

                  Mom looked entirely unhappy. "My Peppy is still a virgin?" She then straightened herself. "I mean...good! Your loss, bucko!"

                  Gary backtracked. "Whoa, whoa. I didn't mean to hurt Pepper or offend any of you, I meant to say that she just isn't my type."

                  My mother banged her fist on the table. "Us Ballard's may lack jugs in the chest region but we sure pack a punch in our Netherland and backside region. I'll have you know that I--!"

                  "MOM--!"

                  "My daughter is a prize!" Dad roared, slamming his fist on the table. "She's that extra large prize at the boardwalk that you never win, and when you do, you hold onto that prize and you never strap it to the roof of the car because who knows if it will hold on tight enough, and if she falls off the roof, she's not coming back to you ever again. So you put that prize in your car, and you like that prize! And if you don't like that prize, then no more board walk games for you, jackass!"

                  "Dad," I said less loud and firmly, placing my hand on his. "No caveman. You father. Father no eat Gary."

                  Dad's eyes softened as he looked like me, his hands lightly squeezing mine. "I just don't want you to feel insecure about your imperfections."

                  At that, I frowned. "What imperfections?"

                  "We do lack in the chest area, baby, I was being serious," Mom said. "If we were perfect we wouldn't be able to take off our shirts, put a bag over our heads, and fool people into thinking we're guys."

                  "My boobs aren't that small," I defended, looking to Gary and Ronny. "Right?"

                  Gary's eyes dropped to my chest and he put a hand briefly to his chin, analyzing the problematic area. "They're a decent size...", he replied in that monotonous voice of his, taking out his notebook and clicking his pen.

                  "Hey! Don't draw my boobs, you pervert!" I said, throwing my bread at Gary's face.

                  He slowly put his notepad back onto his lap. "Fine."

                  DAMN, GIVE A BROTHA A BREAK! LOOK AT HIS CLOWN MAKEUP! THE POOR BOY. THE ONLY "P" GARY PROBABLY GETS IS HIS ANIME BODY PILLOW. HE CAN DRAW ME LIKE ONE OF THOSE FRENCH GIRLS ALL HE WANTS.

                  I was so thankful I hadn't said that out loud.

                  Dad stood up from the table, glaring at Gary. "Are you looking at my baby's nonexistent breasts? She's my baby. I cleaned her butt every single day when she was a baby and had the runs. That's dedication. And love. Keep gazing at them, and next time you get horny you'll be staring at your nonexistent pen--"

                  "Dad!" I squeaked.

                  "They're definitely not nonexistent," Gary said to his Sloppy Pepper on his plate. "you should have seen the top she wore yesterday. And I'm not even looking at her, sir, I'm eating."

                  My dad was now ready to pounce."Why aren't you looking at my daughter?"

                  Face reddening, I pushed back my chair and stood up as well. "Gary! You're digging yourself a bigger hole here!"

                  "This salad is delish, Mrs. Ballard!" Ronny beamed, eating his food amongst our yelling.

                  "Digging himself a bigger hole?! Sexual reference!" Mom stood up as well. "That was definitely a sexual reference and my child will not have a sexually transmitted disease! Not in my house!" She then threw a box of condoms at the center of the table. "Wear condoms! All of you!"

                  Gary stood up and screamed in sync with me, "We didn't have sex and he's/she's not my type!"

                  "I see your glass is empty. I will fill it, Miss Ballard," Bern-turd said calmly over the ruckus, filling up my glass. "Would anyone like some more coffee? Mr. Ballard?"

                  "I would! Black, two sugars!" Dad roared, already having his hands around Gary's throat and strangling him against the wall.

                  "Dad, don't hurt Gary! He's a homophobic!"

                  My dad ceased his strangling momentarily. "That's sick, man."

                  "She meant hemophiliac!" Gary said, "I'm a hemophiliac, not a homophobic! I love rainbows, I swear!"

                  "Liar!" Ronny screeched. "You burned my rainbow pillow case I gave you last year!"

                  "It had a unicorn on it!"

                  "It was fabulous!" Ronny defended, stabbing his fork into his salad.

                  "You seemed like a good kid when I met you, now I want to make a G. L. T sandwich out of you. Gary, lettuce, and tomato." Dad slowly started to lower his fist, his eyes narrowed and skeptical as he took in Gary's gothic makeup and spiky necklace. He raised his fist again.

                  Ronny stood up, throwing his hands in the air, jazz fingers and all. "AND I'M RONNY!" He then realized the attention and silence he had drawn from everyone at the table, slowly lowered his hands, and cleared his throat. "Sorry, I had a daydream that we were doing role calls. It happens." His gaze nervously flickered to everyone in the room. "Uh...I think it's time for some wise words for Pepper for her insecurity with her breasts."

                  "I don't have any insecurities with my breasts!"

                   Ronny straightened, clapping his hands together and closing his eyes as if he was praying. "In the words of Hannah Montana," Ronny began in a preachers voice, "'Nobody's perfect, I've gotta work it. Again and again till I get it right--!"

                  "Unless you're my baby, then you can't 'get it right' and you should probably start stuffing you bra like I did when I was your age," Mom corrected for me, smiling.

                  "Didn't even know she stuffed the first two years we were dating," Dad mumbled bitterly, his hands still around Gary's throat and Gary's face going purple. "Not that you don't have beautiful breasts, because you know I'm obsessed with them--"

                  "Hello?!" I motioned to myself. "Child in the room!"

                  "Oh, Arthur," Mom said dreamily, fluttering her lashes. "And you know how I like your long, hairy--"

                  I pressed my hands harder against my ears. "AHHHHHH!"                  

                  "--legs," Mom finished, confused as to why I was screaming. "You always were such a sweetie too. Put the nice future husband of Pepper's down, honey. I want grandchildren."

                  Dad removed his hands from Gary's throat and sat back in his seat, giving Gary a long, terrifying look. If I hadn't known any better, I would have said that someone wasn't getting their precious vacuum.

                  After  Ronny and Gary thanked my mother for dinner and said their goodbyes, I quickly avoided any small talk with my parents when the doorbell rang, making me freeze at the top of the staircase. Who could possibly be ringing our doorbell at eight at night unless they were an axe murderer?

                  It rang again and I came back down the stairs.

                  "I'll get it!" Mom chirped, already at the door.  She opened the door to a small man carrying a huge bouquet of flowers and clutched them carefully with two arms. "Thank you ever so much!" she kicked the door shut in the man's face, sighed, then started to frolic into another room.

                  Curious as to who sent the flowers, I followed her inside the dining room.

                  Mom kissed dad on the cheek. "Arthur, you shouldn't have! They're just what I wanted."

                  Dad looked up from his paper as if he was afraid a lot of cursing was coming his way. "I didn't, honey. They're not for me." 

                  Mom pouted. "Oh, well... I'll be the typical nosy mother and read the card just in case my daughter is meeting someone from an online dating service named Juanito." She wiggled her eyebrows at me. "It says: Garlic, These roses are for an intriguing, beautiful young lady. Yours, Axe Murderer. Aw! Your secret admirer has great handwriting too, Pepper! But he spelled your name wrong... Oooh! And there's a bag of watermelon jolly ranchers at the center of the bouquet!"

                  I had a slow sinking feeling in my gut. There was a lot of sarcasm and phoniness beneath those words in my head. "Give me that," I said, taking the banquette and candies and examining the handwriting on the card. Definitely wasn't the flower service that had written it, the message was too sketchy. "He's blind! How on earth could he have handwritten the message so neatly?!" I half screamed to myself. "I don't understand blind people anymore, he rides a freaking motorcycle! How?! And I'm pretty sure he was a chain smoker at some point of his life because he can't freaking stop sucking on these mouthwatering...." I ripped open the back and put three in my mouth, "Jolly Ranchers!" I muffed around the candy

                  "Let me get this straight. You have a boyfriend that wears punk makeup, has piercings, and rebellious clothing and another boyfriend that calls himself Axe Murderer, doesn't know your name, and rides a motorcycle even though he's blind?" Dad asked, getting up to stand next to Mom."What a badass!" He looked at the card. "What kind of motorcycle does he ride? He seems like he'd stick with a classic."

                  "Dad! I thought you were concerned! Stop with the midlife crisis already!"

                  "I'm not having a mid-life anything! On a serious note, who the hell sent you this after what happened at the school? Axe Murderer?" He placed a hand on my mother's arm. "Darling, maybe we should show the police, this it could be evidence for the school."

                  Mom put her hand to her mouth. "Our Peppy is in danger?" She sniffed, looking as if she was going to burst into tears at any moment. "She's going to die a virgin?"

                  I rolled my eyes. "I know who it is, it's not actually an Axe Murderer."

                  "Our Peppy's going to die a virgin! Hold me, Arthur!" Mom cried, falling into dad's arms.

                  I chose that moment to take the bag of jolly ranchers, put them up in my room, and snuck out my bedroom window with my workout clothes on

                  ***

                  I came home an hour or so later dripping in sweat. Flopping down onto my bed, I flipped to another channel on the television, dabbing at sweat off of my forehead with a towel. Getting back on track with running was definitely a good idea, but making me feel like a wet noodle all over the place because my muscles were still not as strong as they used to be.

                  I stopped flipping the channels.

                  Sitting behind a sparkly blue table and a green screen image of a city on my television was an overweight man dressed in a pristine black suit and a woman with beautiful platinum blonde hair wearing a velvety purple suit jacket. They both smiled creepily at the camera, not saying anything for a good twenty seconds as their dramatic intro music played in the background.

            "Hello, and thanks for tuning in to America's #1 news channel," the man greeted, still smiling. "The only news channel that has a happy couple as their Anchor's. I'm Anchorman George Smiley, and with me every single day, 365 days a year, is my lovely wife, Anchorwoman Lavender Smiley. I hope everyone's having a happy, happy night!

            "This ought to be good," I said, reaching for the bag of pizza goldfish in my backpack and moving nothing else on my body. I had done my workout, now it was time to be fat again.

            "As do I, Georgie-poo, as do I," Lavender Smiley said, still smiling as well. "In the latest news, Joe's Sloppy House was closed due to suspected BDSM practices, and reptile molestation. Yikes, not again!"

            "What the hell?" I muttered.

            "And that's the news. Back to you, Tom," they said cheerfully in unison, pointing at the camera and holding their smiles. Seconds later, they both dropped their smile and scowled at each other.

            "Ugh, my cheeks are killing me! And you're teeth, George! I almost threw up on camera! Your teeth are so yellow it looks like you stuck a piece of rotting pineapple in your gums. You have to get them whitened again."

            "I hope you choke on your precious hair spray bottle, you soul eating leach," George Smiley hissed in return, stacking up the papers in front of him and pretending to read through them.

            Lavender Smiley smacked the papers out of his hands. "Our rankings are lowering because of you, Chunky-Cheese! We're going to be thrown off the air if we don't get some juicy news ASAP."

            "You're so nice to me, Lav. Nice. The opposite of your big, fake, bulky--"

            "Don't you dare--!"

            "WIG!"

            Gasping, Lavender Smiley grabbed at her hair. "Oh yeah? How about you ask the producer Lia what she thinks of your yellow tooth, George Washington? Huh, HUH? I bet she knows exactly what your mouth looks like!"

            "Actually, she does because I was just macking on hers before we came to the set!" George shouted, slamming his fists against the sparkly blue table in front of him. "And by the way, Lia knows how to get down and dirty and knows just how I like my stomach rolls tucked -- if you know what I mean -- unlike you, Miss 'The Closest Thing to Sexy for Me is Remembering to Bleach My Mustache'! All you care about is your wig and your prized tomatoes, selfish hag! If only we could file a divorce without ruining our contract! If ONLY!!"

            "You EGGPLANT! I knew you were sleeping with her!" Lavender Smiley screeched, her wig falling slightly to the right as she stood up from her chair and loomed over him. "I'm going to cut your prized tomatoes with my gardening shovel and burry you by my award winning rose bushes to help fertilize them!"

            I stuffed a bunch of goldfish in my mouth, wondering if this was all real or a dream.

            "Good luck with that!" George Smiley said, getting up from his seat as well. "I'll be pissing on your daisy patch! And you know what? I'm tired of having to carry the dog around like a baby and hold his thing while he pees so that he doesn't "poison" those damn daisies and so you don't go berserk and throw my television over a cliff again! And at least Lia has hair on her head, Brittney Spears! I told you that wasn't a fashion statement from the start, Britney Spears  was really having a breakdown! Now you won't even grow it out because you're worried you'll like a drill sergeant with a purple suit jacket on live television!"

            Appalled, Lavender started to ugly cry. You know, the kind of cry that makes a girl look like a mix between Chewbacca and an Orangutan because their face gets all scrunched up and their hair plasters all over their wet face.

            "Oh, shit! We're still rolling, guys!"

            Suddenly they both look up at the camera as if they were both deer caught in a headlight, then smiled tightly.

            "BREAKING NEWS!" George Smiley screamed, jabbing a finger at the camera and knocking over his coffee mug. "Three employees and a student in a small town called Orange Gate County, were found dead within the span of two days outside and inside of Mortimir High School. The poor, poor janitors were beheaded by an unknown weapon, and the girl, Ginger Sparrow, was stabbed directly in the heart this morning. Just a few hours ago, two more victims were found beheaded at Orange Gate County Mall with the words "Smile, insert inappropriate curse word for the air, and an inappropriate drawing of a male genitalia. Police say the killer calls himself "Smiley" and that the three cases have officially been connected."

            Lavender gasped, putting a hand over her mouth and widening her extremely smudged mascara eyes from crying. "Oh my! Looks like Orange Gate County isn't smiling anymore! Nothing says 'fear me' then drawing a male genitalia in someone else's blood! Here's Tom Welling with  more details!" Lavender Smiley said, grinning so wide that my eyes started to burn from the brightness of her teeth.

            A man with a really bad comb over and horn-rimmed glasses popped onto the screen standing in front of my high school. "Hello all," the man greeted in his low monotonous voice that was similar to Gary's. God, why was I thinking about Gary so much? "I'm Tom Pennington and I'm here with the lead investigator of this tragic event on the scene at Mortimer High School with excusive video footage of the lead investigator on the job. But first, the man himself."

            Tom Pennington stared at the camera for a moment, then realized there was nobody standing next to him and ushered for someone to move close to him.

            Officer Mustache slowly waddled into the shot, his hand trembling violently with a sheet of paper.

            "Officer Mustache," Tom said, motioning to the familiar man next to him and smiling brightly at the camera.

            I threw the goldfish in my hand across the room. His name really is Officer Mustache?! Concious said. L-O-L, man. L-O-L.

            "Hi, pretty camera," Officer Mustache squeaked, staring widely at the camera, then turned to Tom. "I'm--I'm a little nervous, sir. I've had stage fright since the age of zero. When my mother, Officer Unibrowa,  was about to give birth to me, I wouldn't even come out of her va--"

            Tom motioned to the paper in Officer Mustache's hands.

            "Oh, right," Officer Mustache said, then started to read very poorly off of the sheet of paper that shook violently to his hands and stuck to his clammy fingers. "Here at Orange Gate Count we are all deva--deva--d-e-v-estated by this tragic event. In all of my years in the police force....I have never seen such a deva--de--de-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-"

            "Devastating, you moron," Tom hissed through his tightly locked, smiling teeth.

            "Devastating triple homicide as well as an apparent execution of a vampire student. Our town is known for our peaceful union of Vampires, Werewolves, and other supernatural creatures for centuries...." Officer Mustache swallowed hard, looking briefly up at the camera with pasty skin and a wide-eyed expression as if  he was about to throw up. He was sweating so bad that it was literally spraying out and hitting Tom in the face."There's who in our town?" Officer Mustache squeaked.

            Tom glared at him. "Are you kidding me right now? You've been working in the only dedicated supernatural neighborhood and you had no idea...?"

            Officer Mustache blushed wildly. "Can we cut to the video footage?" he whispered

            Tom smiled widely at the camera. "And here's George and Lavender for some exclusive reenactments of Sloppy Joe's BDSM classes!" he shouted in his monotone voice, pointing at the camera and grinning.

            The scene changed as Officer Mustache turned and threw up right into Tom's face.

            I shut the television off.

            How in the world was Officer Mustache of all people going to find out who Smiley was when he could barely remember me the first day we had met? When he had thought I was an entirely different person? When he had called Hunter out on being a volunteer Karate instructor? There was another victim. Another innocent was killed. Now I was more determined than ever to investigate the murders, and there was only one way Pepper Ballard could do that.

            Checking my phone, I saw that I had many unread messages and ignored them, stuffing my phone into my sports bra.

            I clapped once, and a punching bag fell from my ceiling. Leaping off of the bed, I locked my door, hurried into my closet, and attacked the punching bag with my fists and feet wearing the tight corset, black combat boots, and dark leggings that Hunter had bought for me for mysterious reasons, plus the black feminine mask with bedazzled gems that I had Ronny make for me. Told him it was for a masquerade. Please. As if Pepper Ballard went to masquerades when she could be eating Quesadillas and watching Dora the Explorer, the only show still on her cable box. 

            Doing a back flip off of the punching bag in one final blow and conveniently clicking my fan on in the process, I brought my fist to the ground and then looked up at my refection in my vanity mirror as my hair fanned out around my face from the fan.

            "Hasta luego, estúpido " I hissed at my reflection. See you later, stupid.

            Bitch, who you calling stupid? You're wearing freaking tights for Conscious' sake. You need another catchphrase if you're going to be kicking ass and taking names all night.

            I did another back flip off of the punching bag and started all over.

            "You've just been Peppered, amigo," I whispered, before dolphin diving out of my bedroom window into the open night air.

            Well, into a thorn bush to be more specific...

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