Pots and pans or some kind of clatter in the kitchen woke me up. Tim was usually quiet, only grabbing a cup of coffee on his way out the door every morning. I often got up when Tim got up, but today I stayed in bed.

The houseguest was the opposite of Tim, loud as anything, forcing me to get up to find out what he was doing.

Dragging myself out of bed, I wandered into the kitchen in only my boxers, what I wore to bed. In the kitchen was my brother's houseguest, his hair no longer in that stupid man bun, his hair scraggly, hanging an inch or two below his chin. His ear buds were in and he was singing and dancing to a song on his phone.

"Beat on the brat. Beat on the brat. Beat on the brat with a baseball bat. Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Oh yeah."

The houseguest sang the Ramones, one of my most frequently played bands on my playlist. He startled, noticing me standing there and pulled out his ear buds, his cheeks a different color, embarrassed that I caught him singing.

"Oh hi," he said. "Good morning. Want some coffee?"

Just by the brief morning greeting, I could tell he was a talker and he didn't seem to care that I wasn't. It was too early to think about talking so I didn't answer. Anyway, I could make my own cup of coffee.

As he cracked a couple of eggs in the frying pan, I made my way through the kitchen to the keurig machine.

"It's quiet here, huh?" he said.

Yeah, it was quiet in the house and the surrounding area and town, but I thought that was pretty obvious and didn't need someone to say it out loud.

"Are you alone here all day everyday?" he asked.

Most of the time, I thought.

There was the housekeeper, Yesenia, who cleaned the house weekly, but she barely spoke English. There were also the landscapers and gardeners, but they didn't really count since I didn't interact with them at all. So, yeah, I guess I was alone most of the time.

As the houseguest asked more and more questions, I watched the coffee drip into my "Jordan" mug. Only I was allowed to use this mug because my name was printed along the top in big black letters, a poo emoji in the center, a birthday gift from Tim.

"What time does Tim get home?" he asked.

I shrugged, pouring a little cream in my coffee, proceeding to scoop spoonful after spoonful of sugar into it.

"Have some coffee with your sugar?" I had a thing for sweets, but I didn't appreciate his comment.

"What's your favorite Ramones' song?" I asked after a few awkward minutes, leaning against the counter, my hands wrapped around my mug.

"The Ramones?"

"Yeah, you were singing them."

"Oh yeah," he said. "Blitzkrieg Bop."

"Typical," I said.

"What do you mean by that?" he said, slightly annoyed, but I didn't answer. "So what's yours?"

"Do You Remember Rock n' Roll Radio," I said. "I like Beat on the Brat, too. Tim used to say that song was written for me."

"And you believed him?" he said. "That song was written 20 years before you were born. Maybe even more."

"I know, but I didn't know that at the time."

Tim was always saying stuff like that to me and I was so gullible and naïve, I believed everything he told me.

In the middle of another question, I was already on my way out the back door and onto the porch with my coffee.

The rain had stopped and the sun peeked through the clouds, but everything was still wet. That didn't stop me from sitting on a wet chair. Apparently neither did the houseguest as he sat down at the table with a cup of coffee and plate of bacon and eggs. He had no problem making himself at home.

"Want one?" he asked, pointing to a piece of bacon on his plate. I just shook my head. "You're kind of skinny. You should eat more."

I looked down at my bare chest and didn't think I was that skinny. I mean, you couldn't see my bones or anything. For a fleeting moment, I wondered how the houseguest would look in only his underwear. What a weird thought. This morning he was in a white t-shirt and khaki shorts.

"I told Tim I'd take care of the pool. I have nothing else to do. He says there's a place around here where you get pool supplies."

I guess, I thought to myself.

"You wanna come?"

Staring back at him, I wondered why he asked me that.

"I mean, what else are you going to do today? Do you have any plans?"

He didn't need to know that. Besides, I never had plans. My only plans involved me reading and listening to music. Sometimes I went for walks. Actually, I went for a lot of walks in the summer.

"Why don't you talk?" he asked.

He was way too talkative and asked way too many questions. After a few more seconds, he let out an exaggerated sigh.

"Oh boy, does my life suck right now. This is going to be a long summer."

He finished off his breakfast while I sipped my coffee, neither one of us speaking again although I sensed he was dying to say something else.

With a sudden desire to go for a walk, I got up.

"Come on," I said with a weird urge to take the houseguest with me.

Not waiting for him, I trod down the porch stairs, but he didn't budge.

"Coming?" I said. Either he came with me or didn't. I wasn't going to wait around forever.

"You're in your underwear," he said.
Yeah, so?

"And you're not wearing any shoes," he said.

Shrugging, I proceeded to walk. He had a thing for stating the obvious. I was actually in a pair of red and white checkered boxer shorts. I was used to taking walks in my boxers and bare feet. There was no one else around to notice or care.

As I walked away, the houseguest hurried up behind me, also in his bare feet. I was used to my feet getting poked and cut. By mid-June, the soles of my feet had hardened with callouses. The houseguest was full of ouches as he walked beside me through the path in the woods, these woods that belonged to the Cameron family.

"This is all your land?" I swear he knew the answer so I didn't respond. "It'd be nice if you answered me once in awhile."

My walk turned into a jog, making my way to the small pond that was perpetually full of lily pads and frogs and occasional ducks. I had no problem wading through it.

"Hey, I wouldn't go in that," the houseguest warned.

What's the big deal? I had been going in this pond for years. Even though it was pretty grimy, I was used to it and it was quicker to get to the other side than walking around it.

"There's no way I'm going in there," he said as I stopped halfway through the small pond, scooping up a small frog in the palm of my hands. I didn't expect him to come in. "But I can see it doesn't bother you."

"Did you ever believe that a kiss could turn a frog into a prince?" I asked, running a finger over the top of the frog's head.

"I don't know," he said. "Why, were you looking for a prince?"

"No," I said, staring at the frog. "I don't think so."

"I was looking, but never found one," he said. My gaze shifted to him briefly, then back to my frog. He'd rather have a prince or king than a princess or queen.

"I believed the story. I believed that a prince was turned into a frog and a kiss would turn him back...like the book and Tim said it was a true story and I was stupid enough to believe him."

"Tim was a little shit," he said. "You know, it's really grossing me out seeing you waist deep in that murky water. There's probably lots of bugs and spiders and other gross insects...leeches..."

"Someone's watched Standby Me one too many times," I said, proceeding to make my way out of the pond, still carrying the frog in my hands.

"Do you like to go hiking?" he asked, walking around the pond to meet me on the other side. "I love hiking. Maybe we could go some time."

Why would he ask me to go hiking with him? It wasn't like we were friends. I shrugged, walking away because I had never gone hiking before and wasn't sure I wanted to.

"Yes? No? Maybe?" he went on.

With my frog, I sat down on a log where I had sat many times over many, many summers. Tim always knew where to find me. There were times, though, when I didn't want to be found and I had a spot for that, too.

The houseguest, whom I now decided to call Jamie, hesitated before sitting on the opposite end of the log. He lifted up his leg and rested his ankle on his knee, leaning over to get a look at the bottom of his foot.

"I don't know how you do it," he said, brushing off some leaves and dirt. "Let me see your feet." That was a weird question. "Come on. Let me see them."

It was way too weird, so I got up and walked away. My walk turned into a run through the woods and back to the house with Jamie not far behind. I stopped at the foot of the porch stairs.

"You're a fast one," he said, catching his breath.

"The store's in Groton. I'll go," I said, referring to the pool supply store. "Later."