k a r r i s

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My parents grounded me for the weekend. Which to my pleasure, was a slap on the hand. Being that my very Filipino parents viewed academics as the platform for a promising future, I thought I was going to be grounded for the rest of the school year, or worse: my bi-weekly allowance would be revoked, and my months of saving for the new CX Graphic Calculator with the Color Screen would be put on an indefinite cease.

But I was touched by an angel, and my parents viewed my poor decision of skipping school to be a settlement of my frustration. After Detective Ross' unexpected visit the other day, my parents didn't blame me for playing hooky-- they were just glad that I went to a friend's house to study, as oppose to snorting coke off of homeless man's shoe.

My mom picked me up right after school, even though I insisted Berkley could take me home. But my mom wasn't having it. To soften the blow however, she did buy me a low-fat milkshake. As I merrily sipped on the thick, chocolate, malty goodness handmade from Heaven's kitchen, my mom dropped a bomb.

"Your dad and I are going to Palm Springs for the weekend,"

The thick substance slipped down the wrong pipe and I coughed viciously, patting my chest to ease the blow. I didn't think death by milkshake could actually be a thing, but it was clear to me that anything was possible.

"What?!" I croaked, my voice raspy as I tried to recover from the cough attack. Slamming my milkshake into the cup holder, I gawked at my mom with wide eyes, "why are you going way out there?"

"With my busy schedule, your dad's constant business trips, we've barely spent more than a few hours together in the same house," mom explained, looking over to me as she slowed down the car, "your dad and I need a vacation."

"So let me get this straight," I pursed my lips, gazing at my mom with curiosity and narrowed brows, "you and dad are going on a trip to Palm Springs, leaving me, your grounded daughter without any parental supervision?"

"Anak," mom smiled incredulously, "let's be serious, there isn't much trouble you could actually get into."

(translation: child, dear)

I sat there with my mouth agape, and eyes wide. I shot both my arms up in defense, before scoffing slightly at my mom's statement. Subtle, yet bold, my mother wasn't exactly wrong-- I just didn't want to admit that.

"For your information, mother," I crossed my arms above my chest, a snooty opulence in my tone, "there's plenty of trouble I could get myself into."

"Like what?" Mom laughed, "sneaking in a couple of extra scoops of Ube ice cream after dinner?"

"I could throw a huge party with alcohol and ecstasy," I suggested, "or, or, I could open a brothel."

My mom only chuckled in response, shaking her head at my outlandish statements as we pulled up to the driveway. The car shut off, and after unbuckling myself, I seized my book bag off of the floor, grabbed my milkshake, and slipped out the door. Following my mom to the front door, she spun the keys around with a finger in one of the metal key rings.

I gasped in eagerness, "what about a meth lab? Did you even think about that? I could totally start one, you know. Chemistry is one of my best subjects."

"Why do you want to prove that you're bad all of the sudden?" Mom asked, turning the key in the knob and opening the door. "Your brother was always the mischievous one."

"How do you know that he was the brains behind his stunts? They could've been my ideas, while he executed them," I smirked, walking into the living room and towards the kitchen.

"What's your idea?"

The new voice that slid into mine and mom's conversation belonged to my dad, who was sitting on the couch watching some cooking show on The Food Network.

"Your daughter wants to build a meth lab and throw a party with ecstasy," mom nonchalantly broadcasted, clearly poking fun of me.

"Wow," dad laughed, a twinkle of absolute amusement in his eyes, "will all that be done before or after she has dessert before dinner?"

"Hardy-har-har," I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms above my chest in irritation, "you know, I'm actually offended that you don't think I'm capable of being mischevious."

"It's not that we don't think your incapable of starting a brothel or becoming a drug lord, we just know that you're not dumb enough to actually do it," dad pointed out.

I shrugged my shoulders in defeat, "yea, I guess so."

My parents weren't wrong at all, you see. I did have the brains to creatively start and manage brothels and illegal drug trades, but to actually do it? I wouldn't dare. But what I did jump right into, was my homework. I wanted a free weekend brimming with movies and my butt glued to the couch, and the only way that was happening, were if my homework didn't exist.

Mom and dad left two hours later. They kissed me goodbye, left me emergency money, and showed me exactly where in the fridge the Filipino red hotdogs were. It was going to be a weekend in which I would have all this freedom, but because I was an awkward toaster who had no life, being grounded without supervision, would just be like any other day.

So I called up Berkley.

"Pick up, bestie," I spoke to myself, with the phone in my hand, and rummaging through the panty for some snacks.

"I'm sorry I can't come to the phone right now, please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can,"

With a sigh, "best friend, I wanna hang out. The parentals are gone all weekend."

I hung up the phone, slipping it into the back pocket of my jeans before my eyes landed on the beautiful bright blue package of chocolate chip cookies. Happily, I grabbed the container and sauntered into the living room, plopping on the couch. I grabbed the remote, turning on the television and began to flip through the channels. After vacillating for several minutes between Mythbusters and a National Geographic special on climate change, I went the easy route and opted for whatever was playing on the Disney Channel.

Buzz. Buzz.

My right butt cheek was vibrating-- and I was excited. I reached into my back pocket, pulling out my cellphone and stared at the screen. I hoped it was my best friend calling me back with enthusiasm in her voice, offering to bring over ice cream. But to my dismay, it wasn't Berkley.

It was Ashton.

Puzzled, I pressed the button on my phone and held it up to my ear. I don't know why I was so scared. I felt like one of those characters in horror films who answers the phone and the devil is on the other line... Then again, Ashton did call, so I digress.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Open your front door, dude," he demanded from the other end.

"What?" I sputtered, continuously becoming more confused by the second.

"Babydoll you heard me," Ashton seemed annoyed for a reason unbeknown to me, "open your Goddamn front door."

With an irritated sigh, and a roll of my eyes, I hopped off the couch.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," Ashton barked through the phone, and although his attitude startled me, I was impressed by his ability to read me so well.

"You're so annoying," I trudged towards the entryway, reaching my arm forward till my hand grazed the doorknob. Pivoting the latch and unlocking the door, I turned the knob. And when the door swung open, I was met with none other than Mr. Attitude himself.

"Good afternoon, babydoll," Ashton wiggled his eyebrows as he hung up the phone.

"Why are you here?" I questioned, resting a hand to my hip.

"I can't spend a Friday afternoon with my favorite irritant, ever?" Ashton grinned, pushing passed me and walking through the door.

I teetered slightly as I shot Ashton a scowl, who was slipping his shoes off. He tossed them aside next to my own Chuck Taylors, before waltzing towards the living room. Confusion painted my face as I gawked at the hockey captain's behavior. I slammed the door shut and went into the family area where I found Ashton sitting comfortably on the couch.

"No wonder you couldn't hear the doorbell," Ashton mentioned, gesturing for the television, "this Camp Rock shit is addicting."

I stood in front of Ashton, blocking his view from the television with my hands on my hips, "seriously dude. What the heck? Why are you in my house?"

"Because,"

"Because, why?"

"Because," Ashton groaned, "I don't wanna be in my own."

I cocked my head to the side, gazing at the boy in front of me like an analyst examining evidence from a crime scene. Sitting on my couch, was a disgruntled, arrogant hockey captain. But the boy in front of me, had a heavy soul and a big heart.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked, taking a step forward. "You might feel better."

"You know what will make me feel better?" Ashton smirked.

"What?"

"A blowjob,"

My face squished with disgust as my jaw plopped open. I marched straight over to Ashton with revolt churning in my heart, and smacked him on the shoulder.

"Ew! You're a pervert!" I struck his other shoulder while Ashton cowered, attempting to keep my impacts at bay.

"I'm joking! I'm joking!" He yelled, laughing in between breaths. "Stop hitting me."

"Why are you so gross?" I ceased by movements to glare at Ashton in distaste.

"I just like riling you up, that's all," Ashton shrugged innocently, as if his justification was a legitimate one.

I rolled my eyes, "you're impossible."

"And I'm really hungry," Ashton declared, standing up from the couch. "You got any food?"

Before I could even answer, Ashton turned away and headed for the kitchen, leaving me to shake my head in disbelief. As Ashton opened up the fridge, sticking his head inside to investigate the entire contents of the Whole Foods Market in the icebox, I walked into the scene. In between his snide remarks on brussel sprouts, pomegranate seeds, and the unimaginable amount of frozen Lumpia in the freezer, I strolled towards the walk-in pantry.

"How do you not have any frozen pizza?" Ashton criticized, "Gabe used to live on that stuff."

"And my mom won't let me live if I had that stuff," I yelled from the inside of the pantry. I scanned my eyes across the various boxes and containers, inspecting each item strategically placed on the shelves.

"Where are you?" Ashton question, puzzlement dripping from his tone.

"In the pantry," I answered, grabbing a box of whole wheat pasta. I felt the ambience in the pantry change and I knew I wasn't alone. I turned my head over my shoulder to see Ashton leaning against the door.

"Are we cooking?"

I shook the box of uncooked Farfalle shells, "have you ever made Pesto before?"

Cooking with Ashton had become oddly therapeutic and fun for me. Dropping pasta shells into a boiling pot of water, chopping garlic, and even the simple motions of stirring, all came down to this: dancing. I had no idea how to move my body in way that told a story the way Berkley dances, or how to gyrate my hips to exude seduction. The way I moved my body resembled a horse on acid while racing in the Kentucky Derby.

"So I put my hands up, they're playing my song, the butterflies fly away..."

Ashton and I screamed the lyrics with such emotion and joy, it was as if we were headlining our own concert. We danced around the kitchen, using spatulas and whisks as microphones while singing the Miley Cyrus hit.

"I'm nodding my head like yea," I sand loudly before pointing to Ashton as a cue to take the next line.

"I'm moving my hips like yea," he swung his hips in a figure-8 and I couldn't help but to keel over in hysterical laughter.

"Stop it, I can't, I can't breath," I waved my hand, as I continued to chuckle.

Ashton however, didn't. He perpetually shook his hips and horribly twerked around my kitchen. I fell to the floor, unable to hold my body stable from amount of laughter that was oozing out of me. I couldn't control the bliss and neither could Ashton because one minute he was doing the tango by himself, and the next he was stumbling over my sprawled legs.

His eyes widened as his limbs flailed, trying to grab onto anything to keep him upright. His hand smacked the wooden spoon off of the counter, causing it to fly into the air. Ashton dropped facedown onto the floor with a painful yelp before the spoon fell down next to his head.

"You should never move your hips like that, ever again," though Ashton was probably sore, I couldn't help myself and I giggled.

"Are you actually laughing at me right now?" Ashton winced, turning his body over. His head was now on my lap as he stared at me with narrowed brows. "I could've died."

"Death by twerking should be on your tombstone," I cackled. I noticed a piece of cooked pasta in his curly hair, so I sunk my fingers into the untamed curls and pulled the bow tie shaped noodle from his locks.

"When you laugh really hard, it's kinda cute," Ashton disclosed.

When I looked at him, taken aback by his words, I wanted to throw the cooked pasta on his face. I was so utterly surprised that the graceless and awkward part of me almost took control of my body.

"Alpacas can live up to 20 years!" 

Strike that, the awkward part of me did take control of my body.

My eyes widened and my face flushed with embarrassment. Why did I have to pull out the darn alpaca facts?! I wanted to run away and avoid Ashton altogether, because the way he was acting around me only triggered the naive, nervous Karris I so desperately wanted to hide.

"And you're even cuter when you spit random alpaca facts," Ashton chuckled, sitting up from the compromising position.

With Ashton's back towards me, I face palmed myself in the forehead for sheer awkwardness-- I might as well be an alpaca in sweat pants.

"Come on," Ashton had his hand brandished towards me with a dimpled smile plastered across his face.

I looked at his hand for a moment, and my brain was frazzled beyond belief. Normally, like routine, I'd grab Ashton's hand. He'd pull me up with ease and then he'd insult me for being a clumsy blender. But as I sat on the kitchen floor, staring at the hand reaching forward, I felt like Princess Jasmine wondering if she could trust Aladdin.

Spoiler alert: she takes his hand and he shows her a magical world filled with all the possibilities.

I've known of Ashton for years; I've known him through the eyes and spoken truths of my twin brother. But it wasn't until I transferred to Willowridge did I get to really meet Ashton. Stubborn, rude, egotistical, he was like the tumor of my Senior year. But above all that, he was hard working, charming, and heartwarming. I didn't know if I could trust Ashton.

Do I take his hand?

But I didn't have a choice because the choice was made for me. In a split second my hands were grabbed and I was pulled to my feet. I was standing with only a few inches separating our chests. I felt Ashton's warmth radiate like a bubble and I couldn't shake the weird feelings in the pit of my stomach.

Ashton's eyes held an incredible amount of light, and its beams were shining right into me-- why? I wanted to push him away, to avert my attention, anything, but my body wouldn't listen to my brain. This feeling was familiar, yet unfamiliar and it was all so overwhelming.

Nuckin' futs!

"Hey, I have an idea," Ashton breathed, his warm breath wavering against my cheek.

"Wh-what, um," I stammered, "al-alpaca butt h-holes h-have--"

"--let's watch Aladdin," Ashton interrupted, and thank the alpaca Gods that he cut me off before I sputtered another random, weird fact about my favorite animal.

"You want to watch, what?"

"Aladdin... it's been a while,"

And just like that, I let Ashton show me the world.

I promise it wasn't weird after that and I didn't broadcast anymore animal facts. Ashton went back to insulting me once the food was done and Aladdin was playing on the television. Pigging out and watching movies was my favorite sleepover activity. But seeing that my best friend was currently M.I.A., Ashton played my counterpart well.

All down to the sleeping over part.

I wasn't exactly sure how it all went down. One minute we were watching Disney movies, singing along to every song featured while drowning in Mom-approved snacks, and the next we were both sound asleep on the couch. It was sometime in the morning hours when I fell out of my dream state and was regaining moments of reality. I felt blossoms of warmth; a tingling sunburst of euphoria, and nucking futs, it felt like home.

My eyes slowly fluttered open, adjusting to the morning light that streamed through the living room windows. I knocked out before I could close the blinds, and as I squinted my dry eyes, I instantly regretted neglecting the window fixtures. There was something hot sitting on my back, and when I regained my senses, I realized I was in deep doo-doo.

I was lying on top of Ashton.

My cheek was squished against Ashton's chest with my arms draped on either sides of him. He had his arms around me, with one hand resting on my mid back-- beneath my shirt. The heat radiating from his callused palm kept me at ease. I almost liked the feeling, but why? I was so confused and my heart was being twisted in different directions that I was confident I was going to explode.

Slowly and carefully, I raised myself. The cushions beneath my hands made my arms unstable, shaking as I hovered above Ashton who was still sound asleep. I ceased my breathing, and with vigilance, I swiftly climbed off of the hockey captain. The hand resting on my back, slid off and gently plopped on the couch. Ashton let out a demonic-sounding snore before readjusting himself on the couch.

"I knew he was the devil's child," I murmured to myself, stifling a laugh.

My stomach began to growl, and the sound coming from my body resembled two mythological Titans in an intense brawl. So, after quickly washing my face and brushing my teeth to rid of morning breath, I headed back downstairs to whip up a breakfast for myself and the sleeping hockey captain on the couch.

Grabbing the different appliances needed to make french toast, I whisked, battered, and fried the breakfast items exactly how my dad once taught me. It was calming and therapeutic to me-- hearing the birds chirp merrily outside, seeing the sun rays percolating through the venetian blinds, and the welcoming aroma of cinnamon and maple tickling my nostrils.

"It smells like Heaven in here,"

I turned my head to follow the raspy voice behind me, and found Ashton at the entrance of the kitchen with a sleepy smile on his dimple face. Bed head, and all, I tried my hardest not to swoon.

"Hey! Who let the demon child in Heaven?" I quipped playfully, turning back to the pan before me and flipping over the piece of bread.

"Sorry for knocking out on your couch," Ashton now stood next to me, his back leaning against the countertop, "I guess I didn't realize how tired I was last night."

"You probably had food coma," I teased, gazing at Ashton with a twinkle in my eyes, "you did inhale gobs of ice cream and cookies... who are you? Michael?"

I was glad that he didn't wake up as I was embarrassingly climbing off of Ashton. He was probably use to girls doing that same maneuver, but they most likely weren't pretending to be a secret agent spy in the process. And that was the difference between me, and the girls Ashton dated-- they weren't weird. I had my nerdy ways, and quirks that made me more awkward than a giraffe trying to operate a blender, and it were these same traits that made me unattractive to the hot shot hockey captain.

"My sister called him Papa," Ashton pipped up suddenly.

I cocked my head to the side, "what?"

"Coach Benson is dating my mom," he revealed and my own eyes doubled in size, "they're totally in love and it's really gross. But Coach has been coming to my house so often that he basically lives there. He fucking cleans, cooks food, packs my siblings' lunch, reads bedtime stories, and he even has the fucking audacity to call in an excused absence when I can't be at school."

"It sounds like he has your back," I noted, turning off the stove.

"He does!" Ashton snapped for some reason; a reason I didn't understand. He was no longer next to me, relaxing with his back propped against the countertop, but instead pacing around my kitchen.

"Is that a problem to you? That Coach Benson wants to help?" I tried to comprehend what the heck was going on in that pretty little head of his.

"It's a huge problem!"

"Why? He's clearly helping your family out; doing things to make your life easier since it's just your mom,"

"And that's the problem! It shouldn't even be 'just my mom'," Ashton pulled at his hair in frustration. "But my low life of a father left my mom, he left Lauren and Harry, and he left me to fend on our own. I'm fucking pissed-- I'm pissed because Coach Benson is more of a dad than my father ever was!"

The pieces of the puzzle was starting to come together. Why Coach Benson lied and told me Ashton was sick when he was caring for his little sister; why Coach Benson and Ashton seemed to always be bickering off the ice about something; why Ashton randomly came over yesterday.

"So when you decided to come here..." my voiced trailed, as my brain continued to synapse at top speed.

"Lauren called Coach Benson, Papa, when she used to call our birth father that," Ashton's tone was no longer laced with fury, but instead held notes of an eerie calmness. "Coach isn't my dad, but hearing those words fall out of Lauren's mouth sent me over the edge."

"Hey," I breathed, approaching Ashton, "Coach Benson isn't your dad, and you don't have to accept him as that. But you can't deny that he's become an amazing father figure for your siblings. Ash, you're going to be an adult soon, but your little sister and brother... they still need to be molded; they need a respectable man in their life."

"And what am I? A fucking spoon of Vegemite?"

I shook my head, "you're their brother, and they need you as that. But you're not really angry at Coach... you're angry at your dad."

Ashton gazed at me, carrying a different light in his eyes. His brows were narrowed in, and his shoulders still heaved from residual anger, but his eyes, they told a different story. He opened his mouth to speak, but was then interrupted by the doorbell.

"Get the door, Karebear," Ashton commanded, though his voice soft. He was done with the conversation, I could tell.

I only nodded my head in response, turning away from him and ventured for the front door. I could hear a cacophony of voices from behind the barricade, which only sparked my curiosity. And when I opened the door wide, that's when I was suddenly reminded of one little Saturday morning task.

"Karris!" Michael yelped, the entire hockey team standing on my front porch, "We're ready to study!" 

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Probably one of my favorite chapters to write, thus far. 

And now you know a little more about Ashton's situation at home... why Coach Benson has been over at his house. I do hope you liked this chapter! Please vote, comment, and recommend to all your friends. 

I hope you had wonderful Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanza/insert Holiday here and a Happy New Year! I wish you all the best in 2017. 

Also, if you aren't aware, the 2017 Fanfiction Awards are officially open for nominations (thefanfictionawards). I've nominated my favorite stories and authors, and I encourage you to do the same! Whether it's me and my stories, or some of the other amazing ones here on Wattpad, you should definitely take the time to recognize your favorite authors! 

To those who have nominated SLAPSHOT and/or my other fanfictions / one-shots, THANK YOU. I appreciate more than you know and I feel so honored! <33