Flour, water, eggs, all the ingredients, everything ambling into the mixing bowl to produce a fabulous birthday cake for a fabulous sister of mine who's equipping herself for a party at this moment and has somehow managed to steal Dallon to assist her.

So I'm tasked with cooking this godforsaken cake of hers that must have blue icing and must have the lenny face on it and must have vanilla "intestines", as she described them, and so far I'm maintaining a steady approach to it, but with each minute ticking away with only forty-seven to spare, maybe that goal isn't so attainable. Maybe the lenny face will have to burn, along with my hope for Kara's meme abilities.

How many pubescent teenagers will I have to feed with this cake? How many of them will like it? How many of them will hate it and decide to throw it at each other like a scene from any high school drama? How many of them will chase me around the house with a chunk of the dessert in their fists? How many people will die at this party?

This oscillation is exhibited in my frantic mixing of the cake ingredients inside the bowl, and finally, after three minutes and twenty-four seconds of chaos, including one hundred and sixty-eight stirs around the container, the cake is ready to be malevolently crisped in the oven, and I am ready to be relieved of my baking duties.

Reposing on the stability that the kitchen counter offers, I usher a sigh from my mouth, psyching myself up to deal with Kara's friends. I won't be able to handle this.

♫♫♫♫

The stairs groan as they're stepped upon, and down come Dallon and Kara, the birthday girl and her escort. She's donning a flaxen sundress with a belt bound around her waist to paint a figure into her posture. Centurian sandals of the same color bite her ankles in strands of leather spinning around and around, and through it all, she looks absolutely gorgeous.

"Aren't you just lovely?" I marvel, halting my motion in awe of my sister's beautiful birthday dress that I still can't tear my vision away from.

It's nothing extravagant, devoid of massive hoops and ruffled fabric, but it casts a chandelier upon her entire body that not even I can ignore. The yellow of the dress, the sunflower petals upon her pale skin, deftly accentuates the brown seeds in her eyes, and she is truly a flower blooming in early spring.

This image is so different from the Kara I know, the Kara who shoots foam bullets at me from ironically purchased toy guns, the Kara who uses "rat ass" as an infinite phrase, the Kara who doesn't shower for three days and doesn't give a shit about boys' reactions because apparently she likes flannels and Home Depot and therefore is a lesbian.

I'm not claiming that the look doesn't suit her, as it does rather well, but the perplexing concept of this enormous disparity kindles astonishment to my array of emotions, and I'll just have to acclimate to it before her party starts and I'm left to be portrayed as a stuttering fool.

On the other side of things, Dallon is dressed quite plainly, melanoid waves over his jacketed arms and torso, the flowing river of his scarf winding around his neck, black corsets on his legs that we call skinny jeans, hipster frames spilling over his nose, a beanie propped over his wren-feathered hair, the natural radiance of a smile perched on his lips. Even with his attire, I dare say he's more stunning than my sister, though I'm staring dumbstruck at them both.

"Take a picture — it'll last longer," Kara snaps, hastening her gait once the door chimes to signal someone's arrival.

Dallon is startled, and his heart races all around his chest on his way towards me to hide the finished cake from the guests until it's time to whip it out for dessert.

Promptly after Dallon has completed his task of stowing away the cake, the door is guillotined from its hinges, and the shrieking noises of Kara greeting her guest are audible even in the kitchen. "Hillary, welcome, you little nub! It's time for some dank shit to go down."

"Of course." Hillary follows Kara into the kitchen, then stopping once she realizes that she's dressed very similarly to Dallon. "One of us is going to have to change."

Dallon expels a hushed giggle, swinging awkwardly on his feet with his arms crossing behind his back as he waits six seconds for the joke to subside into a more interesting topic for thirteen year-old girls, such as world domination and chicken tenders.

More of Kara's friends report to the house one by one until there are three guests in total (excluding the birthday girl), all strapped into the same style of clothing that hails combat boots and leather as their supreme rulers, and Dallon notes entire their presence as a time to welcome everyone into the home.

I'm sure that everyone's aware of what's about to go down. If you mess with the meme queens, you "get rekt", so Dallon's being lenient about his rules, applying only one to govern fairly yet understanding that it'll come close to being broken anyway.

"Just try not to blow anything up please."

"He's French?" One girl — I think her name is Breezy — exclaims, directing her question to Kara rather than the subject of conversation. "I didn't know you had exotic friends!"

Dallon only chuckles, lashes met with laughing lines around them in the latent cognizance that his nationality will be the first proclaimed detail about him, but I'm moderately unnerved by Breezy's comment, probably because France isn't that exotic. Chances are, she studies French at school and has gone there for an opulent vacation with her family at least once.

"Yes, I'm from Bordeaux. That's in the west of France."

"Oh, that's cool." Breezy nods, focus adhering to her shoe as the opposite foot labors to step on the stray lace. "My dad only likes America, because he's an extremely conservative bitch who concluded it would be a sound idea to build a house in the woods for us."

"Well your dad isn't here, so you can praise any country you wish."

"Aces." Breezy rocks into another girl (whose name I remember to be Megan), a childish grin sweetening her face. "You hear that? We can visit hell again."

Megan, much like her brother Patrick, is characterized by her academic prowess, and until Kara indoctrinated her with the life of memes, she was that kid in the back of the birthday party, the kid who was only invited because of pity or because the whole grade was attending and she therefore had to be included in that mix. But now look at her — now she's on top of meme culture, has equally as weird friends, and still scores well in school. She's doing much better, and though I don't know her all that much, I'm proud.

"Would any of you like cake?" I interject before things get too satanic.

Hillary glances up from sending a text on her phone, shoving it in her pocket and advancing towards the table. "I prefer the tears of men, but that's cool, too."

Neglecting her comment while understanding that she could probably kick my ass and spring tears from me, I grope in the kitchen drawer for the lighter, which Dallon finds for me upon seeing my struggle.

"It's lit," Kara mutters under her breath once the candles bounce to life in every hue of orange imaginable.

"Go fuck a nut," Breezy retorts, also under her breath so that Dallon won't ask what that means and end up embarrassing himself thinking it's a common English phrase.

"I'm a lesbian, you fucking cunt."

"Happy birthday!" I interrupt in song to avoid an escalation of this conversation that's becoming louder and louder, and Dallon joins me after catching what it is I'm so afraid of happening.

Reluctantly, the kids sing with us and try to discard the devilish smirk seasoning Kara's eyes with the reflection of fire as an added bonus, and my sister then extinguishes the candles with one stubborn puff of air.

"I know you were all wondering what I wished for, and I'd like to tell you that I desire to go to France one day."

Dallon is instantaneously intrigued by the conversation, and his voice mitigates to a warm honey. "I could take you sometime."

"I'd like that," Kara accepts, tone just as sappy as his.

Noticing the pungent stench of heterosexuality, though this is merely friendship, Breezy slams her hands on the table and announces, "Okay, it's time for presents!"

I transport the various bags and boxes to Kara's spot for her to unwrap and potentially die in the process — there might be something dangerous in one of those containers — and she proceeds with mine first: a gift card to Hot Topic, which she graciously thanks me for, solaced that I didn't buy her My Little Pony merchandise.

Next is Dallon's: a set of colored pencils to accurately shade in Kara's drawings, and for this one, she rises to hug him, professing that she's always wanted those but really just yearning for his embrace. There's something comforting about Dallon, I must admit.

Pretty amazing gifts, if you ask me, but unfortunately Kara's friends' presents do not follow the same route. Breezy elected to give Kara three quarts of milk and a Skeleton War t-shirt, to which my sister draws out a reply of, "What the actual fuck?"

Breezy winks. "You need strong bones for October, you know, to fight the heterosexuals. You're welcome, sugar plum."

Hillary proposes her gift, though unsure if she'll be able to surpass the standard Breezy's present has set. However, it's a tie, 'cause birthdays don't really get much better than Hello Kitty jockstraps.

Kara pounds the table, ascending from her chair in frustration. "Guess what? Screw you. Screw your family. Screw your dog. Screw your limited edition Big Bang Theory DVD. See you in hell, you fucking scene kid."

"Wait!" Megan calls through unbridled laughter. "You haven't opened my present yet."

With four seconds of hesitation, Kara eventually returns to the table and nervously seizes the box enshrined in poorly drawn Pepe the Frog wrapping paper. "This is already shit, Megan."

Megan says nothing, instead observing as Kara shreds the casing of the gift to discover ten terrifying anime masks.

"Weeaboo rat. I knew you would do this," Kara curses, lifting the masks up to the light as if forcing them to explain why they exist.

"We can be weeaboo rats together, though." Megan's irises burn with a plan. "Let's patrol the neighborhood, yeah?"

~~~~~

A/N: KARA'S FRIENDS ARE THE SHIT OMG

there were so many meme references in this chapter why do I do this

Quangchang: what's your favourite meme?

Aingswing: idk man there are so many

~Dankota