Read Online Friends Like Us by Lauren Fox - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lauren Fox
Tags: Fiction
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into a container of powdered hot cocoa mix and then licking it.
“My inner truth is that that jar of Nesquik is yours,” I say. “You can take it home with you.” I regret instantly my use of the word “home,” because Seth still doesn’t have one. He’s still camped out on his friend Pete’s sofa.
“That’s your outer truth.”
“Okay,” I say lightly, “but I’m not interested in your cooties becoming a part of my inner truth.”
“Oh, my cooties?” Seth glares at me, his voice suddenly serrated, his features twitchy with disdain; immediately I curl up inside myself like a roly-poly bug. This is the thing about Seth, how when I’m with him, time will sometimes whirl backward in a dizzying spin, and without warning I’m the scorned fourteen-year-old little sister, the embarrassed blob of developing flesh, the trash bin for his misplaced anger. I finish drying a mug and,still stunned, carefully place it right back in the dish rack. When I notice what I’ve done, I leave it there, too proud to move it to the cupboard, to let Seth see he’s rattled me.
I hang the dish towel on the oven door and glare back at my brother, who of course is no longer looking at me. But the fact is, I am just as much Willa-then as Willa-now, just as much fourteen-year-old kid as twenty-six-year-old adult, and although Seth may have the power to flatten me, it helps to remember that I’m not the one who got himself kicked out of his own apartment, I’m not the one spouting self-help platitudes while nursing an endless, insatiable sugar jones, currently licking powered cocoa mix from one wet, wrinkly finger. I’m not the one who, I am just noticing for the first time, has a brand-new silver dollar-sized bald spot on the top of his head.
“So how’s it going at Pete’s?” I say, restraining the urge to plant my hands on my hips. “How’s that couch treating you?” Baldy.
Seth pauses, considering. “Lumpy,” he says. “And lonely. It’s the perfect combination.”
“Right,” I say, loosening. “How psychically unbalanced would it be if you were sleeping in someone’s well-appointed guest room, on six-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets?”
Seth nods. We’re back to normal. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my brother—and there may be only one thing I’ve learned from my brother—it’s thatopportunities for forgiveness are unlimited. “I know!” he says. “One of the great things about getting dumped by Nina is that all of my friends are pathetic losers like me.”
Seth’s best friend is Pete Moss, a chubby computer genius who sometimes confuses his online avatar—star soccer player for an Italian club—with his real-world self.
“Pete Moss,” I say. I just like to say it.
“Pete Moss,” Seth agrees. “Hey, where’s your loser roommate?” He looks around the apartment in an exaggerated way, craning his neck as if he’s just noticing that Jane isn’t here, which obviously is not the case, because he’s had a crush on Jane since he met her. But that’s an uncomfortable fact we don’t acknowledge, given both Seth’s former relationship with Nina, and also Jane’s startling resemblance to me.
“She’s out.”
“Out?”
“Jane is out for dinner with Ben. On a date.” I straighten the dish towel, which is suddenly in dire need of my attention. The corners are really uneven. ESCAPE TO WISCONSIN! is emblazoned in bright red on the white cloth. Depending on how you fold it, you can also make it say ESCAPE WISCONSIN! or SPEW SIN! I pluck at one side, then the other. “They’re on their first date, technically, although the three of us have hung out. But this is just the two of them.”
Seth is silent, except for an unpleasant wet suction slurp. Other than that, he’s quiet for a long time. I crumple the dish towel and look around for something to wipe off, tension inexplicably balling up in my chest. As usual, except for whatever damage I’ve just inflicted on
“My inner truth is that that jar of Nesquik is yours,” I say. “You can take it home with you.” I regret instantly my use of the word “home,” because Seth still doesn’t have one. He’s still camped out on his friend Pete’s sofa.
“That’s your outer truth.”
“Okay,” I say lightly, “but I’m not interested in your cooties becoming a part of my inner truth.”
“Oh, my cooties?” Seth glares at me, his voice suddenly serrated, his features twitchy with disdain; immediately I curl up inside myself like a roly-poly bug. This is the thing about Seth, how when I’m with him, time will sometimes whirl backward in a dizzying spin, and without warning I’m the scorned fourteen-year-old little sister, the embarrassed blob of developing flesh, the trash bin for his misplaced anger. I finish drying a mug and,still stunned, carefully place it right back in the dish rack. When I notice what I’ve done, I leave it there, too proud to move it to the cupboard, to let Seth see he’s rattled me.
I hang the dish towel on the oven door and glare back at my brother, who of course is no longer looking at me. But the fact is, I am just as much Willa-then as Willa-now, just as much fourteen-year-old kid as twenty-six-year-old adult, and although Seth may have the power to flatten me, it helps to remember that I’m not the one who got himself kicked out of his own apartment, I’m not the one spouting self-help platitudes while nursing an endless, insatiable sugar jones, currently licking powered cocoa mix from one wet, wrinkly finger. I’m not the one who, I am just noticing for the first time, has a brand-new silver dollar-sized bald spot on the top of his head.
“So how’s it going at Pete’s?” I say, restraining the urge to plant my hands on my hips. “How’s that couch treating you?” Baldy.
Seth pauses, considering. “Lumpy,” he says. “And lonely. It’s the perfect combination.”
“Right,” I say, loosening. “How psychically unbalanced would it be if you were sleeping in someone’s well-appointed guest room, on six-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets?”
Seth nods. We’re back to normal. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my brother—and there may be only one thing I’ve learned from my brother—it’s thatopportunities for forgiveness are unlimited. “I know!” he says. “One of the great things about getting dumped by Nina is that all of my friends are pathetic losers like me.”
Seth’s best friend is Pete Moss, a chubby computer genius who sometimes confuses his online avatar—star soccer player for an Italian club—with his real-world self.
“Pete Moss,” I say. I just like to say it.
“Pete Moss,” Seth agrees. “Hey, where’s your loser roommate?” He looks around the apartment in an exaggerated way, craning his neck as if he’s just noticing that Jane isn’t here, which obviously is not the case, because he’s had a crush on Jane since he met her. But that’s an uncomfortable fact we don’t acknowledge, given both Seth’s former relationship with Nina, and also Jane’s startling resemblance to me.
“She’s out.”
“Out?”
“Jane is out for dinner with Ben. On a date.” I straighten the dish towel, which is suddenly in dire need of my attention. The corners are really uneven. ESCAPE TO WISCONSIN! is emblazoned in bright red on the white cloth. Depending on how you fold it, you can also make it say ESCAPE WISCONSIN! or SPEW SIN! I pluck at one side, then the other. “They’re on their first date, technically, although the three of us have hung out. But this is just the two of them.”
Seth is silent, except for an unpleasant wet suction slurp. Other than that, he’s quiet for a long time. I crumple the dish towel and look around for something to wipe off, tension inexplicably balling up in my chest. As usual, except for whatever damage I’ve just inflicted on
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