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Authors: MaryJanice Davidson
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hand-warmer dealies.’ You should have gone into advertising.”
“And miss all this?” I said dryly, gesturing to the controlled chaos of the kitchen. Except there wasn’t anything controlled about it. Jessica was turning toast into cinnamon toast and then eating it, turning it into fuel for her brand o’ crazy; Not-Nick was showing her something on his cell (it must have been pretty cool, because he was also doing jazz hands); the puppies were frisking around everyone’s ankles . . . for such a big kitchen, it didn’t take many of us to fill it. “Say it ain’t so!”
“You love it, so quit that. You love”—he gestured to the not-controlled chaos—“all of this stuff. At first you didn’t, or pretended you didn’t, but we all grew on you.”
I nodded. “Like lichen. Icky, smelly lichen. Lichen found all over the world, in places you’d think lichen would never be able to flourish. The symbiotic lichen.” At his raised eyebrows, I added, “Eighth grade science report. Isn’t it strange, the stuff you can’t ever get out of your head?”
“Fine, we’re lichen. Point is—these days?—the ‘oh, it’s so awful here with all the weird people and weird stuff going on in our mansion of weird’ is strictly pretending.”
“Nuh-uh!” Blast! Was my cover blown?
“Yuh-huh! The roommates, being queen, being eternally hot and strong and rich, most people in your life liking having you around, the puppies, Sinclair’s mood swing—”
“Mood
swing
? That’s a mood hurricane.”
Ever see a zombie roll his eyes? It’s terrifying. “Jeez, Betsy, sometimes I think if you didn’t have something to bitch about you’d leave town
looking
for something to bitch about.”
Ack! My secret was out! “Tell no one,” I threatened, my fingers sinking into his forearms. “Not unless you want me to blab the major spoiler in
A Storm of Swords.
”
He yelped and pulled his arm free. “Just sayin’. You know you love this shit.”
“Maybe ‘love’ is a little strong . . .” I was super glad he hadn’t called my bluff. Have you seen any one of the
GoT
books? Doorstops. Who has the time? Besides, HBO was doing a pretty good job. More giant books should be made into TV shows and movies. Big time-saver.
“It’s not,” Marc retorted, then went back to his magazine article.
I looked around the restaurant-sized kitchen. Butcher blocks everywhere, dozens of cabinets, multiple fridges and freezers, multiple blenders (we were all hard-core smoothie addicts), multiple drawers, multiple pantries. Every gadget you could think of. Any dish you wanted to make you could whip up right there. It was always warm and bright here; we always felt safe. Well. Safe-ish. “Yeah, well. Keep it to yourself, will ya?”
He gave me a look I translated as
You’re not fooling any of us
, but since it wasn’t out loud I could let it go and keep my pride. Because that’s what it’s all about! Me keeping my pride in the face of everything, all the time.
Ugh, did I really just think that?
CHAPTER
NINE
Before I could wallow further in the black hole of my vanity and pride, Mom and Tina came into the kitchen. They would have collided but Tina saw it coming and courteously stepped back. Mom, I was sure, had no idea Tina was anywhere near. Certainly not right behind her, as in
Look out! The vampire is right behind you! Also, the call is coming from inside the house!
“All right.” She took a breath, like she was bracing herself to tackle something tricky. Were we out of toilet paper in one of the guest bathrooms? “I want to try to talk to all of you about this again.” She’d shoved open the swinging door (I awaited the day somebody would get smacked with it—swinging kitchen doors always led to smacking hilarity according to every TV show about swinging kitchen doors ever made), then came forward enough for it to swing shut behind her. It didn’t, though; Tina had caught it and held it, waiting for my mother
“And miss all this?” I said dryly, gesturing to the controlled chaos of the kitchen. Except there wasn’t anything controlled about it. Jessica was turning toast into cinnamon toast and then eating it, turning it into fuel for her brand o’ crazy; Not-Nick was showing her something on his cell (it must have been pretty cool, because he was also doing jazz hands); the puppies were frisking around everyone’s ankles . . . for such a big kitchen, it didn’t take many of us to fill it. “Say it ain’t so!”
“You love it, so quit that. You love”—he gestured to the not-controlled chaos—“all of this stuff. At first you didn’t, or pretended you didn’t, but we all grew on you.”
I nodded. “Like lichen. Icky, smelly lichen. Lichen found all over the world, in places you’d think lichen would never be able to flourish. The symbiotic lichen.” At his raised eyebrows, I added, “Eighth grade science report. Isn’t it strange, the stuff you can’t ever get out of your head?”
“Fine, we’re lichen. Point is—these days?—the ‘oh, it’s so awful here with all the weird people and weird stuff going on in our mansion of weird’ is strictly pretending.”
“Nuh-uh!” Blast! Was my cover blown?
“Yuh-huh! The roommates, being queen, being eternally hot and strong and rich, most people in your life liking having you around, the puppies, Sinclair’s mood swing—”
“Mood
swing
? That’s a mood hurricane.”
Ever see a zombie roll his eyes? It’s terrifying. “Jeez, Betsy, sometimes I think if you didn’t have something to bitch about you’d leave town
looking
for something to bitch about.”
Ack! My secret was out! “Tell no one,” I threatened, my fingers sinking into his forearms. “Not unless you want me to blab the major spoiler in
A Storm of Swords.
”
He yelped and pulled his arm free. “Just sayin’. You know you love this shit.”
“Maybe ‘love’ is a little strong . . .” I was super glad he hadn’t called my bluff. Have you seen any one of the
GoT
books? Doorstops. Who has the time? Besides, HBO was doing a pretty good job. More giant books should be made into TV shows and movies. Big time-saver.
“It’s not,” Marc retorted, then went back to his magazine article.
I looked around the restaurant-sized kitchen. Butcher blocks everywhere, dozens of cabinets, multiple fridges and freezers, multiple blenders (we were all hard-core smoothie addicts), multiple drawers, multiple pantries. Every gadget you could think of. Any dish you wanted to make you could whip up right there. It was always warm and bright here; we always felt safe. Well. Safe-ish. “Yeah, well. Keep it to yourself, will ya?”
He gave me a look I translated as
You’re not fooling any of us
, but since it wasn’t out loud I could let it go and keep my pride. Because that’s what it’s all about! Me keeping my pride in the face of everything, all the time.
Ugh, did I really just think that?
CHAPTER
NINE
Before I could wallow further in the black hole of my vanity and pride, Mom and Tina came into the kitchen. They would have collided but Tina saw it coming and courteously stepped back. Mom, I was sure, had no idea Tina was anywhere near. Certainly not right behind her, as in
Look out! The vampire is right behind you! Also, the call is coming from inside the house!
“All right.” She took a breath, like she was bracing herself to tackle something tricky. Were we out of toilet paper in one of the guest bathrooms? “I want to try to talk to all of you about this again.” She’d shoved open the swinging door (I awaited the day somebody would get smacked with it—swinging kitchen doors always led to smacking hilarity according to every TV show about swinging kitchen doors ever made), then came forward enough for it to swing shut behind her. It didn’t, though; Tina had caught it and held it, waiting for my mother
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