Young Writers Society

I had never in my life been more keenly aware of Friday. My alarm went off at five-thirty (insanely early, by my standards), and the second my eyes snapped open, I knew which day it was and what I was set to do. Rolling out of bed was a daze. Throwing clothes on was a daze. Stumbling down the stairs was a daze, and once I hit the kitchen, all I could think about was how obnoxious the shade of red on the walls was.

I fumbled with the coffee maker and guilted myself into eating a piece of toast and a couple slices of pineapple from the a Tupperware container in the fridge before remembering that I needed to do my hair. And my face. Halfway to the downstairs bathroom, I realized that if I did either now, I'd just have to do it again before Braz got back. The result was my scrounging up a brown paper bag and shoving all the product that would fit into it before snatching my travel mug off the counter, slipping a pair of light yellow canvas shoes onto my feet, and hijacking my aunty's Ford whatever-it-was car. The thing was silver, and that's really all I cared about. I mean, I would've paid attention if it was my car, but it wasn't, so I couldn't make myself be all that interested.

Granted, I suppose it wasn't technically hijacking if she knew I was taking it. Koby needs the life experience anyway was what she'd said to justify making the poor kid take the bus. At least the Queen playing on the car stereo served to wake me up a little bit.

I turned onto his street, gaze locked on the little single-storey condo. It was easy to pick out, because it was the only condo on the street. Which I thought was weird, but we were from different parts of the rougher side of town. My part being the not-so-rough part where you had the privilege of saying that you were from the Westside without actually being a part of the dangers that came with being further into it.

I took a deep breath, wincing when I saw the white truck parked outside. It was her dad's, but I'd be damned if Nicky could just drive something that didn't intimidate me. I mean, it wasn't like she'd been even relatively hostile on Wednesday, but still. Braz had been there on Wednesday. I'd just pulled into a parking lot and stepped onto a driveway that may as well have been the path to doom.

Doom that would be concealed by solitude and shitty white siding.

I swallowed, rapping on the front door with my knuckles, travel mug balanced awkwardly between my chest and my wrist. I repositioned it and wrapped the fingers of my other hand more securely around the paper bag.

Nicky answered the door, pausing for a half a second. Specifically to frown at me, it felt like. "Wow. I can already tell that you're not a morning person," was apparently her version of a greeting.

I frowned. "Not particularly. Here to get shit done before the Liu Crew arrives back home. Will not apologize if I pass out mid-way through the cleansing of the dwelling."

She shuffled back, and I hesitantly stepped in, kicking my shoes off on the mat in front of the door.

"Okay, so before we even start, I feel like we should get a few things covered."

I looked over my shoulder at her, already making a run for the kitchen counter so that I could put my stuff down. And God, getting past the entry of that house was... weird. Like stepping back into my early teen years. Nothing had changed. The cabinets were still all this gross oak, and the granite was still too dark for the walls, which were still a pretty decent shade of light brown. Same oak dining set in the same old little dining area the kitchen opened off into. And then I turned around, and the living room had a new rug and new leather couches, and a better television, but the laminate under the rug was the same, and the walls were still this adorable sky blue.

If this was throwing me off as much as it was, I didn't even want to know what walking into Braz's room would do to me.

"You're not listening to me." Nicky's voice broke in like she'd taken a sledgehammer to my head. Something about the tone she used, I guess.

I blinked a few times, whipping around to face her, crossed arms and irritated expression and all. "Oh. Yeah, sorry. Kinda... weird, being here again."

Judging from the way her forehead creased, that was the wrong thing to say. She cleared her throat. "Right. Okay, so, I don't like you. Still. I mean, I tolerate your existence just fine, so don't even give me that look-"

I relaxed my face, pronto.

"But I'm on dusting and tidying. I need you to do dishes and sweep the kitchen, and whoever gets done first is in charge of vacuuming the living room. I'm letting you pick the music."

"Very methodical of you." I licked my lips, reaching back to snatch my travel mug. "I like your style. Do they still have that Frank Sinatra collection?"

She twirled on her heel and slipped into the living room, out of sight behind the arch-thing that separated it from the kitchen. "Yup. Album preference?"

I took a swig of coffee, set the mug down, and rolled up my sweater sleeves. "Nah. Something with Fly Me to The Moon." She didn't respond, so I started running water while she rummaged. I'd washed the first cup in the pile- which was huge, now that I actually looked at it- before it started playing.

If I could've made myself not sing the songs, I would have not sang them. But I couldn't, so I did, and it wasn't like I didn't know that I'd taken voice for eight years, so I didn't sing quietly, either. I was half expecting Nicky to complain, but the desired song came on, and she started up, too. It actually sort of surprised me a little bit- I'd never assumed that Nicky was a singer, but damn, the girl could sing.

It was probably the closest thing we'd gotten to enjoying each others' company since I played backstabbing-cowardly-jackass.

"Not bad, Heyton!" she called, and all I could do was laugh.

And then I couldn't stop smiling. Not even when I'd finished washing and started drying and throwing cupboards open, praying that I wasn't putting things in the wrong places. I took a dish rag to the counters and straightened out all of the papers and odds and ends. Really, I just piled them more neatly, because they didn't look like things that needed to be messed with. Too many official-looking envelopes and receipts. But they weren't littered all over the counter anymore, so it qualified as an improvement.

Nicky trotted in just as I was finishing. "The broom's in the closet in the hall. I've been inspired to prepare for them a breakfast of champions. Already texted Mai not to pick anything up on the way back." She paused for a second, tongue running over her lips. "You don't have to help with that, though."

I sort of froze, sort of maintained my composure, and shrugged. "I'll sweep up and vacuum the carpet. What're you making?"

She grinned, fingers folding into each other under her chin. "Omelets, and I'm going to hack up the watermelon they have in the fridge before it goes bad. Also bacon. And smoothies."

I nodded, mulling that over for a second. "I'll be fine until Point Bacon, and then I'm going to have to bail. The smell makes me feel like I'm dying a little on the inside." I figured that I might as well be open about it. Nicky'd known about the whole eating disorder thing, and she was scary, but I knew for a fact that she wasn't bitchy enough to use it against me.

She nodded, gliding around me to start pulling pans out. "Awesome." She paused, scratching the back of her head. "Would it make more sense to sweep before or after?"

"After. I'm a messy cook."

She nodded and twirled back to her pots, and I threw myself at the fridge. I didn't know how we did it- maybe it was the Frank Sinatra that was still playing in the background, or the fact that we were both equally excited about Braz's discharge from the hospital, or maybe Braz had made her swear not to murder me in cold blood- but we collaborated. In peace. Hell, she even laughed at my crappy morning-jokes a couple of times and told me stories about her youth group. Which was weird, in a way. I'd forgotten that she was religious. Went to some self-proclaimed non-denominational church uptown.

I disappeared into the bathroom when she started the bacon to fix my face and the mess that was my hair, making it out just in time to see her grabbing glasses from the cupboard. We'd just gotten things set up on the table, with this cute sky-blue-and-white checkered tablecloth and a vase of daffodils in the middle, when we heard the car pull into the drive.

Nicky looked at me, eyes big, bottom lip trapped in her teeth. And I looked at Nicky, probably mimicking her expression to a T. In any case, we were both grinning, both darting for the door simultaneously. She whipped it open without ceremony, waving excitedly at the little Ford parked outside. I almost ran into her, just managing to catch myself on the door-frame, and beamed at Braz as his mom helped him pile out of the passenger seat.

He beamed right back, and I swear, my chest was going to burst and shower everyone in glittery Parker guts. He was still limping on his bad leg, but the cast was gone, and the wince wasn't too bad when he put weight on it. Tough little bugger.

Francis burst out of the back seat and ripped around the front of the car to the door. Nicky and I shuffled out of her way, and the first thing she did was giggle at the table.

"You guys didn't! Is that bacon?" she asked, and before we could answer her, she was whirling around and trotting down the front steps again, prattling a mile a minute about the plate of watermelon on the dining room table.

I glanced at Nicky, and she shrugged. "Kids, right? Don't think I've ever seen a nine year old that excited about bacon and watermelon before."

I laughed softly, slipping out the door myself. "Yeah, neither have I," I said, and instinct took over. I reached Braz, and bloody hell, I kissed that boy right on his stupid cheek and tried to ignore the burn in my own. Maybe that'd been a little forward.

"Welcome home, I guess," I whispered, trying to ignore the fact that I could feel his mom shaking her head at me.

Braz grinned a grin that was all eyes and all mouth simultaneously. "Thanks." His hand slipped into mine, and we ambled up the stairs together.

I stayed at the table while they ate- even managed to down a couple pieces of watermelon- but I didn't do much of the talking. Braz was sitting beside me, foot shamelessly hooked around my ankle, enthusing his sister about some reality crime show that the Lius allegedly watched every Wednesday. Mai and Nicky were chattering away about Nicky's latest DIY fashion design, and I was sucking at the rind of my third hunk of fruit.

Everyone but Braz was in on the dishes, because he had orders to take it easy for a couple weeks yet, and Mai threw on some coffee while the rest of us settled in on the couch. I flopped down next to the armrest, and Braz flopped down next to me, with Nicky next to him. Francis nested herself on their old armchair after throwing on Narnia, and Mai shuffled in midway through the previews with a tray of drinks.

God, I couldn't believe how fast they'd integrated me into the family. Even Nicky seemed to be alright with the fact that I was there. And I mean, not just tolerating for the sake of Braz, but... almost happy. I mean, 'happy' was probably stretching it a little bit, but it was close enough. It was refreshing. For the first time in ages, I felt kind of like life was on hold. Tension that I hadn't even known existed was draining from my shoulders.

The only off part was that Braz's dad wasn't there cracking jokes and imitating celebrities.