Page 5 of The F*ck-It List

“The pub?” Joanie screws her face up. “That hardly counts.”

“That’s not very supportive,” I scold her, but I have no other arguments. Marge runs the kitchen at the pub; she’s in her seventies and works in her slippers. She’d probably have a cigarette constantly hanging from her mouth, too, if Eli hadn’t flat out told her smoking was in no way allowed inside the building. She’s rough around the edges, tough as old boots, and shows up to work when she wants. Meaning no one can plan a meal out in advance because you neverknow when food will be available. She also doesn’t cook, per se. She can fry and use the microwave. That’s it.

“I think we can all agree another restaurant would be a blessing for everyone,” Eli says, not at all concerned about the prospect of a competitor.

My head swings between them, angry neither of them seem to be as put out by the newcomer across the street as I am.

“We should go introduce ourselves,” Eli says.

Joanie and I probably have twin expressions ofabsolutely notas we stare back at him. For different reasons though; Joanie just doesn’t really like people, I just don’t like this person—whoever they are. “You do remember we’re pissed someone else is taking over the shop, right?” I implore my best friend for a little bit of solidarity.

He rolls his freakishly green eyes at both of us and puts his noodle pot down on the windowsill. I bet he just leaves it there. Such a slob. “You two are miserable fuckers. I’m going to say hi to our new neighbours, stay here if you want, although you know you’re doing Port Doone a disservice by being so unwelcoming.” He points an accusatory finger at me and, although that little dig won’t bother Joanie one bit, he knows he’s getting to me. Our little village of Port Doone is my home, and I’d feel disloyal to misrepresent it.

Doesn’t mean I can’t be grumpy about it.

“Fine,” I snarl before pouring the remnants of my fancy crisps in my mouth and scrunching the empty bag up to toss it away. “Come on,” I snap at Joanie.

“Why am I being roped into this?”

“Because I’m not leaving you alone in my house; you swapped the sugar in the pot for salt last time.”

She cackles, steepling her fingers in front of her like a poorly written villain. Anyone would think she was the youngest but Joanie’s three years older than me and in no way more mature.

“Okay, but I’ve got to leave in twenty minutes to pick Connor up from school.”

“Why isn’t he getting the bus?” I ask, swiping Eli’s noodle cup up to throw away on the way out.

“Eurgh,” Joanie groans. “He’s been banned from the school bus for a week for sticking his chewing gum in some girl’s hair.”

“Oh Connor,” Eli sighs next to me.

I shake my head and try not to dwell on the disappointment of my nephew’s behaviour. Instead, I put my arm around Joanie’s shoulders and give her a light squeeze of consolation. She gives me a strained smile in return.

Without further protests, she follows Eli and me out the door and across the narrow road to where the moving truck is pulled up on the curb, leaving barely enough room for cars to pass. If Mr George in his beat-up old Land Rover tries to come through, someone’s losing a wing mirror. The clacking of Darcy’s claws behind me alerts me to the fact he’s considered this a family outing and therefore incomplete without his presence.

The other side of the truck reveals cardboard piled high on the pavement. The door to the cottage attached to the old shop is wide open and next to it, is a brightly dressed butt bent over and rummaging inside one of the boxes. They seem to hear us approach and pop up to a stand, revealing the person attached…and I have no idea what to make of them. Hair clipped close to their head, the few millimetres left bleached yellow blonde. They have some kind of eye makeup on inswirling patterns over their eyelids in a neon green, and rings in both the centre and one side of their nose as well as a single earring on one side, dangling down like a mini dagger. Wearing a knitted golf vest in neon pink with nothing underneath, a scattering of tattoos shows on their arms. They’re slim and wiry, tall for a woman but short for a man. Baggy jeans with brightly coloured chains draped between the belt loops and heavy Doc Martens complete their look. And they assess us with the same level of scrutiny I’m giving them.

“Hello,” they say cautiously, voice deeper than I was expecting.

“Hi,” Eli greets with his usual cheeriness. “We just wanted to come by and welcome the new neighbours.”

“Okay,” the stranger says. “You’reallgoing to be neighbours?”

“That’s right,” Joanie says.

“Are you guys in some kind of polycule?”

“A what now?” Joanie frowns.

“Oh, no,” Eli laughs, not offended by the fact this brightly coloured newcomer just suggested I was in a three-way relationship with my sister and best friend. “They’re siblings.” He points to Joanie and me.

“I see,” the one who still hasn’t introduced themselves says. “It’s just you all came out of the same house and I’m getting some weird co-dependency vibes.”

Are they for real? Who the fuck comes to my village and starts talking shit abo—

“Well, you’re probably not wrong there,” Eli laughs. The fucker’s not even offended. “It’s quite a tight knit community here, we all depend on each other.”

“That’s veryStars Hollowof you.” Newbie smirks, and I get a hot anger in the pit of my stomach. This colourful smirker is making fun of us, even though I have no clue what Stars Hollow is.