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I'm about to annihilate the zombie on the screen when my phone’s ear splitting ringtone starts blaring away, breaking my concentration. I try to ignore it, but the damn thing just won’t quit. Annoyed, I press pause on my remote to see who it is, and I’m not the least bit amazed when I verify it’s Quaid who decided to blow up my phone so early this morning. He must be bored out of his mind all alone next door, so it’s no surprise I’m the one he decides to bother. Between bugging me or harassing Carter, he knows I’m his best bet. It wouldn’t bug me so much if he didn’t know that I’ve been trying to finish this game for weeks now. Unsuccessfully, but still trying. Unfortunately, I know if I don't pick up, he'll just keep calling and calling until I give in. Quaid’s stubborn that way.
"This better be important, asswipe. I was about to crush the final boss onResident Evil,” I blurt out in greeting.
“No, you weren’t. That game has been kicking your ass all summer and you know it.” He chuckles, and I swear I can almost see the smug metallic smirk on his face on the other end of the line.
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait!” he yells.
“Out with it, Quaid! I told you I have shit to do.”
“That can wait. Trust me. Just go downstairs and take a peek out of your living room window, will you?"
“There's not going to be a paper bag with dog shit on my porch, is there? Mom is going to be pissed if you do that again.”
"Nah. It’s not April Fools’. And besides, I'm not a one-trick wonder. I wouldn’t pull the same gag on you twice,” he has the audacity to say.
“Funny.”
“Stop being a grouch, and just go downstairs already,” he orders impatiently.
“Fine.” I sigh, knowing if I don’t do as he says, he’ll just come on over and make me.
I’ve never met someone so pig-headed, but the persistent dipshit is one of my best friends, so what’s a guy to do?
The minute I leave my room, I’m bombarded with Taylor Swift’s new album. My sisters Megan and Rachel have worn down that record nonstop this whole damn summer. So much so, that even I know all the lyrics to each song. I’m not hating on Taylor—since she knows her shit—but the guys have a field day when they catch me distractedly humming one of her tunes. I guess it’s just another one of the many joys of being the only guy in a house full of women. I swear Dad volunteers for every military deployment there is more to have some peace and quiet out of this house, than he does to put food on the table. What’s a little line of fire compared to four teenage girls’ drama and mayhem? I’m just a kid, but if the army let me tag along with the old man for a few months, I’d definitely consider it.
With my fingers in my ears, I rush down the stairs. Brooke and Cassidy are in the kitchen baking and helping Mom out with whatever bake sale our church is doing this weekend. While Dad is in some remote place in some god-forsaken third world country, doing his best not to get shot, Mom makes sure to do every good deed in the book, just so the Almighty takes a shining to him and brings him home safely and back to us in one piece.
“Are you there yet?” I hear Quaid's muffled voice coming from the phone in my hand.
I roll my eyes because not only is he stubborn, but he can be right down impatient when he wants to be. If I didn’t love the asshole like the brother I never had, I'd kick his ass for being so annoyingly aggravating.
“Almost,” I tell him once I reach the living room.
“Are you at the window?”
“Jesus, Quaid! Just give me a minute, will you?”
“Hurry up, fucker!”
I wish I could cuss him out just as easily as he does me, but Mom is within listening distance, and she would ground me in a heartbeat if she heard just a hint of profanity leave my lips. Of course, said grounding would only happen after she made sure I wouldn’t be able to sit for a week. I know that much.
Quaid is one lucky SOB in that respect. His parents don’t give a shit one way or another what comes out of his mouth. Mind you, they don’t give a shit about a lot of other things, too—Quaid being one of them.
Okay, so maybe the grass isn’t greener on the other side of the fence, and my best friend isn’t as lucky as I make him out to be. Sure, his folks are loaded and can buy him all the latest gadgets and video games he wants, and unlike me, Quaid doesn’t have to wear hand me downs or buy his clothes at a second hand thrift shop. But I would rather have my penny-counting helicopter parents who are constantly on my ass over every little thing, than have his, who give him everything but not what matters most.
“Logan!” Quaid yells out once more, bringing me back to the task at hand.
“I’m here. I’m here,” I grunt, opening the curtain to see what’s so damn important that couldn’t wait.
As I take a look around our street, nothing seems to warrant Quaid’s impatience. Except for the moving truck across the street from my house, it’s just the same old boring day on Cedar Road.
"What am I looking at? So the Henderson’s finally sold their place. Big whoop. Please don’t tell me this is why you pulled me out of my game?"
"Just give it a second and keep your eyes peeled."
I’m two seconds away from hanging up the phone in his face, pissed off as all hell that Quaid forced me to stop my game just so I can stare at a damn moving van, when I see her.
