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“Shut up,” Edgar snaps. “We’ll be there for dessert, don’t worry! I just want to beat the shit out of Nolan to get him off his pedestal.”
“In your dreams,” Nolan says.
Our parents laugh as they watch the guys fight over a video game. They’re running down the stairs to the basement before the conversation has even ended, and I sigh as I hear their voices rising from the top of the stairs.
“Scarlett, honey, you know you don’t have to follow them,” Anya laughs. “You’re better than that!”
“If I go downstairs, they’ll cry! I’m giving them a head start,” I joke to Nolan’s mother. “I’m much better than your son in the NHL, but he doesn’t want to admit it.”
She gives me a conspiratorial wink and I stay with them fora while, listening to their conversations before deciding to join the guys downstairs. After all, what’s the point of running away when the only person I want to avoid is living with meall the timeanyway. Unlike him, I regret nothing.
Just his behavior.
But it’s Nolan.
And I always give in.
When I get to the basement, the guys are trying hard on a game, and I suspect Nolan is putting my brother through the wringer. I laugh as I slump into the vacant seat, noticing that I was not mistaken. 2-0. My brother is losing.
“You’re bad, Ed,” I say.
“Play it smart, Scar. You come after and I’m going to have a lot of fun when this asshole kicks your ass.”
“Here’s what he says to you, the asshole!” says Nolan.
In a perfect throw, Nolan shoots a masterful goal, making Leo howl with joy and my brother growl. I burst out laughing, meeting Nolan’s quick gaze in my direction. He pretends I haven’t caught his eye and goes back to the game, his fingers working furiously on the controller until the last second.
“Damn it! I’m sure my controller is screwing up,” my brother grumbles.
“Of course,” Leo chuckles. “The controller.”
Nolan laughs, retrieves the object, and gives me the one Edgar had in his hands.
“Let’s see it.”
Without looking at me, he activates the game, giving me the Montreal Canadiens while he always takes the same team. The Boston Bruins.
Predictable.
“What’s at stake?” asks Leo.
“What do you mean?” I say, confused. “Did you bet something just before?”
“The dishes of the week.”
My brother grumbles in his corner and I understand better why he tried so hard to win. This week there are two of them sharing the household chores, we alternate regularly, and from what I understand… Edgar will have a lot of work.
“Not chores. This kind of bet is for losers.”
Nolan smirks and I feel a small slap behind my head.
“You’re just a brat.”
“You’re a moron,” I answer in the same tone to my brother.
“Come on, Miss Perfect,” Edgar taunts. “I can’t wait to see how you do this time. No chores, so what if the loser owes the winner a dare? Any kind.”
“Like cleaning!” laughs Leo.
