“I am, but I’m not getting you more lemonade.”
Blake sucks some air through the straw since there’s no liquid left to slurp. “Is there a problem?” he asks.
“Gosh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s—”
“Didn’t you agree to load half of the boxes?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did you have to load more than half of them?”
“No.”
“Me paying somebody else to do my half didn’t create any extra work for you. I don’t see why you’re upset.”
Credit where it’s due. Blake is a very good actor. He knows perfectly well why I’m upset, but if somebody were standing around listening to our conversation, that person might think he was being genuine. They might think I was the bad guy for picturing running over him with my car.
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” I inform him.
“I didn’t realize that carrying boxes was so traumatic for you. I assumed that guitar players had strong arms.”
“I have amazing arms! I’ll load boxes all day, no problem. But I don’t like doing it when they’re your boxes and you’re being lazy.”
“Lazy…or smart?”
“Lazy.”
“Or smart?”
“Lazy,” I say definitively.
“Look,” says Blake, “I’ll be the first to admit that my arms weren’t designed for lifting things. If I’ve got the money, why shouldn’t I pay somebody to do the work for me?”
“Don’t play dumb.”
“Are you mad because you weren’t paid? I figured that since we’re family, it would be inappropriate to offer to compensate you. But here.” He holds his empty glass toward me. “I’ll give you a buck to get me another glass of lemonade.”
Not gonna lie. It would be an easy dollar. But I’m not going to play his game.
I turn away from him and walk into the garage.
“Fine. A buck fifty. Do you take plastic? I can start a tab. We’ll settle up when I leave.”
I turn around. “Like I said, this isn’t going to continue.”
“I’m trying to generate some income for you, Rod. Most people in your position would be delighted to get me a refill on my lemonade.”
“I’ll tell my mom that I don’t want you to stay here anymore,” I answer. “Your parents can cut their stupid cruise short and pick up their bratty son. Or you can fly back to California and stay by yourself. You’re sixteen. Why do you need us to babysit you anyway?”
I may have struck a nerve. “You’re not my babysitter,” he says.
“Then stop acting like a baby.”
“Babies don’t hire people.”
“Apparently, they do.”
“You got outsmarted. Get over it.”
Outsmarted? Outsmarted? Can you believe what you’re reading?
“I think we have very different definitions of what it means to outsmart somebody,” I say. “You didn’t do anything clever. If a dog has an accident on the kitchen floor and you have to clean it up, that dog didn’t outsmart you.”
“Very well,” says Blake, standing. “No dollar fifty for you. I would’ve gone as high as a buck seventy-five, but you’ve lost out.”
“I’m not impressed that you have spending money. Don’t act like you’re an entrepreneur because you get an allowance.”
“Ooh, look at Rodney’s fancy words!”
“Entrepreneur? That’s a normal word. And you can’t look at my words. You’re listening to them.”
“Whatever.”
(I realize that you, as the reader of this book, are indeed looking at my words, unless you’re listening to it on audiobook or somebody is reading it out loud. But I was talking to Blake. Sorry if there was confusion.)
“All I’m saying, Blake, is don’t get too comfortable.”
Blake sits back down. He sets the empty glass on the ground and then stretches out his legs and puts his arms up over his head, getting comfortable.
“Like this?” he asks.
“Yeah, like that.”
“I’d hate to have to tell my parents that you were being a poor host.”
“What are they going to do, not send me a birthday card?”
“For starters.”
“It’s adorable that you think I’m scared of Aunt Mary and Uncle Clark. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I still remember when Aunt Mary made me stand in the corner for ten minutes for not wiping my feet before I came inside. If they put me in time-out, I’ll have to take it like a man.”
“Do you know what I’d advise?” Blake asks.
“Nope. Not a clue. What would you advise?”
“I’d advise you to stop pretending you’re not scared of me.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I can’t possibly have heard you correctly. Because what I heard is you saying that I’m scared of you.”
“Then you heard right. Go ahead and deny it if you want.”
“That’s not even worth denying. It would be like me insisting that I’m not really Iron Man.”
“Say what you will. We both know the truth.”
I shake my head. “You’re trying to draw me into one of those conversations that makes me want to rip out my hair. Not gonna happen. My hair is one of my best features.”
“Hi, Rod!” says Audrey.
I spin around. Audrey rides her bicycle up my driveway. She always lets me know before she comes over, but I’ve been too busy loading boxes and dealing with Cousin Satan to pay attention to my phone.
“Oh, hi,” I say, trying to pretend that I’m happy to see my girlfriend. I’d warned her about Blake, but seeing him in action might cause her to question my DNA. Maybe I should tell her he was adopted. In fact, I’ll say that we were both adopted to distance our bloodlines even further.
I wonder if Audrey will get to meet Good Blake or Evil Blake. I’m not sure which will be better for me.
“You didn’t answer your texts, but I didn’t think you’d mind me coming over.”
“It’s great to see you.”
Audrey gets off her bike and puts down the kickstand. Blake is staring at her the way a guy does when he’s not used to being in the presence of attractive women. If I could read his thoughts, I’m sure they’d be Duurrrr derp durrrr durr derp.
She walks over to Blake. “Hi,” she says. “I’m Audrey.”
“I’m…Cousin.”
“Nice to meet you, Cousin.”
“Blake.”
“Cousin Blake, right. Rod told me all about you.”
Blake opens his mouth as if to speak, but no sound emerges. A trickle of
