“It sounds mean,” says Audrey.
“If letting my cousin dehydrate is mean, I don’t want to be nice.”
“Actually, based on what you’ve said, he’ll have it delivered. We’ll go back out there and he’ll be sipping a frosty beverage with a paper umbrella that makes what we’re drinking look like bathtub water.”
“Blake’s a fan of bathtub water.”
“Drinking it?”
“No. I mean, I hope not. Ew. Why did you put that image in my head? I thought you cared about me.”
“I think you’re thinking about this way too much,” says Audrey.
She may be right. You can definitely make an argument that I’m pettier than I was twenty-four hours ago. (Did he really just get here yesterday? Feels like it was seventeen years ago, and I’m only sixteen.)
“Yeah, I probably am,” I admit. “But watch. He won’t come in and refill his own glass under any—”
The door to the garage opens, and Blake walks into the kitchen. “Hi,” he says, going over to the refrigerator. He takes out the pitcher of lemonade, and he refills his glass. He takes a long drink and then pours more to top it off. “Mmm, delicious,” he says, putting the pitcher back in the refrigerator.
It’s definitely in the top five most frustrating times I’ve watched somebody pour themselves a drink.
“See you guys outside,” says Blake, leaving with a wave.
“He did that on purpose,” I tell Audrey. “You think I’m wrong?”
“I mean, uh, I don’t think he poured the lemonade on accident.”
“He knew I’d tell you that he wouldn’t do it, so he did it to make me look stupid.”
“Maybe.”
“Not maybe. Definitely. He knew I was in here saying that he was a jerk, so he behaved like a normal person on purpose. Now I look like the jerk. I look unhinged, right?”
“A little.”
“See?”
“Do you think it’s possible that—and bear with me on this line of logic—he was simply thirsty?”
“I know he was thirsty! What I’m saying is that…”
I trail off because I realize that I will not look back on this conversation with pride. If I want to keep Audrey as my girlfriend for more than three months, I need to calm down.
“Sorry,” I say. “I was on an inflatable mattress, and I didn’t sleep very well.”
“Why did you get the—”
“Doesn’t matter.”
I can’t let Blake turn me into a twitchy person. That’s his role, not mine. I’m a well-adjusted kid who works out his problems through his music.
The door to the garage opens again, and Blake walks back into the kitchen, holding an empty glass. “There’s nothing better than a cold glass of lemonade on a hot day, am I right?”
“You’re right,” I say.
“This was freshly squeezed, wasn’t it?”
“Nope. Powder.”
“Well, whoever added the water and stirred really knew what they were doing. Nobody likes gritty lemonade.”
Audrey giggles. I think she mistook his obnoxious comment for an attempt to be amusing.
Blake pours himself another glass. “How long have you two known each other?” he asks.
“Three months,” says Audrey. (Okay, I guess I didn’t need the exposition earlier in the chapter.)
Blake nods his approval. “That’s an exciting time in a relationship.”
I’m pretty sure that the closest Blake has ever come to a romantic relationship involves awkward conversations with girls over the punch bowl at school dances, but I don’t say anything.
Audrey puts her arm around me. “Nonstop excitement.”
Wait. Was she being ironic? Surely, she wasn’t being ironic. Her tone sounded slightly ironic, but I must have misheard. No way was she being ironic.
“I can tell by the vibe between you two that you’re perfect for each other,” says Blake. He chuckles. “I look forward to my wedding invitation.”
Audrey also chuckles.
I do not chuckle.
“Rod said you were great, and I totally see it. You two make sense. You fit.”
“Well, thank you,” says Audrey. “I agree.” She gives my shoulders a squeeze.
He’s not looking at her in a creepy manner or anything, but still, I don’t like Blake complimenting my relationship with my girlfriend. I’m ready for him to go back outside now.
“I hear that Fanged Grapefruit is amazing,” says Blake. “I can’t wait to be in the front row at their next show.”
“There isn’t actual seating,” I say.
“Standing up front then.”
“Sorry,” Audrey tells Blake. “He’s being pedantic.”
One thing I like less than Blake complimenting my relationship with my girlfriend is my girlfriend apologizing to Blake for my being pedantic, even if I was. Next she’ll say she’s attracted to guys who have posters of rats on their walls.
I want to make sure that Blake knows he isn’t welcome at a Fanged Grapefruit show, but this is not the time. Instead I smile politely. (Which is difficult. My face really doesn’t want to contort into a smile right now. It takes a lot of muscle control to make it happen.)
The two of them keep talking and laughing. I consider it a personal victory that I don’t throw back my head and let out a bellow of primal anguish. Why am I the only one who can see the real Blake?
10.
Wow. Chapter ten. I honestly thought I’d have a nervous breakdown before we got here.
I can’t bring myself to provide a transcript of Audrey and Blake’s conversation in the kitchen, but let’s just say they got along perfectly well. It’s not like I started to think he was going to steal my woman, but I guess I’d hoped she’d dislike him as much as I do.
The torture ends when Mel and Clarissa arrive. (Recap: Mel = lead guitar. Clarissa = drums.) Clarissa’s mom is heavily tattooed and has several face piercings, so it’s always odd to see her drive up in a minivan with four kids in the back. I help Clarissa unpack her drums. If Blake offers to assist, I will bash a cymbal over my head, but he doesn’t.
I introduce Mel and Clarissa to Blake. They’re both considerate enough to look like they don’t really want
