I like my room the way it is, but I have this sneaking suspicion that Mom will ask me to clean it before Blake arrives. I can’t blame her for that. Blake might be a raging neat freak, and I don’t want to start off on a bad note.
I stand in the doorway for a moment, surveying my room and trying to work out a plan of cleaning attack. If I had a bulldozer, I could just push everything from one half of the room to the other and be done with it. Sadly, I don’t own a bulldozer, and the hallway to my bedroom is too narrow to get one through. We have a one-story house, so technically, I could drive a bulldozer through the wall, but that would end up making more of a mess, don’t you think?
Yes, I am procrastinating on cleaning my room by thinking about driving a bulldozer through the side of my house. Welcome to my mind.
Actually, while I’m procrastinating, let me take you on a quick tour of my house. Let’s start from the outside. Yep, it’s the small, light blue one. The car that doesn’t look like it would start is mine. We’re in an okay neighborhood, I guess. Nobody has swimming pools, but they also don’t have zombies chained in their backyard.
Wipe your feet on the “Welcome Friends” mat and come on in. (Fun fact: that doormat is older than I am.) Congratulations! You’re in my living room! That’s one ugly couch, huh? It’s more comfortable than it looks. Don’t bother checking the cushions for loose change. I’ve got that covered.
From the couch you can see the kitchen, which is where I was making the peanut butter sandwich I talked about earlier. On the refrigerator door, there’s a flier that I made for the first-ever performance of Fanged Grapefruit. Mom hung it there like an elementary school art project. I don’t mean to brag, but if you open the refrigerator, there may be some food inside.
There’s the hallway that’s too narrow for a bulldozer. First door on the left leads to the bathroom. You’ll be pleased to know that it’s equipped with all the modern conveniences—a toilet, a sink with hot and cold running water, and a shower. Plus a fully stocked library.
The second and last door on the left leads to Mom’s room. Nothing to see there. The first and only door on the right leads to my room, which we’ve already discussed. (Recap: it’s very untidy.)
And…well, I guess that’s it, except for the garage. But you can’t look in there because it’s where we keep our newly restored Ferrari. Oh, yeah. It’s worth a fortune. The windows are made of diamonds. No, no, don’t open the door. I wouldn’t make that up. Just trust me.
All right, time to clean my room.
• • •
Did I do a perfect job? No.
Can you see most of the floor now? Yes.
I took a “before” picture so that if Blake has a problem with it, I can prove that I made an effort.
I didn’t tell you, but I called Audrey before I started and asked if she wanted to help clean. Her response was, and I quote, “Ha ha. No.”
If I were a good son, I’d clean up the rest of the house.
And you know what? I’m a good son.
I don’t get down and scrub the corners or anything, but I do a perfectly adequate job. It’s not like an emperor or Jennifer Lawrence is coming to visit.
When I’m finished, I survey my work, proud of a job well done. When Mom gets home, she thanks me and expresses surprise that I cleaned the house so soon since Cousin Blake won’t be here for six more days.
Five days later, the house looks the way it did before I started cleaning.
Oh well. I’ll clean it again after band practice.
• • •
Mel and Clarissa are in my garage, which has no Ferrari, blasting our song “Jalapeño Poppers Filled with Battery Acid Are a Tasty Treat.” (We have long song titles.)
This song requires a lot of screeching on my part, which hurts my voice after a while, so we take a quick break for me to drink some water with lemon and honey.
“When does your cousin get here?” Mel asks.
“Tomorrow.”
“That’s crazy, dude. I wouldn’t give up half my room.”
“It’s not like I have a choice.”
“Make him sleep out in a tent.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“You’ll have a roommate when you go to college,” says Clarissa. “Might as well get used to it.”
“He’s not going to ask to be part of the band, is he?” asks Mel. “Because we’re a well-oiled machine, and we can’t go messing up the dynamic.”
“One, he’s not going to ask to join the band,” I say. “Two, we’re not a well-oiled machine. We’re a decently oiled machine. And the way I look at it, my cousin Blake moving in means one extra friendly face in the crowd every week.”
“He’d better not cramp our style. We’ve worked hard on it,” Mel grumbles.
“If he cramps our style, I will personally make sure he’s removed from the premises.”
“Are you sure he’s not going to say, ‘Hey, I play the harp. Can I be in the band?’”
“A harp might be an interesting addition to our sound,” says Clarissa.
“Stop worrying about him,” I tell Mel. “If anything, it sounds like he’ll want to join Chess Club.”
“Oh, he can’t join Chess Club. We’ve got the perfect blend of skill levels and personalities. If he joins, he’ll throw off the whole balance.”
“You’re not a very welcoming person,” says Clarissa.
“I’ve never claimed to be. That’s why Rod is the one who welcomes our audience to the show.”
“It’ll be fine,” I say.
“What if he steals from you?”
“I’ll know it was him.”
“What if he steals stuff you won’t miss until he’s gone?”
“If I don’t notice it’s gone
