When Reality and Fantasy Collide

The first thing that hit me was the smell. You know, that disgustingly greasy stench of fast food cartons being left out? Or was that just the current odor of my breath? Either way, it was gross beyond belief. My face felt slimy, and my hair seemed almost plastered to my cheeks. Don’t even get me started on my eyes, which seemed to be sealed shut with something that can only be described as eye-goop. Forcing them open, I moved my head from under my arm with a slight cracking sound. I had never bothered to change my sleeping position as a child, a tribute to my stubbornness I guess. So, and I had been teased about it many times by intrusive parents, my preferred way of sleeping happened to be curled up in a ball with my rear end in the air. Just like a baby.

I yawned and stretched my arms and legs out, being careful to avoid my friends. Man, I was in serious need of a breath mint or six. The only comfort I could take was that Max and Cassie probably would feel equally horrible when they woke up. Hell, misery loves company, right?

"I am so going to kill whoever threw that party last night," Cass grumbled and stirred. I didn't even bother pointing out that it had been partially her idea to begin with. I wouldn't want to make her suicidal, would I?

She continued to blink blearily, trying to focus on my face. "Em-lee, izzat you?"

"No, it's the bogeyman."

Normally, Cass would have shrieked and started screaming, even if she wasn't afraid. She loved theatrics. I just thought they were a waste of time. Her enthusiastic response never came. "Caffeine. Now," she demanded.

"That stuff'll kill you someday." I got up and grabbed some canned coffee from the fridge and tossed it in her general direction.

She guzzled down the beverage so quickly I was surprised she hadn't choked. The effect was near instant. Cassandra leaped up, sending stray bits of popcorn flying from her birds-nest hair.

"Em-lee," – I still couldn't tell if her changing pronunciation of my name was deliberate or not, "your freakin' elbow was poking me all night, you know that? Is Max awake yet? No, of course not, the lucky bastard. Oh my god, what's the time? I can't have slept away my Sunday! It is Sunday right? Oh, and did you know what everyone's been saying? Well, you see, there's a rumor going around that –"

"Calm down!" I shushed in a stage whisper, bracing myself against her coffee induced blabber. It was eight thirty in the morning, she hadn't wasted her precious Sunday, and she really couldn't complain about my pokey elbows when it was her hair that had spent most of the night tickling my nose.

"Max likes you." The misinformed gossip cut my train of thought short.

"Not true." I deadpanned. If only she knew...

"Oh come on, you two were, like, uber-tight for years before I came! And the first thing he told me in the ambulance was to tell you that it's" she made air-quotes "not your fault, whatever that's s'pposed to mean. Plus he's a really good guy."

So Max didn't blame me for the pool incident. Good to know.

"Uh-huh, well, I don’t think so." She really didn’t' understand that her A-class flirting was not needed to attract someone. In fact, Max was probably the only guy she hadn't made a move on. Seriously, I saw her switching numbers with a couple of very confused, albeit flattered, freshmen a couple months back.

Cassie just stood there, smirking, and I decided it was time for a change in tactics. "If he's such a good guy, then why haven't you tried anything with him?" I asked, proud at my logic. Up on the couch, I saw the redhead stiffen. He was so awake and listening, the faker.

"Max is...out of my league." Ok, if that wasn't a shocking response, nothing was. Here she was, pseudo-prep who had dated a zillion guys, saying that nondescript Max was out of her reach. Gack, that sounded really rude, but ten to one it was also what the 'sleeping' boy was thinking.

"Ha?" I gawped. "You mean he's not the sort of guy you like?"

"Oh, forget it." She said airily, "Do you think Jeremy likes me?" The enthusiasm returned. Oh the horror. I dreaded the day she turned eighteen, the world wasn't ready for another Paris Hilton.

I glanced back at Max. He was sitting unnaturally still and rigid, I doubted he was even breathing. My eyes drifted over to the pillow he was lying on. Mischievous glint in my eyes, I yanked it out from under Max's head and bopped him on the head with it.

"Ow, what the – I was sleeping!"

"Sure you were," I sniggered, retracting my weapon and hitting him again. Max fell to the floor, trying to snatch it from me, and a mini-game of tug-o-war began. A faint ripping sound came from the pillow, and Max let go of his end in shock, just as I as pulling. Falling back, I crashed into Cass, who, in turn, shoved me back. As I stumbled, my arms flailed around like a windmill trying to grab something for support; her pajama sleeve. I tumbled back into Max with Cassandra in tow, and the three of us ended up in one tangled heap, with me sandwiched between the two.

"Thank god I don't have any cracked ribs," Max spluttered, "but now I just might."

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" an unfamiliar deep voice rumbled.

"Dad, it's not what it looks like." Max choked as both of us jumped up in surprise at the mysterious dude who hadn't been there a few minutes ago.

Despite being friends with Max, I can't remember ever meeting the man I'd heard so much about. He was tall, probably around 5"10 or 5"11, and it was clear that his expensive clothes had been what introduced him to his ex-wives, since I'm sure the impressive beer gut hadn't. Mr. McField (as I assumed his name to be) was probably around fifty years old and if I had seen him on the street I would never have placed him as Max's father. They looked nothing alike, except for the charcoal eyes. Max had taken after his mother's Hispanic side. Yet the same grey color looked so different in the faces of both father and son.

Simply put, this guy looked like a total sleazebag.

"Oh no," Max's father chortled in a way he assumed to be hearty. "I think this is exactly what it looks like, Max my boy! You're finally becoming a man like your old dad 'ere, and two girls no less!" Funny, I saw no family resemblance, in appearance or personality. Max just shuffled his feet uncomfortably, while Cass just gawped.

"Excuse me? What exactly are you implying?" I demanded, deciding I didn't like the balding buffoon. Debate Team Emily decided to make an appearance, and believe me, she sure as heck wasn't happy.

"Come on girly, it's nothing to be ashamed of! I'll bet my son here just gave you the best night of your life!"

"Of course, Mr. McField, we all had a great time. I'll just choose to ignore your assumptions, because not only is it derogatory to women, but genuinely insulting." Enter Emily the Feminist. I doubt the guy even knew what 'derogatory' meant. "Furthermore," I continued, "had you actually paid attention to your own son, you might have known that we are in fact his best friends, nothing more. Oh, and I apologize for us trashing your home, we only found it necessary to stay here to make sure Max was alright, seeing as he went to hospital and almost died. Not that you care, of course." The scathing note slipped in before I had even realized it. Wow, who knew I was such a smartass?

"You little slut!" The man raised a pudgy hand in a way he assumed to be threatening. I backed off a bit, only because I got a whiff of his BO when he lifted his arm. Nasty.

"Hit me and you're facing charges for assault and battery, coupled nicely with a restraining order." I smirked. Note to self: get an extra special father's day present for the lawyer who taught me all this. Since when did I become so presumptuous?

And with that, I turned on my heel and stomped out of the room with Cass in tow, trying to look as dignified as possible. 'I'll call later' I mouthed to Max, and he nodded grimly.

I know it was probably not the best of me to lash out like that at Max’s dad, but I’d heard so much about him that I’d always had a growing resentment for the man. Well, it was more what I hadn’t heard about him. Max never spoke about his father, and always seemed ashamed or dodgy whenever he was mentioned. No wonder he rarely had friends over.

"I'll drive you guys back," Max offered instead, just as I realized we had no way of getting home. Oops. Guess our dignified exit was thwarted by the lack of car. I really wish he hadn't pointed it out, but it must have been his little escape plan.

"Your dad doesn't like me," I said as we walked across the lawn. Yeah, the McField bachelors had a lawn. One of those used-to-be nice ones that had kinda been neglected since Vivian left. Besides cheesy romance movies, she'd also been a supporter of garden gnomes. The chubby-cheeked bits of clay smiled at me cheekily, like they had caught the world's biggest fish on their stupid little rods. They were up to something, I just knew it.

"Join the club," Max said. "Don’t worry, he'll just drink himself stupid and won't even remember you by this afternoon."

"That guy is stupider than those mini Santa Clauses after they've been mauled by dancing rabbits on crack," Cass added. "Thank goodness it doesn't run in the family."

“Oh wow, was that a compliment?” Max asked sarcastically.

“Don’t push it, Maxxie, don’t push it.”

"Thank goodness you have your own car," I added. "Hell! I've got to get home! My mom has this huge deal about Sunday being a family day."

Cass sighed. "Can't you skip this for once? I used to disappear every time my mom used to try and drag me off to church."

"Nope, we're supposed to be meeting my Uncle Bernie for lunch," I said.

"The one who's an architect?" Max asked.

"That’s him."

"Fine," Cass grumbled. "I guess I'll just give Brooke a call or something after we drop you off."

"How about we actually get in the car so we can drop her off?" Max said pointedly.

I really don't know all that much about cars, so it's tough to describe what Max drove. It was dark blue with some missing paint and was about average-sized as far as cars go. I knew a lot about airplanes though, I could figure out where they were from, where they were going, and even estimate which route they had taken. It comes in handy when you're trying not to be part of a plane crash. If I drove a car I'd like one of those really fast convertibles, so you can let the roof down when you're going over 100mph. Personally, I loathe those little SmartCars like the one Alyson has; she won it on a New Year's scratch card.

I glanced at my watch; eleven o' clock. I unlocked my door and headed up to the bathroom to shower. "Bernie's going to be here in half an hour! He's bringing Kevin." Naomi shouted through the door.

Ah, Kevin; my six-year-old cousin. Cute kid, but had a faucet for a nose half the time. I would be expected to watch him while my parents were busy talking about things I wasn't included in. Frankly, I was surprised that Uncle Bernie ever had a child; he always struck me as being married to his work.

So I finished up in the bathroom and began rummaging for some, as my mother would put it, presentable clothing. No wait, I couldn’t wear that shirt. It had a sort of boat-neck that showed the nasty cut I had from across my shoulder. I’d accidently flown too close to some vicious bird’s nest and got myself attacked ‘cause it thought I was The Raider of the Laid Eggs. And let me tell you, them talons are sharp.

“Emily!” I was grabbed around the waist as I entered the living room, the voice slightly muffled as the kid’s face was pressed into my stomach.

I grinned and hugged my cousin. “Hey, Kevin,” I said, ruffling his wiry brown hair, very much like my own.

The six-year-old lifted his head and stared at me so adorably with his big blue eyes I could have sworn my heart melted on the spot. He let go and grinned. He was wearing one of those Ben 10 shirts with a dark-haired guy on the front that he’d been obsessed with for months. What was his name again? Kevin Seven? Kevin Eleven?

And please, no one tell Cassandra about the 2-for-1 Cadbury’s chocolate special at Seven-Eleven.

“How you been, little man?” I asked him, returning the smile while warily checking my shirt for boogers as Kevin sniffed. Yep, small damp patch in the middle of my stomach. I subtly grabbed a paper towel and began to sponge off the muck.

“I’m not little!” he insisted, thrusting his chin out stubbornly. “I’m six years old!”

“You’re not a grown up yet, son,” Uncle Bernie said, lifting the child up and tickling him until he squealed.

“I am too!” Kevin gasped between laughter. “Kathy said I’m her boyfriend!”

“Ooh, so there’s a girl in the picture here?” I grinned teasingly. “I thought they all had cooties.”

“They do!” he said, “except for family.”

“Kathy’s not family.” I said. At least, I didn’t know any relatives named Katherine. Except my great-aunt, but I don’t think she qualifies for Kevin’s potential girlfriend material.

“But her cooties aren’t bad!” Kevin insisted. “She kissed me on the cheek. Twice!” He beamed, very proud of himself.

I chuckled and looked to his father. “Weren’t we going to meet you guys at the club?” I asked.

The club, just for the record, is sort of like a mini-building down the road with a play room, function room, a fast food restaurant, and a bar (not that I’ve actually been in). It’s all very kid-friendly and loads of people go there for family lunches or whatever. Really, they should have invested in a swimming pool or spa instead of a bingo parlor if you want my opinion. At least the pool can be used by all ages instead of little old ladies with blue rinses.

“Oh, there was a change of plan.” Bernie said. “Stephanie had a business meeting so I just decided to drop by for a bit.” Typical. Stephanie Emer (now Robertson) was just as much of a workaholic as her husband. She’d written three books and opened her own company by the time she was twenty-eight. Cass used to joke that they must have spent their honeymoon pouring over paperwork ‘cause it was obviously the most interesting thing they could think of doing together at night. Overachievers. My family was full of them.

I put a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “C’mon Kevin, let’s leave these boring people alone.”

His eyes brightened up. “Is it true about the dungeon?”

The shrimp charged down the hallway, almost tripping over an umbrella stand. “But I have to be the prince, okay?” he shouted behind him.

“Alright…” I agreed, not exactly sure what I was getting into. It had been a while since I had played make-believe.

It wasn’t a dungeon, not really. Under the staircase there was a door, which leads down into the basement, now being used as a storage area. It was also hurricane-proof or something, I think, due to paranoia in the family which hopefully isn’t inheritable. Great Aunt Esmeralda had lost her husband to a hurricane only a few months after they married, and she insisted all her relatives lived in relatively disaster-proof homes. We’re still humoring her, even though she’s been dead for eighteen years, meaning I never even knew the woman.

No one ever dared go down there very often, especially not me. I always found it really stuffy. One time I went and found some old cassette tapes, and thinking they were old shoot-‘em-up shows, decided to watch them. They weren’t, and I’ve learnt my lesson about watching cassettes without names on them. The innocence of thirteen year old Emily was destroyed in less than fifteen seconds.

Kevin slammed the door open without hesitation. “For Narnia!” he declared, charging forwards a couple steps into the darkness. Ok, he really watches too much television. “Um…” he paused and doubled back, clinging to my arm, clearly terrified.

I smiled. “But I’m afraid of the dark, and Princess Emily needs a brave prince to hold her hand, ok?” He grinned, me having thrown him a lifeline. “Do we need to defeat a dragon?” I asked, taking his hand.

“Don’t be silly, Emily,” he scoffed. “Dragons don’t exist!”

Somehow those words struck a chord. I really hadn’t thought about it before. Dragons…if there was a dragon, what would they be like? Would he or she just sit around on a bunch of treasure, blowing fire at anyone who dared enter like in fairytales? They sounded like quite possessive creatures if you asked me. Then again, Griffins were supposed to be majestic, dominating the air and skies, I tell you now that is something I am not. But I can’t deny that when I’m up in the air late at night, or even running across the track, it feels like I own it, like nothing can stop me. Even though I outwardly I probably look like a crazy teenager shooting across the field with an even crazier expression.

Laughing I brushed away some cobwebs. “And how would you know that, Prince Kevin?”

Kevin puffed out his chest proudly. “That’s ‘cause I slayed them all!”

“Kids!” I heard my uncle calling us from somewhere above. “Get your shoes on, it’s time to go!”

“Yes sir, King Robertson!”

We obligingly piled into the car, Kevin insisting he absolutely had to sit on the right hand side. I wondered what sort of person he would grow up to be. As much as my family would be more than happy to have another success story in the family, it was hard to imagine my little cousin doing anything that involved being serious for more than ten seconds.

Lunch was unremarkable, though by now you could almost call it an early dinner. I was asked a few typical questions, which I answered without thinking too much. Across from me, Kevin began to fiddle with the toothpicks. He opened a handful, and arranged them in different patterns on the tablecloth, looking bored. Then a glint came into his eye.

“En garde!” he whispered, pointing a solitary toothpick at me in a way that was supposed to be menacing.

I grinned back. “Oh you are on!”

“Draw your weapon, fool!” he challenged, as I carefully selected a toothpick from their holder. Pressing it against my finger, I pretending I was testing its deadly potential.

Then it really was on, our deadly little poking fest. Our wrists flicked and dueled from behind the vase of cheesy fake flowers. Managing to block his lunge, I snatched up another toothpick with my other hand and stabbed his palm. Kevin yelped and also grabbed another weapon, attacking viciously. Did I mention that his weapon was not a toothpick, but a sharp metal fork?

“Hey!” I protested, trying to keep my voice in a whisper. “Didn’t your father teach you not to hurt girls? Not even with cutlery?”

Kevin shrugged. “You don’t count as a girl.”

With that, he stabbed me once more. Ouch, this kid was cruel. Wasn’t it only an hour ago that he was clinging to me, afraid of the dark? Kevin continued pushing the fork into the back of my hand, staring me straight in the eye. I didn’t blink, and stared right back at him. Oh yes, this was a standoff.

“Why you little –” I began loudly in pain, as he suddenly slammed both hands to add more pressure.

“Emily!”

I jumped. “Y-yes Auntie?”

“As I was saying, do you have any idea about what you want to do after you leave school? It’s never too late to start making plans for the future.” I breathed a sigh of relief; I wasn’t being scolded.

“Nope, not a clue!” I said with a cheerful shrug.

I was given the disapproving eye. It was more or less expected that I would have to take up some boring old desk job that made six figures. Because I was pretty good at physics, it was assumed I would have some sort of bizarre passion for it. Not a chance. It would be cool however, to be…I don’t know. A stuntman, a racecar driver…all things speed related seemed to appeal to me. Yeah yeah, go ahead and say it. I’m a bit of an adrenaline junkie. Though I’m sure as hell not joining the air force – airplanes were not my friends. Seriously, try to enjoy a midnight flight when there’s a giant whirring plane flying overhead trying to turn you into sashimi.

The rest of the meal went by in a considerably dull fashion for an extremely dull family. I wasn’t really involved with much of the conversation, none of it being of any particular interest to me. Kevin and I ate our food, battle forgotten. After scooping up the last bites of our desserts (sticky date pudding with vanilla ice cream), we did the hug-and-kiss goodbye routine and went our separate ways.

It was just beginning to get dark as we pulled into the driveway, the last signs of the sun slipping behind the horizon. I looked up at the sky. It was slightly overcast, so visibility would be low, and I hadn’t really bothered to check the weather forecast either. Thin trees swayed slightly in the wind, this was something I didn’t want to miss. Especially since I had crashed and burned for the previous two nights. I was getting restless. It may have been a Sunday night, and I did have school tomorrow, but I knew that if I didn’t get out tonight I would toss and turn until the early hours of the morning wishing I had.

“Don’t forget to pack your bag,” Naomi, aka Mom, told me, immediately opening her laptop. She had some client files to go over and meetings to schedule.

I nodded idly. “I’m on it.”

I saw Robert (Dad) sitting at the kitchen table, scanning through an affidavit he needed to edit for a client. He never seemed to grow tired of looking over the same piece over and over until it was perfect in his eyes. I’m really surprised he didn’t get a job in a publishing company.

The few hours left until I could take flight did not come fast enough. I paced back and forth, flicking the television on and off at intervals, even picking up the book I was supposed to be reading for class. In the end, I was unable to focus, and just lay down on my bed staring at the ceiling.

Finally, the clock ticked over to 11:30, half an hour after my parents usually went to bed. Swinging my feet off the bed, I stood up and stretched my muscles, easily disabling the security system.

It was time to fly.