Keep Your Friends Close and Your Enemies Closer

"Yum, what are we having tonight mother dearest?" my friend's older brother said as he walked in.

"Food," Montoya and his dad said at the same time. I looked at them both as they started laughing.

They all went into different areas of the kitchen and started throwing plates and glasses across the kitchen, setting the table in process. It was like a mini-production, absolutely amazing. Although Mom has always said that I've been amused easily ever since I've been a baby.

Their mom brought the food over to the table, dodging all the flying utensils. Then they all sat down as one, it was astonishing. Montoya pulled out the chair next to him.

"Come on and sit down Rachel," my friend said as his family passed a knowing look. What they knew, I had no idea, but they knew something. I just grinned and bore it, not really knowing what I was getting myself into.

We had a pretty ok conversation, they asked me a lot about me. I mean a lot of questions about me. Who my parents were, how long I've lived here, my favorite class, everything.

Finally the conversation was over. They started scraping dishes, cleaning them, as a FAMILY. Normally Mom says we're going to clean up together, but it never gets done. Here they were doing it without being screamed at. I felt in the way so I started helping too. I went to the table just as Montoya's big brother turned around with a huge plate of food. It tipped all over the front of my shirt. It went dead silent.

I looked at the front of my shirt, looked at his face, then looked at everyone else's face, and burst out laughing. They all looked at each other and started laughing, except their mom. She just looked at the shirt with a pitied look on her face.

"Darling, why don't you take your friend up stairs and lend her a shirt of yours? We'll wash her shirt here and then you can give it back to her at school."

"Ok, Mom. Come on Rachel, back up to my room," Montoya said as he left. I followed him back up the stairs, careful not to drop anything off my shirt onto the carpet. I got into his room and saw him going through his closet.

"Does it really matter what shirt I give you to wear?" He asked with skepticism.

"Oh yes, I only accept clothes that are over $232 dollars as a loaner, so you have to find something over that," I laughed, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Well the most expensive my clothes get are $231 dollars, is that ok?"

"Absolutely not, I accept nothing less than $232," I said trying to not laugh as I attempted to look pissed.

"Here, you can wear this shirt, I got it at Wal-Mart, should be in your taste if you only accept clothes that expensive," He laughed as he through the shirt at me. I set it on the bed and pulled off my T-shirt. I got it half-way up my stomach before I turned to him and told him I had a tank-top underneath. All I heard was a nervous laugh as I pulled the shirt over my head. I finally looked at the shirt he threw me. It was a South Park shirt that had Carmen saying 'Respect my Authority'. I just laughed at the classy-ness of the shirt.