Flipping Coins

<3

When we were teenagers, Brendon and I were attached at the hip.

It was abnormal, seeing that most teenagers are grumpy and just want to be left the hell alone, but that was actually the time period that drew me and Brendon more inseparable than ever. Every day, it was mandatory that we somehow communicate in one form or another--whether it be through a three hour and forty-eight minute conversation on the phone about family issues, a face-to-face meeting on how to make Ms. Pascal get the revenge she more than deserved for making me go to detention for "accidentally" slipping thumbtacks onto her seat when she wasn’t looking, or a few simple friendly gestures exchanged from across the school auditorium during an assembly we should but weren’t paying attention to--whatever worked.

I think the reason we were so close those three or so years (give or take a few months) was because we were both having serious complications with the exact same issue--family.

Brendon was having major doubts about his religion, and his parents relentless pushed their beliefs on him, doing any and everything to alter Brendon’s negative viewing on their faith. And I, on the other hand, was forced to watch my birth parent’s relationship fall apart through every harsh word exchanged at the dinner table. We both desperately needed a venting partner--someone who would listen and understand exactly what the other was going through, and that’s how our relationship expanded and blossomed into a beautiful flower of friendship.

It was weird for our onlookers, however. They assumed the worst when I walked Brendon to and from his deficient job at the Slurpie Hut (which was kinda cool for me because I got a free strawberry and banana treat any time I wanted.) They couldn’t accept the fact that, when I spent the night at the Urie’s place, we were merely watching reruns of Hey Arnold and not figuring out the joys of reproducing. They neglected to ask either of us out because there wasn't a shot in hell that they were going to be known as the one who came inbetween the "It Couple" of Palo Verde High School. They simply didn’t understand that a teenage boy could just be best friends with a teenage girl.

Of course, Brendon and I never listened nor paid any mind to them. We knew what kind of relationship we had, and being anything more than friends was foreign to our thoughts. At least, that’s what I had thought up until I was 16 when a simple question was brought to my attention.

I remember it well….

The sun was high in the sky, so high that I had to rest the back of my head inbetween my shoulder blades just find the thing. Although it was November, Vegas didn’t look or feel like a day over July with its shrewd, unfaltering heat, or its inability to produce some form of precipitation. Despite the blisteringly unfavoring weather, I was still going to take my normal daily walk to the Slurpie Hut six blocks away. Nothing but the almighty God himself could stop me, too.

I had just finished attempting to do my algebra homework (when I really just peered frightfully at the seven problems inbetween commercial breaks of Bevis and Butthead) and was slipping on the old sneakers I had gotten two Christmases ago, when the front door slammed.

My bones froze, and my skin was instantly penetrated with a series of rippling shivers. I flung my head up, my overgrown bangs momentarily tossed upward so that my vision was clear for half a minute.

Bounding to my feet, I darted to the narrow hallway dividing the kitchen and living room and stopped in front of my red-faced father.

“Hey dad!” I greeted in the best suck-up voice I could develop. “How was work? Boy, you’re home early! Hey, do you think you could help me with my homework? It was really confu---“

“Get out the hell out of my way, Emie,” he commanded, roughly shoving me aside so he could storm into the kitchen, where my mother was reading the mail.

Gripping my aching upper arm that had slammed into the wall from my father’s brutal toss, I stared at the place my dad had just been as his yells vibrated from inside the kitchen.

“---you fucking whore! I hate you! I always knew you were sneaking behind my back to have sex with that bastard! Why else would you dress like a slut everyday you go to work? I hate you! I wish I never met your betraying---”

I couldn’t listen to any more of it. I knew it was only a matter of time before my mom shrieked for reinforcements or my dad would call me in to observe what a mess of a mom I had, so I gathered what little composure I could collect and calmly exited the house, slamming the door shut behind me. It’s not like they’d notice. They were too busy screaming things they were too uncivil to calmly discuss like normal human beings.

I tried to act normal and wave at the passing neighbors as I strolled down the streets I took everyday, but I knew I wasn’t keeping my cool as much as I’d like to believe. I could close my eyes and walk there if I wanted to, but what sane girl have you seen walking down the street with her eyes closed? That could ruin my impeccable rep in this town.

Six blocks and several artificial grins later, I found myself pushing open a glass door to a colorfully festooned, air-conditioned shop. I stepped to the deserted counter, waving to the few regular customers that came here almost as much as I did.

Instead of unmercifully ringing the tiny, platinum bell in the normal fashion, I waited patiently until someone in vibrant uniform paid any mind to the front counter.

“Ay, Brooklyn!” chirped a sudden voice a few seconds later. I peered up to find Roland, a Jamaican reject with a very fond attitude, beaming at me from inbetween silver shelves separating the backroom from the front counter. He was the assistant manager of the said Slurpie Hut, but only planned to work here until he had enough money to attend UCLA.

“Ay, Roland!” I mocked, smiling back at him gratefully.

Roland chortled before he disappeared, calling, “Yo, Ur-ay! Ya got-suh visita in da frunt!”

“Already?” I heard Brendon’s muffled voice call from a distance.

A few short seconds later, Brendon was hopping over the counter, grinning a mouthful of wires at me. “Whassup, visita? You’re early today. Beavis and Butthead couldn’t quite satisfy your craving for good, original humor, huh? You had to come to the Ur-ay to ease your peas.” Only Brendon could get away with a lame, ridiculous rhyme like that because he was a soon-to-be rockstar.

“As if you could compare to the kings of comedy in any shape or form,” I mumbled, leaning against the counter as I stared holes into the reflective purple and white tiles below me.

Brendon immediately picked up the sense that something was wrong, and his grin faltered as he turned around and yelled, “Yo, Roland! I’m clocking out early, okay? See you Monday!” He tossed his vibrantly highlighted pink apron and canary yellow sun visor under the counter before he draped an arm around my shoulders and led us out.

Outside, the sun had drawn closer to the dull landscape, but its viciously scorching rays of light still radiated onto our skin just as unrelentlessly as ever. This time, however, I had Brendon by my side to complain to about it. That always helps, right?

“Gah, these sunny days’ll be the death of me! I swear it!” I loudly proclaimed, shaking a threatening fist to the intense star above us.

Brendon chuckled, pushing down my fist so he could hook arms with me. “Its just doin its job. Chill out, Tony Robinson.”

We walked a block or two, silently enjoying as much as there was to be enjoyed in the godforsaken heat of our hometown--when it happened.

Melina Reeves, a sophomore who thought she was the hottest piece of ass to walk the Earth, was tanning out in the freshly-mown grass of her front yard, when we sauntered by.

Now here’s a little background about Melina Reeves: although she was the same age as me, she thought that she was beautiful enough to attract guys who were double her age. She was pretty, I’ll give the gal that, but her attitude crushed her fully developed boobs to be as flat as pancakes. Only the horny, senior players were dumb enough to chase after her, and when a guy she liked didn’t show interest, or if another girl was clearly with a man in front of her squinty vision, it was World War Three in a nutshell.

That would explain why, when Brendon and I passed and Melina saw that Brendon’s arm was firmly around mine, there was nothing that would stop her from soaring off the ground so she could stroll to us and throw herself at Brendon.

“Hiya, Brennybear,” she cooed, tilting her head to the side and waving shyly at Brendon.

Brendon scratched the back of his neck with his free arm, nervously responding, “Umm, hey there….” he trailed off, straining his mind to remember her name.

“Melina,” she finished in a perky tone, smiling too big.

Brendon nodded, looking over at me for help…or maybe because there was really nothing else to look at when you had a huge set of boobs ogling out at you.

“Hey Melina.” I forced a smile, something I’d grown accustomed to doing that particular day.

Melina pried her hazel eyes off of Brendon to send me a heavy glare. “Oh. Hey Emily.”

“It’s actually Emie,” I corrected in the same reluctant, I-don’t-wanna-talk-to-you-either tone she’d just given me. She was messing with the wrong person today.

“So, are you going to try out for track this year, Brenny? I hear you’re reeeeaaally good at long distance,” Melina asked in a much civiler tone than she’d graced me with, completely disregarding my comment to smile widely again at Brendon.

Brendon looked uneasily at me for the second time. “I don’t know where you’ve heard that from, but I can assure you that whoever said it was clearly on crack. I mean, I have the ability to run, yeah, but I’m no good at it. I’m not really an athlete.”

“That’s totally okay,” Melina assured him, stepping closer as she played with the end of one of her pigtails. “I think guys with brains are much more attractive anyways.” She was now so close that if Brendon lost his balance by an inch, he would end up smacking lips with the blond bimbo.

Brendon took a step back, clearly uncomfortable. “Oh really? Well, uhm--I don’t really have brains either. That’s why they call me an outsider. I don’t really fit in anywhere. I have no talent whatsoever.”

Melina took another step forward, puckering out her lips unnecessarily as she laughed softly, “I bet I could show you a talent you never knew you had.”

Brendon chuckled nervously as she carved circles into his chest with her candy-apple-red-painted index finger, and that’s when I’d had about enough.

“So you’re a talent scout, are you?” I asked loudly, causing both of them to zip around to look at me. “I’ve always wondered that, as a talent scout yourself, is your talent to scout for talent? It seems a little ironic to me.”

“Shut your ugly face, Emily,” Melina hissed. “Can’t you see that your friend and I are in the middle of a conversation? Talk about rude!”

I laughed, pushing her off Brendon while I exclaimed, “It’s funny you should call me rude because, you know, trying to give someone’s boyfriend a boner right in front of them may come off as rude to some people. It may just be me, but that seems like a slut move.”

Melina did that girl sound of ‘ugh!’ and flipped her hair. “Whatever,” she made two L’s with her fingers and put them together to form a W, “Emily! Like this fine piece of man would ever be with someone as scary looking as you! Your face is too pale, your eyes are too big, and your hair is too dull! Not to mention the issues you come with.”

“Issues?” I repeated, challenging her to elaborate.

Flipping her hair again, she used pointing gestures as she huffed, “Oh, don’t try and act like your slutty mom isn’t sexually active with every male at her work. You think I’m a sleaze? Why don’t you go home an---“

Punch. Slam. Plunk. Unconscious.

“Let’s go,” I grunted, grabbing Brendon’s arm and towing him away from staring anymore at the sleaze lying on the cement, knocked out cold.

The rest of the way home was hell. First, it was okay because Brendon was so shocked that all he could do was move his legs and stare at me in utter astonishment. Then, about two blocks away from our street, something brought him out of his coma, and he was as alive as ever--retelling the event with unspoken exclamation points concluding every sentence. It was alright the first few times, making pride morph my cheeks red, but then it got annoying because guilt was starting to sink in. I didn’t want to think about it anymore.

“---and then it was like BOOOOM!!! She hit the ground faster than you could say ‘bitch, please.’ That was the best! Man, in the words of Jim Carrey, ‘where’s a camcorder when you need one?’”

He snorted with laughter at his own lame comment, but I cut through his bellows to shout, “Oh! My! GOD!!! Yes, it was exciting and entertaining, but give it an effin break, Brendon! So I punched some slut unconscious--get over it! Move on with your life! And if I hear one more peep about that girl getting the shit knocked out of her, then so help me god, Urie. So help me god.” I casted him a threatening look before I turned back around to continue walking.

Brendon eventually caught up with me, suppressing laughter as hard as he could. When he saw that he wasn’t getting a rise out of me, he finally took a deep breath and calmed down, remaining silent for the first time in what seemed like years.

When we reached the corner of our street, however, he couldn’t help but to ask, “So what was that whole thing about anyways?”

“What whole thing?” I grumbled, tightening my fists in hopes that he wasn’t referring to what I think he was referring to.

“You know,” Brendon said casually, “the whole thing you said to…someone. You said, and I quote, ‘trying to give someone’s boyfriend a boner.’ What did that mean?”

I sighed, pinching the skin between my eyebrows. “I can’t believe I have to be the one to explain this to you,” I mumbled, then stopped and turned to Brendon with the brightest expression I could muster up. “Look, Brendon. A boner is a simply word that means…well, when a man gets a little excited, sometimes his---“

“No, no!” Brendon exclaimed, holding back laughter. “I don’t need another sex lesson, trust me. I know everything there is to know about that subject, thank you very much.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me, and I couldn’t help but to let out a little bit of laughter…okay, maybe a lot of laughter, but who measures this stuff anyways?

When we both calmed down, Brendon chuckled nervously. “So, do you get what I mean now? What part of that sentence I was referring to?”

I peered up at him, and realization hit me like a brick on the head. “Oh! That part!” I thoughtfully said aloud. “Well, I was just playing along. It didn’t mean anything. Unless you want to get technical, then I could say that you are a boy who is my friend---“

“You could have just told her to back off,” Brendon pointed out. “You didn’t have to add that in there.”

“Well gosh,” I rubbed the back of my neck, “I didn’t think it’d bother you that much, but I’m sorry if it really upset you, Bren. I’ll make sure to set the record straight and never say it again if you---“

“No, it’s fine. I’m not upset or anything. It’s just…I thought that was something that needed to be said, just in case.” Brendon looked up at me again, silently saying with his eyes ‘you know what I mean?’

“Brendon, I’ve never thought anything near that about you,” I stated. “You’ve been my friend for too many years to count, and not once has the thought of…kissing you been appealing to me. It’s not that you’re ugly--you’re just not my type.”

Brendon went pink in the cheeks as he asked softly, “Well, what is your type, Emie?”

I considered that for a moment. “You know, I’m not really sure. When I meet a guy I like, I’ll make sure to ring you up.”

“But you like me, don’t you?” Brendon inquired, stepping closer to me with this bright look on his face.

“Of course I like you, Bren! But what I meant was like in the sense of attractiveness. I’m not attracted to you,” I answered simply.

“What would you say if I thought that maybe I was attracted to you?” Brendon quietly asked, looking back down to gaze at a busy anthill wedged inbetween the sidewalk’s cracks.

“What?” I asked dumbly.

Brendon’s brown eyes nervously met mine again as he frantically explained, “I mean, I’m not saying I am! I just…I don’t know. Just forget it.” He began to walk again, leaving me behind to stare at him.

I chased him down. “Brendon, you can’t just say something like that and take it back. How am I supposed to act normal around you when I have that kind of thought weighting on my mind?”

Brendon sighed heavily before he stopped and turned back to me. “Okay, fine. I am attracted to you, Emie. I think you’re pretty and funny, and you know how to cook pretty well, which is always a plus. That doesn’t mean that I want to be your boyfriend, I just think that you have a lot going for you. I don't think of you in the girlfriend sense. I just think you’re pretty and funny, and you’re talented in the kitchen. Does that make any sense whatsoever?”

He held his hands out questioningly, and I thought about that for a moment.

“No, but I think I get where you’re coming from,” I answered bluntly. “I mean, I guess I feel the same way about you, but imagining your Chewbacca lips on mine is just,” I shivered, “weird.”

“Agreed,” Brendon remarked. “You know, minus the Chewbacca lips part. You have more like…Grandma Death lips.”

“Well thanks,” I sarcastically spat, acting angry as I wounded around to march home.

This time, Brendon chased after me.

“Oh, c’mon, Ems! Grandma Death isn’t that bad! Once you get past the wrinkles and lack of hair, she could be a pretty hot chick! And look on the bright side, if you were Grandma Death, you wouldn’t have to deal with the pangs of life much longer because the grave is just around the corner!”

And thus the conversation was lost and never brought up again for the rest of the day.

I think that’s when Brendon began to realize his feelings for me. Had I not expressed my complete opposite emotions on the manner but simply urged him on, he might have even confessed it right then and there. I wonder how our lives would have turned out if it had happened that way….

But I couldn’t linger on those kinds of thoughts anymore. I was going to be a Californian with a loyal, loving boyfriend and an exciting future ahead of me within the next 24 hours. I couldn’t reminisce on the could-have-been’s with my best friend. I couldn’t relive the past when the nerdy guy in glasses and braces was still by my side. I couldn’t be the old Emie anymore.

I had to remember who I was now, and that was Emie Brooks--the Los Angeles girl who currently had but only one boyfriend/friend at the moment.

...wow, that sounded a lot better in my head.