How Samantha Deewas met MCR and Became Their Little Sister

I heard the shower being turned off upstairs, just in time to add the finishing touches to the MCR cake that we had all baked. It was a delicate icing drawing of the 7 of us, Helena and Samantha included, wearing The Black Parade uniforms. Samantha had looped her arm over Bob’s shoulder, who was at the far left of the group. My arm was around Helena’s waist, who was next to me in the middle. We were all smiling. At the bottom it said ‘Welcome home Sam’ in Black Parade font.
Bob drew it. I swear, he’s better at drawing then me.

Everyone’s faces and hair were coated in handfuls of flour, and I chuckled silently. We all brushed down quickly.
We heard the pattering of light feet rapidly descending on the staircase. I fiddled with the MCR cake one last time, perfecting the ‘m’ in ‘Sam’ We couldn’t fit her whole name onto the cake, so Sam had to be put in. Bob slapped my hands away. It looked great already.

“I smmmeelllll ccccchhhhhhoooooocccccoooolllaaatte.” She yelled as she burst into the kitchen.
She looked awesome in a Black Parade t-shirt, and the jeans that I had cut in a tantrum frenzy.

As she saw the cake that had been set up in the middle of the granite slab, encircled by various pastas, noodles, steaks and other random food that Bob, Helena and I could cook, a small tear trickled down her face. She wiped that away, but soon, another made its way down her cheek. She started to sniffle. She came forward and hugged us tightly, burying her face into my neck. We all hugged her back. Then suddenly,

“AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” She wailed, the tears streaming down her face like a salty waterfall, soaking through my shirt and wetting my shoulder.

The cake doesn’t look that bad, does it?

Helena, using the awesomeness she possesses, managed to actually throw a tissue at me. I gratefully snatched it out of the air, and wiped down her face. She didn’t protest as I wiped her eyes as if she was a little child.

After the tears trickled to a stop, and she blew her nose, we began to interrogate her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Did you get hurt?”

“Are you allergic to chocolate?”

“Is Gerard really that ugly?” The last one was Frank, and Samantha smiled, in spite of her snifflng.

“No. It’s just that...you guys baked me a cake!” She exclaimed, looking at us straight in our shocked faces, a beautiful smile on her face. DID* anyone? (I’ll explain what DID is at the notes)

“You wanted a Green Day one?” Bob asked. He had designed the cake, and knew how to draw the designs for HIM, Green Day, The Misfits and The Beatles, among other big bands. Even A7X was in his inventory.

“No no no.” Samantha shook her head violently, causing droplets of shower water to cascade onto everyone from her still wet hair. We drew back for a few seconds, then back in.
“It’s just that...I’ve fantasised about this moment so much. Do you know how many nights I’ve prayed to God that I would ever even get to meet you? It happened, because God does exist.”

~Awkward moment~

“You do know, that none of us are Christian?” Frank said. Samantha nodded quite formally.

“Yeah. But I thought that you, Mikey and Gerard used to be Catholics, right?”

“Right. But our faith...died. We didn’t get good spiritual education.” The 6 of us smirked, and Samantha just looked puzzled. She had no idea how evil we could get.
Helena clapped her hands together for our attention. We rotated our heads to her. She gestured at the food.

“It’s getting cold, and I hate microwaved food.” The bowls were already set out, and cutlery was in pile near the edge of the granite slab. We dragged up tall, chrome chairs, and sat facing each other. Helena to my right, Mikey to my left. Frank was squished onto the same chair as Mikey cos we didn’t have 7 chairs and also because the meat was on the other side of the table and he was a vegetarian. Samantha facing me, Bob to her left and Ray to her right.

“Awesome people first!” Helena said, pointing at Samantha. Samantha bowed her head in thanks, and roughly scooped up about hald a bowl of pasta, splatting it onto her plate, before slowly chewing a big mouthful. She sighed in relief as the great Italian food that I had cooked reached her tastebuds.

“It’s great.” She eagerly chomped on some more. “Who made it?”

I raised my hand. She gaped, showing the contents of her mouth, the remains of the pasta she was currently chewing on. I scrunched up my face in disgust, and she embarrassedly shut her mouth again.

“You’re so lucky. You sing great, you look great, you cook great. What can you not do?

Helena nudged me playfully. “See honey? Even your little sister reckons you’re perfect.”

“Thanks honey.” I pecked her cheek. Then we both slapped some sirloin steak onto our individual plates. Our knives dug into the beautifully done meat, and we began to eat. Ray dived for some steak as well, afro marking his territory, before withdrawing quickly.

Mikey dumped the entire plate of salmon and avocado sushi we had painstakefully rolled up and sliced, knowing that Samantha was half Japanese. I shot death glares at Mikey with my eyes, but he simply shook them off with a casual smile, and began to stuff the little bundles of food into his ravenous mouth.

Frank took some salad and cooked Jon-Dory, while Bob piled a mountain of watermelon onto his dish. The sound of munching, slurping and slicing echoed around the dining table.