Status: In the process of being rewritten. Sort of.
Freezepop
Life Is Like Lemons
"Tracy?"
"Holy shit!" I screamed, jumping off the couch and tripping over the coffee table. "Mom?!"
"What are you guys doing?" She flips on the light and looks at all of us huddled together on the couch. "You're picking up that popcorn." She points to the upside-down bowl on the floor, surrounded by piles of popcorn.
"I wouldn't have to pick anything up if you hadn't scared me! We're watching The Hitcher."
"You know I don't like it when you watch scary movies," mom says disapprovingly. Still crouched on the ground behind the coffee table, I slowly start to scoop popcorn back into the bowl. "How late do you guys plan on staying up?"
I shrug and look up to see mom eyeing the boys. "Oh! Mom, this is Brendon, Spencer, and Ryan." I point to each respectively, and she nods her head.
"Are you wearing eyeliner?" she asks Ryan, leaning a little closer to his face.
"I, uh, yeah." Ryan's hand goes to his face self-consciously.
"You know, Arabian men wore eyeliner back in the day. So did Egyptians."
"Except there's was tattooed on. I highly doubt Ryan's is tattooed on, Mom."
She shrugs. "I was just sharing a bit of knowledge. I'm Anna by the way. You guys can call me that instead of Mrs. Dunkle."
"Hi, Anna," they chorus together, giving pitiful waves.
I shake my head and set the now full bowl back on the table. "What are you even doing up? Don't you have to work tomorrow?"
"Yes, I do, but how am I supposed to sleep when all I can hear is screaming coming from downstairs?" She puts her fists on her hips and gives me one of those ever-popular mom looks.
I look around innocently and try to whistle. "All right, I'll turn it down."
"Thank you. It was nice meeting you. Good night, sweetie," she says as she walks up the stairs.
"Night, Mommy!" I wave emphatically.
"'Mommy'?"
"Don't mock, Brendon. My mom is the shit, and you know it."
"I don't think I've ever had a mom not care about my eyeliner," Ryan says, mystified.
"What's she gonna do? Make you wash your face?" I retort.
"You'd be surprised."
I eye him weirdly as I sit back on the couch, snuggled between him and Brendon.
"Aren't you going to turn it down?" Brendon whispers in my ear.
"No. She only said that because she needed a plausible excuse to come downstairs and meet you guys. She doesn't care how loud it is because she sleeps with her TV louder. Trust me."
We finish out the movie, and everyone just stares at the rolling credits.
"I thought they were going to explain why he killed people," Winifred says.
"So did I. Does anyone else think that was kind of a crap ending?" I ask.
"Why would you watch a horror movie for an explanation?" Ryan asks.
"Because I thought it was going to have a real story line!" I slam my hands on the couch and pout. I'm starting to feel extremely hyper, and the fact that it's getting pretty late at night and that my mom's sleeping upstairs does not bode well for containing it. "Is it impossible for me to want a scary movie that actually has substance instead of just things jumping out at you and people dying?"
"But that's gotta be the dictionary definition of a horror movie, Tracy. You can't expect anything else."
"Hence the reason I don't watch scary movies, Ryan. I love Sean Bean and all, but that was dumb. There was no closure, and I'm upset. And now I want ice cream."
The suggestion sparks conversation which leads to everyone getting their shoes on to head down to the 24-hour 7-Eleven. We squish all six of us into Ryan's car, and this is not an easy feat.
We thought, boys in front and girls in back, but us girls have wide hips, and we couldn't get the doors shut. So Kat sits up front, practically on Ryan's lap, while Spencer drives. Brendon sits in the middle between Winnie and me and throws his arms around our shoulders, claiming how he's our Mac-Daddy.
"More like a Mac-Flabby," Winnie says and pokes Brendon's side.
"That sounds like a really gross, but very possible McDonald's burger, and now I don't think I ever want to eat there again."
"Why would you want to eat there in first place?"
"Because I was raised by carnivores. It's in my blood, Win, what am I supposed to do about it?"
"Rebel," Brendon says.
"And die. I can't live off salads. I tried that once when my mom and I went on a diet. I got sick from the constant lettuce and salad dressing."
"You can eat other things besides salads, Tracy."
"What, like tofurkery?" I lean forward to see Winifred on the other side of Brendon.
"That among many other things."
"I read somewhere that vegans eat this meat substitute called 'seitan' that tastes just like steak if you cook it right. So, doesn't that defeat the purpose?"
"No, because you're not eating actual meat, you're just stealing the taste."
"If I can't have the actual meat with all it's gristle and fat, then I say what's the point?"
"I think vegan and vegetarianism is stupid. Especially at young ages because your body's growing; it needs all those proteins and vitamins and nutrients to help your body grow. Cutting your body off from those things isn't healthy, it's suicide," Kat says, turning so she can look back at us.
"I don't think there's anything wrong with being a vegetarian," I reason. "Especially considering we have two sitting in the car with us, but I think being a vegan is kind of, taking it to the extreme. It doesn't hurt the animals to make milk and cheese. I can understand not wearing things made out of animals, even though they're from the same animal that provides your meat so it's not like they're killing extra animals, but to abstain from cereal? milk? ice cream?! That's a little outrageous."
"You can still eat cereal and things similar to milk and ice cream, they're just substituted with soy," Winifred says.
"Well, that works great unless you're like my sister and completely allergic to soy. What do you tell her then? She's going to go burn in PETA hell because she can't not eat dairy?"
I hate heated arguments.
"No, Tracy, there's other things out there for her to--"
"Oh, hey look! We're here!" As soon as the car slows, I jump out and speed walk into the 7-Eleven.
I hate heated arguments. Not only because I always lose, but because I just plain suck with words. I'll honestly believe in something and want to defend it so badly, but when the time comes, I can never debate it rationally, and I can never find the right words. So, basically, I just try to avoid confrontation altogether. Too bad that doesn't always work.
The guy behind the counter greets everybody as we clamber into the store. I give a polite wave as I dispatch myself from the group and make my way back to the freezer section and singular pints of ice cream.
In front of me is pure heaven: an entire freezer of nothing but Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream. I'm debating between the Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, the Coffee Heath Bar Crunch, and the Peanut Butter Cup when Brendon walks up beside me, crosses his arms, and contemplates the majesty before him.
"I take it you like Ben and Jerry's?"
"I'd marry them if I could."
"Do you know what you're going to get?"
I shake my head, biting my lip. "I can't decide. I love Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, but Coffee Heath Bar Crunch just sounds amazing."
"Why don't you just get both?"
"Because that's unhealthy, and it'll make me fat."
"What if I get one, and you get the other? Then we'll share."
"Brendon, I think you've just found the way to my heart." I grin as he opens the freezer, pulling out the containers, and handing me the Cookie Dough while he hangs onto the Coffee Heath. "Where's everybody else?" I ask as we make our way to the counter.
"Kat went to the bathroom, and everybody else was looking at chips and sodas."
"They have yet to learn the meaning of an 'ice cream run'," I say disappointedly.
"They'll learn. Eventually."
"Yeah, okay, Dad," I snort.
"Come on, Mom," he mocks, "I'll pay for your ice cream."
I shrug, not caring to debate about payment for food with him anymore, and set my delicious pint on the counter. We've paid, and our ice cream is bagged up, but everybody else still hasn't decided what they want, so we walk outside and sit on one of the parking blocks next to the sidewalk.
"We should've bought plastic spoons," I say as I look longingly at the bag.
"Wait right here." Brendon hands me the bag then goes back inside. He comes out not two seconds later with a bag so double-bagged you can't see what else he's bought with the spoons. He grins as he hands me one, and we dig into our ice cream as the idiots clown around the 7-Eleven at almost 11:30 at night.
I sigh and look up. It's amazing how well you can see the stars in the well-lit parking lot. It's a beautiful night with only the occasional cool breeze that makes me shiver, and it makes me wonder if I'd be having as much fun if I was still at Ella's. I doubt it because there's one thing I've learned so far this summer: I'm so completely happy when I'm not around them.
I take another bite of my ice cream just as a breeze kicks up, and I shiver a little.
"You cold?"
"I'm eating ice cream in a strapless top, what do you think?"
Brendon chuckles, and I hear a zipper before a warm hoodie is placed over my shoulders. At the contact of the soft fabric, my head shoots over to Brendon, and I eye him before I give him a confused look.
"I'm a man," he beats on his chest with a closed fist, "I can take a cool summer breeze."
"Fine, but if you die of pneumonia, I'm not coming to your funeral."
He gasps. "And after I saved your life? Where's the gratitude? Where's the love and never-ending affection for being such a gentleman?"
"That's all you've ever been, have you realized that?"
"What?"
"Ever since you knocked me into the wall at the Red Robin. You've opened doors for me, you've bought me ice cream, paid for my dinner, given me your hoodie. I guess your mom just raised you right, huh?"
His eyes search my face before I feel his lips on mine. No butterflies arise, just a feeling of completeness and never wanting this moment to end. A thousand thoughts run through my head, and I can't sort them out, but they're still just background noise to the feeling of him on me. Thank you, Brendon Urie, you're my first kiss.
"Holy shit!" I screamed, jumping off the couch and tripping over the coffee table. "Mom?!"
"What are you guys doing?" She flips on the light and looks at all of us huddled together on the couch. "You're picking up that popcorn." She points to the upside-down bowl on the floor, surrounded by piles of popcorn.
"I wouldn't have to pick anything up if you hadn't scared me! We're watching The Hitcher."
"You know I don't like it when you watch scary movies," mom says disapprovingly. Still crouched on the ground behind the coffee table, I slowly start to scoop popcorn back into the bowl. "How late do you guys plan on staying up?"
I shrug and look up to see mom eyeing the boys. "Oh! Mom, this is Brendon, Spencer, and Ryan." I point to each respectively, and she nods her head.
"Are you wearing eyeliner?" she asks Ryan, leaning a little closer to his face.
"I, uh, yeah." Ryan's hand goes to his face self-consciously.
"You know, Arabian men wore eyeliner back in the day. So did Egyptians."
"Except there's was tattooed on. I highly doubt Ryan's is tattooed on, Mom."
She shrugs. "I was just sharing a bit of knowledge. I'm Anna by the way. You guys can call me that instead of Mrs. Dunkle."
"Hi, Anna," they chorus together, giving pitiful waves.
I shake my head and set the now full bowl back on the table. "What are you even doing up? Don't you have to work tomorrow?"
"Yes, I do, but how am I supposed to sleep when all I can hear is screaming coming from downstairs?" She puts her fists on her hips and gives me one of those ever-popular mom looks.
I look around innocently and try to whistle. "All right, I'll turn it down."
"Thank you. It was nice meeting you. Good night, sweetie," she says as she walks up the stairs.
"Night, Mommy!" I wave emphatically.
"'Mommy'?"
"Don't mock, Brendon. My mom is the shit, and you know it."
"I don't think I've ever had a mom not care about my eyeliner," Ryan says, mystified.
"What's she gonna do? Make you wash your face?" I retort.
"You'd be surprised."
I eye him weirdly as I sit back on the couch, snuggled between him and Brendon.
"Aren't you going to turn it down?" Brendon whispers in my ear.
"No. She only said that because she needed a plausible excuse to come downstairs and meet you guys. She doesn't care how loud it is because she sleeps with her TV louder. Trust me."
We finish out the movie, and everyone just stares at the rolling credits.
"I thought they were going to explain why he killed people," Winifred says.
"So did I. Does anyone else think that was kind of a crap ending?" I ask.
"Why would you watch a horror movie for an explanation?" Ryan asks.
"Because I thought it was going to have a real story line!" I slam my hands on the couch and pout. I'm starting to feel extremely hyper, and the fact that it's getting pretty late at night and that my mom's sleeping upstairs does not bode well for containing it. "Is it impossible for me to want a scary movie that actually has substance instead of just things jumping out at you and people dying?"
"But that's gotta be the dictionary definition of a horror movie, Tracy. You can't expect anything else."
"Hence the reason I don't watch scary movies, Ryan. I love Sean Bean and all, but that was dumb. There was no closure, and I'm upset. And now I want ice cream."
The suggestion sparks conversation which leads to everyone getting their shoes on to head down to the 24-hour 7-Eleven. We squish all six of us into Ryan's car, and this is not an easy feat.
We thought, boys in front and girls in back, but us girls have wide hips, and we couldn't get the doors shut. So Kat sits up front, practically on Ryan's lap, while Spencer drives. Brendon sits in the middle between Winnie and me and throws his arms around our shoulders, claiming how he's our Mac-Daddy.
"More like a Mac-Flabby," Winnie says and pokes Brendon's side.
"That sounds like a really gross, but very possible McDonald's burger, and now I don't think I ever want to eat there again."
"Why would you want to eat there in first place?"
"Because I was raised by carnivores. It's in my blood, Win, what am I supposed to do about it?"
"Rebel," Brendon says.
"And die. I can't live off salads. I tried that once when my mom and I went on a diet. I got sick from the constant lettuce and salad dressing."
"You can eat other things besides salads, Tracy."
"What, like tofurkery?" I lean forward to see Winifred on the other side of Brendon.
"That among many other things."
"I read somewhere that vegans eat this meat substitute called 'seitan' that tastes just like steak if you cook it right. So, doesn't that defeat the purpose?"
"No, because you're not eating actual meat, you're just stealing the taste."
"If I can't have the actual meat with all it's gristle and fat, then I say what's the point?"
"I think vegan and vegetarianism is stupid. Especially at young ages because your body's growing; it needs all those proteins and vitamins and nutrients to help your body grow. Cutting your body off from those things isn't healthy, it's suicide," Kat says, turning so she can look back at us.
"I don't think there's anything wrong with being a vegetarian," I reason. "Especially considering we have two sitting in the car with us, but I think being a vegan is kind of, taking it to the extreme. It doesn't hurt the animals to make milk and cheese. I can understand not wearing things made out of animals, even though they're from the same animal that provides your meat so it's not like they're killing extra animals, but to abstain from cereal? milk? ice cream?! That's a little outrageous."
"You can still eat cereal and things similar to milk and ice cream, they're just substituted with soy," Winifred says.
"Well, that works great unless you're like my sister and completely allergic to soy. What do you tell her then? She's going to go burn in PETA hell because she can't not eat dairy?"
I hate heated arguments.
"No, Tracy, there's other things out there for her to--"
"Oh, hey look! We're here!" As soon as the car slows, I jump out and speed walk into the 7-Eleven.
I hate heated arguments. Not only because I always lose, but because I just plain suck with words. I'll honestly believe in something and want to defend it so badly, but when the time comes, I can never debate it rationally, and I can never find the right words. So, basically, I just try to avoid confrontation altogether. Too bad that doesn't always work.
The guy behind the counter greets everybody as we clamber into the store. I give a polite wave as I dispatch myself from the group and make my way back to the freezer section and singular pints of ice cream.
In front of me is pure heaven: an entire freezer of nothing but Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream. I'm debating between the Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, the Coffee Heath Bar Crunch, and the Peanut Butter Cup when Brendon walks up beside me, crosses his arms, and contemplates the majesty before him.
"I take it you like Ben and Jerry's?"
"I'd marry them if I could."
"Do you know what you're going to get?"
I shake my head, biting my lip. "I can't decide. I love Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, but Coffee Heath Bar Crunch just sounds amazing."
"Why don't you just get both?"
"Because that's unhealthy, and it'll make me fat."
"What if I get one, and you get the other? Then we'll share."
"Brendon, I think you've just found the way to my heart." I grin as he opens the freezer, pulling out the containers, and handing me the Cookie Dough while he hangs onto the Coffee Heath. "Where's everybody else?" I ask as we make our way to the counter.
"Kat went to the bathroom, and everybody else was looking at chips and sodas."
"They have yet to learn the meaning of an 'ice cream run'," I say disappointedly.
"They'll learn. Eventually."
"Yeah, okay, Dad," I snort.
"Come on, Mom," he mocks, "I'll pay for your ice cream."
I shrug, not caring to debate about payment for food with him anymore, and set my delicious pint on the counter. We've paid, and our ice cream is bagged up, but everybody else still hasn't decided what they want, so we walk outside and sit on one of the parking blocks next to the sidewalk.
"We should've bought plastic spoons," I say as I look longingly at the bag.
"Wait right here." Brendon hands me the bag then goes back inside. He comes out not two seconds later with a bag so double-bagged you can't see what else he's bought with the spoons. He grins as he hands me one, and we dig into our ice cream as the idiots clown around the 7-Eleven at almost 11:30 at night.
I sigh and look up. It's amazing how well you can see the stars in the well-lit parking lot. It's a beautiful night with only the occasional cool breeze that makes me shiver, and it makes me wonder if I'd be having as much fun if I was still at Ella's. I doubt it because there's one thing I've learned so far this summer: I'm so completely happy when I'm not around them.
I take another bite of my ice cream just as a breeze kicks up, and I shiver a little.
"You cold?"
"I'm eating ice cream in a strapless top, what do you think?"
Brendon chuckles, and I hear a zipper before a warm hoodie is placed over my shoulders. At the contact of the soft fabric, my head shoots over to Brendon, and I eye him before I give him a confused look.
"I'm a man," he beats on his chest with a closed fist, "I can take a cool summer breeze."
"Fine, but if you die of pneumonia, I'm not coming to your funeral."
He gasps. "And after I saved your life? Where's the gratitude? Where's the love and never-ending affection for being such a gentleman?"
"That's all you've ever been, have you realized that?"
"What?"
"Ever since you knocked me into the wall at the Red Robin. You've opened doors for me, you've bought me ice cream, paid for my dinner, given me your hoodie. I guess your mom just raised you right, huh?"
His eyes search my face before I feel his lips on mine. No butterflies arise, just a feeling of completeness and never wanting this moment to end. A thousand thoughts run through my head, and I can't sort them out, but they're still just background noise to the feeling of him on me. Thank you, Brendon Urie, you're my first kiss.