Freezepop

A cramp in my hip, bright sunlight in my eyes, and being way too hot are the darling factors that slowly bring me back to the conscious world. I don't open my eyes because I'm praying for comfortable sleep to overtake me once more, but the sounds of cartoons and soft laughter chase any last traces of sleep away.

I blink against the bright sun streaming through the living room window and focus on the TV. It's Ed, Edd n Eddy, a show that I haven't watched in so long. All three Eds are walking around a room crowded with junk when the tall, fat one (Ed?) finds a record and calls it a donut.

"How do you retain any brain cells after you watch this?" I croak out. I rub my eyes tiredly and lean up on my elbow.

"Lay back down, you're blocking the TV."

"Brendon, it's cartoons. Is it really going to kill you to miss it?"

"Yes." He moves his arm from my waist to push my shoulder back down then replaces it. Flat on my back again, Brendon rests his head on my shoulder as a pillow, watching as Eddy (the short, fat, obnoxious one) gets hit in the head by a falling box.

"That kid is so emo."

"Which one?" Brendon tips his head up to look at me.

"The one taking all the pictures. He just took one of his shoes. And look," I point to the screen where a cartoon picture of the three 'falls' on top of the pile, "perfect MySpace pic."

"He just blinded Kevin!" Brendon points, laying his head back down and laughing. "What a douche."

"Kevin or the fat one?"

"Kevin, duh."

"The kid with the piece of wood reminds me of the kid with the blanket from Charlie Brown."

"Do you ever stop talking?" Brendon asks in a playfully annoyed tone.

I roll my eyes, lifting up my head to move all my hair off my neck. It's too hot to be cuddled on the couch in the sun, but he won't let me move.

He laughs again when the red-shirted Edd gets his head transformed into the small dollhouse thrown at him by Sarah. I close my eyes and wonder why on earth I'm attracted to him, but when he snuggles into my side and the damn butterflies kick up, then I remember.

"Oh, my God! How is that even possible? He just went through a freaking meat grinder."

"It's Rolf. He's like God."

"Brendon," I groan. "Can't you watch something that actually increases your intelligence? Not depletes it?"

"You're depleting my intelligence with all your big words. Don't you ever watch cartoons?"

"I barely even watch TV, let alone cartoons that make me zone out for ten minutes straight."

"You are a disgrace to the human race."

"And you rhyme so well you should write instead of Ryan."

Brendon leans up on his elbow, flicking my nose. "Mean."

"Ow!" I whine and turn to dig my face in his shoulder. "That was uncalled for. I was complimenting you. See if I ever do that again."

"Oh, fine, fine." He lays back down and holds me close. I almost nod off again, but Brendon ruins it by telling me to turn and look at the TV.

There's a goat, an angry goat, chasing the tall, stupid, fat one who has a string of sausages flying behind him as he runs. Apparently, the goat's name is Victor, and he's a vicious animal. Apparently, this is also extremely funny, and I should be laughing. But I can't laugh because I don't find this funny. I haven't found Ed, Edd n Eddy funny since I was twelve, and that was quite a long time ago.

"This show scares me, there's nothing to think about, and there's a kid washing a piece of wood in a bathtub. He's too young to have anything to see!"

"That's the beauty of cartoons, you don't have to think. It's a wonderful escape from reality and adulthood."

"Oh," I scoff, "because you so act like an adult."

"Mean!" Brendon screeches, his hands immediately attacking my sides. I'm not awake enough for this which isn't really a good thing because it's happening anyway. Being tickled at God-only-knows-how-early is not conducive to my health so it's no wonder I have trouble breathing after only a few seconds of it.

"I can't breathe! Please stop!" I'm amazed I got the words out and even more amazed that Brendon understands what I said. Nonetheless, he sits up with a pouty look on his face. "Oh, don't look at me like that. Ahah! Look!" I laugh at point at the TV. Something genuinely funny actually happened in the show.

The three Eds were stacked on each other's shoulders, peaking in the window of a trailer where three girls were messing with their hair. Ed -- short, fat, obnoxious Ed -- snaps a picture of the girls who then freak out because, I guess, boys? Oh-la-la? Anyway, the three Eds realize their mistake when the blonde girl screams, "We're being abducted!" and Ed -- short, fat, obnoxious Ed -- says, "Run boys!" moments before they topple over. It's funny to me, but I guess you just have to watch it.

"Why, I do declare!" Brendon tries to say in a high-pitched, southern belle accent. "Does Tracy find something funny?"

"You say that like I have no sense of humor," I pout.

He shrugs and leans in close. "Maybe you do, maybe you don't."

Let's just say that, having your mom find you making out on the couch at about 8:30 in the morning when you've never had a boy around before, probably wouldn't be a pleasant experience, which is why I'm glad it's Mitchy who finds me, and not mom.

"Tracy? What the hell are you doing?" Brendon and I break apart so fast that he falls off the couch and nearly hits his head on the coffee table (he seems to do that a lot).

"Well, I was just kissing a complete hottie-"

"Why, thank you," Brendon cuts in.

"You're welcome," I smile. "But obviously that's over with. How'd you get in my house?"

Mitchy turns slightly and points behind her. "Your door was unlocked, and I always walk right in."

"Here's a better question: what are you doing here so early!?"

"I came to see if you wanted to go shopping with me."

I look at Mitchy, then Brendon then back to Mitchy again. "Um.." I look back at Brendon and puff my cheeks out.

"Brendon can come too. I just, I really need someone to talk to," she says quietly, and her voice almost cracks. When I turn back to her, her eyes are watering up, and she sniffles.

"I just wanna brush my teeth first," Brendon says, standing up and reaching out for my hand.

"Let me brush my teeth and change, then we'll come, okay?" I agree. She nods her head and sits on the couch while we quietly pad upstairs. "Why are you agreeing to come shopping with her if you hate her so much?" I ask, once we reach my bedroom and are completely out of earshot.

"Because she obviously needs a friend right now, and she came to you. I guess she can't be that terrible to you."

"I wonder what she's crying about," I muse as I rifle through my closet full of shirts. "I mean, Mitchy never cries."

"And you're acting calm about it why, then?"

I turn to Brendon, who's lounging comfortably on my bed, with my hands on hips. "Because it's Mitchy, and she could also be crying for the stupidest of reasons. One time in Junior Year," I climb onto the bed and crawl my way to him, "she started bawling, pure bawling, because she got a C on a math test."

Brendon shrugs as I sit in front of him. "Some people really care about their grades."

"She only cares if her grades are higher than someone else's, not if they raise her GPA any. The first time she took the SAT, she got a really, really good score, but she was so pissed, and she kept saying she could have done better. You know why?" He shakes his head. "Because Ella got a better score, by two points. She never cared that her chemistry grade was a B; just that it was higher than my C. That's all Mitchy ever cares about, being the high or low extreme of anything."

"Ok, now you've got me really curious. Go get dressed so we can find out what this is about." Brendon hops off the bed and heads down the hallway to bathroom. I slowly roll off and grab random clothes, shoving them on. I run a brush through my hair then make my way to the bathroom.

"Geez," I lean in close to the mirror, "would you look at those bags under my eyes? Summer always throws off my sleeping pattern."

"So get some real sleep tonight. Do you have an extra toothbrush or something?"

"Left hand drawer."

"The one you're standing in front of?"

I look down then up at Brendon. "Yup," I smile.

"So move." He pats my hip with the back of his hand.

I pretend to think about it for a second then shake my head. "Mmm, no."

He grabs my waist, picks me up, and sets me behind him then pulls out the drawer and rummages through it. "Which one can I use?"

I stand on my tiptoes to peak over his shoulder. "How about the blue one in the unopened package? Does that give you any hint?"

"Don't use sarcasm, now brush." He shoves a toothbrush in my face. I sigh, pull it out of his hand, and put it back in the holder, grabbing the purple, glittery one.

"This," I push it in Brendon's face, "is my toothbrush. That," I point to one back in the cup, "is my mom's. You idiot."

"Brush!" he commands through a mouthful of toothpaste. I stick out my tongue but comply nonetheless. When we finish, we rush down the stairs to Mitchy who's collapsed in a fit of fresh sobs on my couch.

"Mitchy? Mitchy, what's wrong?" I climb over the back of the couch and sit next to her. She latches onto my shoulder, and I can just imagine a trail of snot dripping from her nose onto my collarbone. Gag worthy.

"I.. he.. I just.. and he.." she gasps.

"Slow down, what are you talking about?"

"Dylan!" she screams.

"What about him!?" I shout back.

"He broke up with me!" Mitchy wails. She heads back in my direction, but I move off the couch quickly and sit in front of her on the coffee table.

"What? Why'd he do that? He literally worships at your feet."

"I know! I think that's what makes it so hard to believe! I mean, he said he was going to stay at school for the weekend, but he lied!"

"Dylan can't lie. Now what's going on?"

"I tried to tell him that Trevor was just a fling, but he screamed at me. He said he wanted to know how having sex with someone was just a fling! I mean, what the hell is wrong with him?"

I think my brain stopped functioning because the words that just came out of her mouth make no sense at all. Okay, let's see if I can get this straight: Mitchy thought Dylan wasn't coming home for the weekend because he said he was going to stay at school. She then has sex with some guy named Trevor, and Dylan catches them. Mitchy tries to tell Dylan that Trevor's just a fling, which he doesn't believe, and Dylan goes ape shit. Why is Dylan at fault here?

"Wait.. 'wrong with him'? Michelle, you just fucking cheated on him. I don't think there's anything wrong with Dylan except a broken heart and a serious feeling of betrayal!"

Her waterworks stop like they never happened, and she glares at me. "Oh, so you're on his side, are you?"

I look at Brendon who has the same shocked look upon his face. "Sides?" I breathe, turning back to Mitchy. "Are you kidding me? Michelle, this isn't about sides. You just ripped out this guy's heart and trampled it."

"Oh, what does it matter!? I'm left with nobody now. Even Trevor left me after he found out I had a boyfriend on the side!"

"'Boyfriend on the side'?" Brendon exclaims.

I hold my hand up, eyes closed and lips clenched. "Try to understand this: You had a perfectly wonderful guy who adored, nay worshipped, you. He loved you unconditionally, and you, you hook up with this random kid named Trevor while Dylan's out of town, thinking he'll never find out. Oh, but he does. And he finally has the balls to tell you what a bitch you are to him, and you honestly have the audacity to say Dylan's the one who messed up?"

"Well, he did. He lost me, and he's never getting me back. Even if he comes crawling on his fucking knees."

"You know, Michelle, I don't think that's going to be a problem because I'm pretty sure he doesn't want your skanky ass back!"

"I knew it!" she screams, standing to her feet and shoving her finger in my face. "You're in love with him! That's why you've been trying so hard to get us to break up! You want him all to yourself! Well, guess what, Tracy, you can fucking have him! I'm done with his whiny ass! I just hope you're ready to baby him for the rest of your fucking natural lives."

"You're delusional."

"Oh, you only wish."

"Get out. Get the fuck out of my house, Michelle. You and I are over, fin, finite. The only time I ever want to see you again is to get my stuff back that you borrowed and oh, trust me baby, I have a list."

"Fine, then I want all my shit back too."

"Too bad I don't have anything of yours. Now get out. Delete my email from your list, take me off your Facebook and your MySpace, erase my name and number from your phone because after I get my stuff, I don't wanna hear or see your fucking face again."

Mitchy swipes her keys off the table next to me and stomps out, slamming the front door behind her. Her car starts up and speeds out of my driveway, tires squealing as she races down the street.

I turn to Brendon who looks like he's just about scared shitless. "She's delusional."