Freezepop

"'Paradigm.' What the crap is a 'paradigm?'"

Leaving me home by myself is never exactly a good thing. For some reason, I decided to read some of mom's medical books that have always just lain around the house, collecting dust. I'd started to eat a bowl of cereal, half as a snack and half as a means of keeping my hands busy so I wouldn't fidget and get bored. Although, my cereal had long since gone soggy, and now I'm trying figure out what the hell a 'paradigm' is. I get up to go look for the dictionary, but the doorbell rings.

I open it to find Brendon grinning on the other side.

"Brendon, what the fuck is a 'paradigm'?" I ask, completely and utterly exasperated.

He raises an eyebrow and comes in the house. "It's an example. Why?"

Snapping the book shut, I hold it up. "Mom's medical books. I got bored, and Scrabble by yourself can only take you so far."

"Were you looking for words in the books?"

"I never thought about that!" I exclaim. "Well, crap. My game could have gone on longer. Where were you about ten minutes ago? Sheesh."

Brendon closes the door behind him and follows me into the living where I replace the book on a packed shelf. Somehow, it's gotten too fat to go back exactly where I took it from, so I just lay it on it's side on top of some others. Turning around, I see Brendon sitting on the couch, leaning forward and pondering over the Scrabble board.

"You could have made the word 'zenith' on a triple letter score," he says, looking up with a small smirk.

"If I didn't know that a 'paradigm' was an example, how the hell am I supposed to know what a 'zenith' is? God, what'd you do? Graduate at the top of your class or something?" I flop down next to him on the couch and pear over his shoulder at my letters. "How you do you even spell 'zenith'?"

"Z-e-n-i-t-h. It means the peak of something, like a high point."

"So, like the zenith of a mountain?" I cock my head to side and scrunch my nose, hoping I don't sound like an idiot. But of course I do. I've already failed to know the definition of two simple words. Where has my intelligence gone?

"Exactly." He smiles and leans back against the couch, still looking at me. "What are you planning on doing today?"

"Picking up the Scrabble board, and probably taking a nap because I have no life. Oh! No, I take that back. I have to go pick up Humperdinck from the vet sometime today."

"Humperdinck? What kind of name is that, and what is it?"

"Haven't you ever read The Princess Bride, or seen the movie?" When he shakes his head, I place my hand on my heart. "You poor, deprived child! I'll have to kidnap you someday and make you watch it. But my Humperdinck is a dog, and she's the most cutest little black lab!"

"1) Improper English, 2) Humperdinck sounds like a guy."

"A) I know, and B) he is. Prince Humperdinck is the bad guy, but I was running out of names. And I like boy names for some reason. Pretty much everything I own has a boy name."

He quirks an eyebrow. "You name everything?"

I nod enthusiastically. "Yep! My car's named Winston, my computer's named Emo Andrew, my cell phone's named Roger, I have a stuffed giraffe named Edmund, a lime green rubber ducky named Stewart, a fish teapot I made in art named Gunther, and I did have a turtle named Ryan, but he escaped under the fence," I finished in one breath then stuck out my bottom lip in a pout.

"Why?" Brendon looks at me like I have neon sign above my head that says "Delusional."

"Because it's not fun to just have things. It's fun to give them names and personalities, and plus, it makes me feel less lonely. And I have all these names! What am I going to do with them? I can't name my kids them. Oh! And my treasure chest named Lory." I grin and cover my face with my hands as I giggle, leaning forward until my face is in my knees. "I think that's the most embarrassing confession I've ever given. Even Kat and Winnie don't know I talk to inanimate objects."

"You talk to them?!" Brendon laughs. "I just thought you named them!"

I groan and cover my head with my hands, face still in my knees. "I'm impossible!"

Still laughing, Brendon pats my back and says, "You're not impossible. Just extremely odd."

"Oh, hush you." I bat his hands away without looking up.

"Anyway, get up! I'm stealing you away."

I look up at him through my arms. "Stealing me away to where? I don't want to go to Canada. Meh, who am I kidding? Let's go to Canada!" I stand to my feet and point my finger to the sky. "Ooh, I have to pick up Scrabble first."

Brendon laughs a little harder then slowly starts picking up all of the square pieces off the board while I try to pull the bottom part of the box out of the lid. After a couple of whining noises, Brendon takes the box from my hands and pulls them apart then drops the squares into the bag. I stick my tongue out childishly, and he just smiles then picks up the trays and board.

"You ready?" he asks as I walk back into the living after having put the game in the closet.

"Uh.. no? Hang on, I have to go check what time I need to pick up Humperdinck." I waltz to the kitchen and scan the calendar hung up by the door. My finger lands on today's date and it says: 'Humperdinck 5 PM'. I skip through the hallway into the foyer and grab my bag, keys, and phone. "Let's go!" As we walk to his car, I text my mom, telling her that I'm hanging out with my new friend Brendon so that she doesn't worry if she calls and I don't answer, so I don't exactly notice when he opens the door for me and closes it behind me. I stick my phone in my pocket and look over at Brendon as he buckles his seatbelt. "So where we goin', homes?"

"Yo T-dog, we's going to gets food, yo."

"Oh, dear God. And I thought I was white."

"What? You don't think I could be gangsta?" He makes some weird sign with his hand, and I tilt my head to the side.

Shaking my head gently I say, "No."

"Well, fine then. But I'm taking you to get food. What time do you have to pick up your dog?"

"Oh! Five PM. So we need to get back at like.. 4:50 so I can get my car."

"I can drive you to the vet."

"Okay," I shrug, "but she's a big dog."

We drive for a while in silence but, for once, it's not strained. It's like we're both comfortable, we know we can talk if we want to, but it's kind of nice to just sit and listen to the things around you every once in a while. But I quickly get bored of this and turn on the radio.

"Ow!" I whine when the speakers throw out a bass thump at about a thousand decibels. "Dear God man! Are you deaf?"

"I think I am now." He rubs his ear, probably trying to get the ringing to stop.

"What would you ever need it that loud for?"

"I don't! But I don't think I was the last one to drive this thing."

"Well, well, so!? I still blame you!"

"Did you have sugar today?" he asks as he looks at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Not one drop," I reply honestly. "Sugar doesn't affect me the way it affects everybody else. In my family, sugar makes us tired, and so we go take a nap, and all that sugar turns to fat. But with everybody else, sugar gives them energy, so they run around and around, and they burn it all off so they stay itty-bitty skinny." I hold my hands about two inches apart to demonstrate my point.

Brendon glances at me as he stops at a stop sign. "I don't think you're fat."

"Meh," I shrug, "says you."

"Do you think you're fat?"

"No comment. Actually, Brendon, what girl doesn't think she's fat? I guarantee that even the skinny whores who barely wear anything still think they're fat and are extremely self-conscious on the inside. It is literally impossible in this day and age to be completely comfortable with yourself, be it fashion, looks, size, likes, or dislikes. Nobody's happy with who they are."

"What are you talking about? You're always happy, except when you hurt somebody, but then it comes with good reason." He grins devlishly at me.

"Just because I look happy doesn't mean I am." He furrowed his eyebrows as he glanced at me again. "I mean, I am happy, but I'm not happy."

"I love how you make sense, Tracy."

"Normally, I do make sense, but I think you bring out the crazy in me." I laugh and lean back against the headrest. "Ok, what I mean is--" My phone cuts me off. It's the bitch of living with nothing going on. Just the bitch of living, asking: What went wrong?

"Who is it?" Brendon asks as I frantically pull my phone out of my pocket.

"I, uh, it's Ella," I groan. Hitting the 'accept' button I say, "Hey, Ella. What's up?"

"Tracy, can you work for me today?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Andrew and I want to go see a movie, but it starts at 2:45, so I won't be back in time to work."

"What's she want?" Brendon asks as he parks the car.

I cover the receiver with my hand. "She wants me to work for her today."

"I didn't know you had a job." He furrows his eyebrows.

"Yeah, Ella got it for me."

"Tracy, can you please, please, please?"

"Why does she want you to work?"

"Because her and Andrew want to go see a movie," I say to Brendon, still covering the recevier. Then, "Ella, I don't know. I mean, I'm not even in town anymore," I answer, glancing around to realize the truth of my statement.

"Well, where are you?" She's not happy. It's only too obvious by the tone of her voice. I don't know what to do. I mean, the sole reason I even have a job is because of Ella, and the condition was that if she had to do something, I'd go in for her so that Mrs. Kemp wouldn't have to stay late and file all of the day's reports.

"I have no idea. Brendon, where are we?"

"You're with Brendon?" The distaste in her voice grows.

"Yes, I'm with Brendon. Why does that matter?"

"Ew, Tracy."

"What's wrong with him?" I'm starting to get angry myself. She has no right to call me and ask me to go in for her just because she wants to watch a goddamned movie. And even then, she has no right insult my friends in the process.

"Give me the phone," Brendon says. Before I can say anything, he's taken it from my hand and is talking to Ella. "Ella? Hey, it's Brendon. I didn't know you had a problem with me."

"Brendon, give me my phone back," I say warningly. It's quiet for a moment as Ella talks, and I sit there with my hand open, waiting for my phone back while nervous and scared butterflies dance erratically in my stomach.

"Listen, as great as that is, she's busy. She can't go into work."

"Brendon, give it back." I lean over and try to swipe my phone back, but he holds his forearm against my stomach and gently pushes me back.

"She'll--" he cuts off as I rip the phone from his fingers.

"Ella!"

"Tracy! What the hell? Are you coming or not?"

Turning to Brendon, I plead with my eyes. "Can we get back before three?"

"You're not going in. I've kidnapped you for the day, and that's the end of it," he replies resolutely.

"Ella, I have no say in the matter. Brendon drove, and I have no idea where we are."

"Tracy!" she whines. She knows that if she does it long enough I'll cave. She already knows that I'm close to the breaking point. "We really want to see this movie, and we haven't hung out in a while!"

"What are you talking about? Everybody just spent the night at my house last week."

"Yeah, but we haven't had much alone time. Please Tracy! It'll mean extra money." She knows that gets me, every time. Money is a big issue in my family because it's something that we don't have a lot of, so whenever we get the chance to get a little extra, we hardly ever say 'no.'

"Brendon, please?" I beg. He grabs the phone from my hands again.

"She can't, Ella. I'm sorry." And he hangs up. Instead of giving me my phone back, he shoves it in his own pocket.

I look at him, shocked. "I don't know if I'm really mad at you for stealing my phone and hanging up on my friend, or if I'm really happy that you got me out that."

"We'll just go with the latter and call it even, okay?" He smiles. He has a gorgeous smile; I don't know why I didn't pay attention to it before. And his lips, he's joked about how everyone says they're fish lips, but I don't think so. I love them, and I think they're the most kissable looking things on God's retched earth.

Our staring silence is interrupted by a loud croaking noise, and Brendon shrieks as he digs my phone back out of his pocket.

"What the hell was that?"

"A text message." I shrug and hold out my hand for the phone.

"Oh, no," he says and starts to put it back in his pocket, not even looking at the message.

"Only my family texts me, Brendon. It's okay."

He eyes me warily. "You sure?"

"Oh, just give me the damn phone." He hands it over, and when I look, sure enough, it's a text message from my mother.

"Let me see," he says doubtfully.

I roll my eyes but hand him the phone nonetheless. "Why can't you just believe me and get over it?"

"Because," satisfied, he gives me my phone back, "you don't deserve to be taken for granted."