Waters of Disillusion

I wake up with Tyler's arm flung across my face. Lord, it is hot. I try pushing him off but shoot, you try pushing a six foot football player.

"Get offa me, Ty," his arm muffles my words, so it sounds like I said "Ger offsa me, my." It's no use; he's dead to the world. I try something else after shoving his arm away. "Tyler, I will hide a dead fish in your truck. It'll be days before you even smell it-" a deep grizzly bear groan emits from his throat. He opens one eye, but squints from the sun.

He looks so cute after waking up, like the stupidity hasn't had time to settle into his face yet. "Whaddaya want, woman?"

"It's hot."

"Well take your clothes off or somethin'."

"An' I'm hungry."

"Go eat breakfas'."

"Ty-ler."

"Nico-lette," he mimics. I hate when people call me just Nicolette. The Nicolette and Leigh are like a married couple. You just can't break them apart.

I yawn and stand up, stretching. "If you ain't gonna be useful for anythin', I'm jus' gonna leave."

He sluggishly stands up too. We're not morning people, even during the summer. He takes a deep breath and says, "I think my ma's makin' some strawberry short cake." That's another thing about Tyler- he's like freaking half dog and smells things from a mile away. "Wanna come?"

"Do I wanna come? What kinda question's that?" I give him a 'duh' look. Where as my ma lacks any culinary bone in her body, it's like Tyler's ma's mission in life to fatten us up. And sure enough, once I lead the way into his trailer sized kitchen, Sheila stands there with a spoon in her hand.

"There y'all are. I was jus' 'bout to call for you," she says. Also unlike my own ma, she's not the overprotective don't-you-screw-with-my-baby type. Tyler dips his finger into the icing and licks it. She slaps his arm all lovingly.

"Why'd you make a cake so early, ma?" he asks. Sheila rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

"It's nearly one in the afternoon, you lazy bum!" she finishes with the icing and my mouth is non stop watering. I can practically feel the drool in the corner of my mouth. "How's your ma, Nic?"

"Goods, thanks."

"An' the kids?"

"Eh. They're kids." I shrug. Tyler finally, finally cuts a piece and passes it to me. I inhale the first few bites because God. It's just that type of delicious.

"Tyler, I'm takin' Annie to your gram's house," Sheila tells him. I can hardly hear over the taste of Heaven. "Your daddy's gonna meet us up there once he's done with work. Annie's got a competition tomorrow mornin' and we're just gonna sleep at gram's house."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're gonna be all by yourself tonight. Go visit Pam if y'all need some dinner, a'right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"An' no funny business under my roof, Tyler Joseph," she winks at me and ruffles his hair.

"Yes, ma'am."

"An' Nicolette Leigh, take half a' that cake home for the girls, a'right?" I enthusiastically give a "Yes, ma'am!" while Tyler exclaims, "Ma!"



Amanda Mae is pretty in the way that looks effortless, but only girls know how much time she spends to look that way. She has big blue eyes, sun kissed blonde hair, and pink pouty lips. Her ma used to enter her in beauty pageants until she was thirteen because by then Amanda Mae wanted to become more "studious." Now she only part time models.

So really, you'd feel intimidated next to that, too.

"Oh, hey Nicolette Leigh," she says. I swear, her perfect ski slope nose turns up in the air even more. And what a tone of voice she used! Like it was me, not her, who totally interrupted us.

I half nod. "'Manda Mae," I say. From the corner of my eye I see Tyler sigh heavily. The ice cream cone I'm holding suddenly doesn't seem so appetizing.

"Tyler, I've been callin' you-"

"Well I ain't been home, 'Manda-"

"I told you I woulda called you-!"

"You tell me shit!"

I take this as my cue to leave. Amanda Mae is, well, she can be a bitch. And while Tyler never gets mad at me or his family, together they both get flat out nasty. I climb off the counter stool and slowly back away.

"I'll see ya, Ty." He gives me a half hearted wave. The whole time I'm walking home I think of how Amanda Mae should enter a new pageant. It'd be for the meanest, rudest, cattiest girl between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. And whoever is the biggest bitch wins.

Shoot, I'd bet on her.