Jealous Much? Chapter One
The New Girlfriend
You know that one weird kid in your class? The one that doesn't stop moving and can't speak proper English for their lives? The one that tends to disappear randomly and come back covered in blood/gold dust/both? Yeah, so do I. Actually, and unfortunately, he turned out to be my stepbrother. I'm warning you now.
Don't make friends with them. Just don't. I mean, I barely even spoke to my stepbrother before my life was turned upside down. That's your first warning. Here's the rest.
Really, I'm not a horribly exciting person. For example, school just let out and there I was, on the couch of my apartment, playing video games. I had just finished my freshman year and it was a huge relief to be able to sit back, relax, and murder a few zombies. Not that I really ended up killing much- I wasn't exactly good.
The TV beeped to let me know I had paused it by standing still for too long. I took that as an opportunity to kick off my shoes and throw them in the vague direction of my room. I winced when they hit the wall with a thump before dropping to the floor. More than once, I had left rubber marks on the walls from throwing my shoes around and it always meant that I had to dig through the Closet of Death to find the necessary supplies to fix the marks.
The Closet of Death was normal people's junk drawer, only significantly more dangerous. Before my mom left a few years ago, it had been perfectly safe, but with my dad's job as a super busy teacher at my high school and my not-so-organized lifestyle, it had quickly morphed into a minefield. We had donated most of Mom's stuff, but a few things we just couldn't let go of were shoved in the closet when we realized there was no where else to put them. Then I started putting old school papers I didn't need inside, quickly followed by various home repair items. My dad's briefcase could be shoved into one corner, if you kicked the door once or twice to shut it, but he was typically so busy that he never bothered to put it away.
Between the two of us, we had created the stereotypical bachelor's pad. It was a miracle no one had ended up in the hospital yet from tripping over something or accidentally opening the Closet.
My game beeped again, warning me that it would shut down soon. I pressed the play button and high-pitched screaming quickly burst from the speakers, mixed with the moaning of zombies.
Oops, never mind. That would be my father, pretending to be a zombie.
"Hey Dad!" I called over the game. He rolled his eyes and picked up the remote, pressing the mute button. I didn't protest- it was useless. The man spent all day controlling rowdy teenagers, such as myself.
"Hey, Mark. Good last day?" My dad dropped his bag and briefcase on the carpet with a thunk, then hung his coat on the rack. I could see him moving around from the corner of my eye as I bit my lip, concentrating on the game.
"Yeah, Dad, nice of you to ask, I had a great day," my dad mimicked with a high falsetto. He dropped into the overstuffed brown armchair next to me, turning on the lamp. Yellow light flooded the room. "Jeez, looks like a cave in here. Pause the game, by the way. I like to think I'm more entertaining than a pack of zombies and underdressed girls." I snorted, trying to hide my laughter as I pressed pause again and threw the controller on the floor.
"You aren't when you're imitating the zombies. And I don't sound like that," I complained, though I wasn't really upset. I flipped my feet onto the couch and folded my arms behind my head so I actually faced Dad. The springs groaned in protest as I shifted on the threadbare blue fabric.
"Hungry?" he asked, leaning back in his own chair and rubbing his forehead. I wasn't- they'd given out ice creams to empty out the cafeteria before summer break- but my dad made killer spaghetti, so I nodded anyway. "Good. Spaghetti?"
"Yeah," I groaned, closing my eyes but trying not to fall asleep. While the old couch felt comfortable now, I knew from nights of staying up late to study or play games that in approximately ten minutes the creaky springs would start to dig into my back. I could hear the click of the armchair as my dad put the footrest back down and walked to the kitchen. After a few moments of clattering, he spoke again.
"I've got to go somewhere tonight, Mark," he called. I sighed, relaxing into the couch. It wasn't as if my dad got out much, but I had been kind of hoping we could do something to celebrate the last day.
"Where?" I yelled back, my voice muffled by the couch. The apartment was filled with an oppressive heat, since we lived on the top floor of an older building. I couldn't make myself get up for a glass of water. It just sounded like too much work.
Dad didn't answer for a moment. "Uh, the restaurant on the corner. Perry's." I couldn't ask him another question for a moment as water gushed into the sink, drumming against the metal. I was wondering, though- why would he go to the relatively nice restaurant for a meeting with his teacher friends or whatever? We didn't really talk about it, but I knew we weren't exactly rich, and Perry's, while not expensive for most of the New York restaurant-going group, was a bit of a stretch at twenty dollars or more for a steak with a side. I'd been once a few years ago with my ex-best friend, Jacob, to celebrate winning a state swim meet. Back then he'd been my co-captain for the middle school swim team. We practiced at the same pool I used now, Goode High. But- well, our un-friendship was rather violent.
"Bit fancy," I called when the water stopped. A glass of ice water would be really nice, I thought as another wave of heat rolled through the apartment.
"You think your dear old dad can't handle it?" he returned. The fridge opened with the sound of a suction cup pulled off a wall. When my dad shut it again, it rattled like the gates of hell and let out a sound somewhere between "dying elephant" and "rotting whale".
"Why are you going?" Obviously he wouldn't tell me unless I was direct about it, which was sort of unusual. Normally my dad was so scatter-brained that he'd just answer any question I had without a second thought. You'd think maybe he'd actually look at permission slips or something, but I guess as a teacher he trusted I wouldn't die.
I swung my legs back over the edge of the couch and stood up, fed up with the lack of drinks in my immediate area. I shuffled over the beige, nondescript carpet in my socks and into the kitchen, managing to avoid the patch of linoleum that was always, magically, slippery. The tarnished brass handle on the cabinet spun when I yanked on it. Loose again, I figured. I grabbed a glass and held it up to the light to make sure it was clean. Disgusting, maybe, but our dishwasher had been rattling along for a while now.
"Dad?" He was bent over a pot on the stove, wooden spoon in hand as he stirred the sauce. He glanced up at me quickly before turning away again, trying to hide a smile.
"Fine! Fine!" I could hear him mumble. "Fine, alright. I'm going on a date. To Perry's. Is that such a problem?" he snaps. I knew he wasn't actually mad, and in concept, the idea was nice. I smirked, gulping down my water.
"No problemo, Daddy-O. Have fun with your girlfriend!" Okay, so maybe that was a teensy bit immature, but I couldn't help it. My dad, the perfect bachelor, was going on a date. "Is she pretty?" I sang, faking moony eyes and twirling around the kitchen theatrically. "Is she gorgeous? Do your eyes light up like stars when you see her?" Maybe a little more immature. On the verge of childish. At least I hadn't sung that stupid nursery rhyme about sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.
My dad blushed through his stubble. "Mark Blofis! And yes, she's very pretty. Her name's Sally. I met her at that writing seminar last weekend." I turned away to hide my own grin under the guise of washing my glass. I might tease him about it, but Dad could do with a girlfriend. And in all honesty, I could do with- not a mother exactly. I had one of those, even if she was horrible and AWOL. A friend? No, that was cheesy. A number of names ran through my mind before I settled on one. Someone to call Mom.
January 18, 2016
Hi! This chapter was rewritten. Therefore, going forwards in the story, events may not align perfectly until I rewrite the rest of the chapters. It should be very, very close, though. Please excuse any continuity errors, then. Concrit, is, as always, WELCOME. There's plenty of Percy to come, for new readers. Thanks so much for reading and stick with me as I improve the rest of this, please!
Signing off,
Dreams
[By the way, you can also call me Luna :) ]
