Robbie stared at his reflection in a square-shaped hallway mirror, adjusting his disarrayed hair so he looked somewhat presentable. He was having André, Cat, and that new girl Ivory over for a while, and he wanted to look at least okay for two girls. It was a habit of his to fall for every girl that spared several seconds on him, but he never had a problem with it.

Robbie smiled at himself and regarded the puppet sitting on his left hand. "So, Rex," he began. "How do I look?"

"Like you always do," Rex crowed back at him; "Better give up on those girls now."

Robbie's face flushed. "You're a demon!" he yelled at him.

But Robbie tried not to be too bothered by Rex tonight. It was gana be perfect, he'd vowed prior.

The only interruption in his promise was that his Mamaw, on the night of all nights, had decided to pay the Shapiros a visit.

Robbie remembered exactly what he'd said when he'd opened the door. He'd been confused--hadn't he told the guys to come over at seven? It was only six. When he saw his Mamaw standing in the doorway, smiling at her beloved grandson, he'd began sputtering like a maniac before choking out "W-w-what the hell, Mamaw?"

Mamaw hadn't been happy about that, and gave him a thirty-minute lecture on the proper use of language, and it probably would've gone on for forever if she hadn't spotted a bag of Mini Twix in the open cabinet. Crunching on a bar, she'd said "We'll talk later."

But considering thirty minutes had passed between then and now, Robbie didn't expect Mamaw coming to talk to him again anytime soon. Which was good. Still, Robbie had thought the house was his--and André's, and Cat's, and Ivory's--that night. His parents were working late, at least until eleven. But Robbie should've expected this, considering his luck.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Robbie smiled and started towards the door, but the fuzzy feelings tapered off as Mamaw yelled from the kitchen, "WHO'S THAT, SWEETHEART?"

Robbie cringed, freezing in his tracks. "J-just some friends from school, Mamaw," he called back, hoping that she'd leave the matter at that. But Mamaw being Mamaw, of course she didn't stop. "OH," she bellowed instead of being quiet, like she was supposed to in Robbie's fantasy world. The world where he ended up with either Trina, Tori's sister who was her senior by one year, Tori herself, Cat, or, as of late, Ivory. "IT BETTER NOT BE THAT RED-HAIRED GIRL AGAIN," Mamaw shouted.

Robbie smacked his forehead. "God, Mamaw, what the hell is your problem with her?" he asked, then quickly covered his mouth. Too late--Mamaw heard what Mamaw heard. "ROBERT SHAPIRO, WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT LANGUAGE?" "LET IT GO, MAMAW," he shouted, and with that he flung the white door open, pasting a smile on his face like nothing happened.

One by one, the three friends entered the house. André first, who had a brown and blue hoodie over a black Volcom T-Shirt and dark relaxed jeans; followed up by Cat, her dark red hair combed into a low ponytail that trailed down the back of her light pink spaghetti-strap mini dress; and Ivory bringing up the rear, purple locks falling down her chest. She was donning a sheer cream-colored quarter-sleeve off-the-shoulder sweater over a navy blue tank top, and black Capri leggings one usually wore for running or yoga.

Robbie smiled at all of them, and almost forgot his problems until Mamaw barreled into the kitchen. "ROBBIE, I'M NOT DONE WITH--" She stopped mid-sentence, and Robbie prayed to God that she hadn't spotted the short red-head who was crouching behind tall André. His prayer went to waste as Mamaw said in a low, menacing voice:

"Yoooooou."

Everything after that happened in slow motion. First, he heard Cat beginning to hyperventilate, each breath longer and louder than the last, until she threw her arms out and screamed "What's that supposed to mean?" She turned back to Robbie. "Robbieeee!" "Cat, I'm sorry!" Robbie said sincerely. "Mamaw! Go away!"

"Excuse me, Robert?" Mamaw asked, lipstick'd mouth agape as she put her hands on her hips. Her blood-red nail polish gleamed in the fluorescent light as they curled around the teal waistband of her black leggings. She had the leopard-print sleeves of her sweater rolled up, and Robbie could see her pulse throbbing in her wrist. The only thing left he could do was hope she wouldn't see--

"What? Whoooa, what's going on?"

"IVORY, you IDIOT!" he yelled.

Mamaw looked around for the girl who spoke next. Her eyes settled on Ivory, then to her purple hair, then back to Ivory. "Robbie?" she asked quietly. "What. Is this?"

Robbie slammed both hands to his face. Ivory stepped forward, hand thrust out in front of her. "I'm Ivory Rodriguez," she announced brightly, oblivious to the hatred portending from Robbie's grandmother. "Noooo," Robbie moaned.

It was a long time before Mamaw spoke again. "Robbie, what the hell!"

Ivory awkwardly drew her hand back, smiling fading from her face. Cat turned to glare at Robbie. "Yeah, Robbie, what the hell?"

"Come on," Robbie grumbled, grabbing Cat's hand with one of his and Ivory's with the other, pulling them both upstairs.

André remained abandoned in the living room, looking around him confusedly. Mamaw still stood on the long, wooden step that separated the dining room from the adjacent foyer/media room, tapping her flip-flopped foot expectantly at the boy. André finally stopped fidgeting, turning to face Mamaw.

He cleared his throat and rocked back and forth a little on his heels. "I didn't know her last name was Rodriguez."

"ANDRE, C'MERE."

André made a run for the staircase, tripping over the carpet as he did so.