"Holy hel--Good grief, is what I mean!" William Sullivan stared in horror at his son, sixteen-year-old Nathaniel.
"What?" Nathaniel asked blankly, scarfing down on a piece of toast.
"Your hair..."
"Yeah, do you like it?" Nathaniel grinned with pride, running a hand through his incredibly large mop of blond curls. "I put curlers in over night. Kind of a bitch to sleep on though...but hey, you can't put a price on beauty."
Liam could do nothing but sputter.
"Speechless, huh?" The boy picked up a spoon to check out his reflection in. "I just look stunning today, don't I--HOLY HELL!" He dropped the spoon like it was a flame-thrower gone awry as soon as he saw his reflection in the polished silver. "DAAAAAaaaaadd!! Why didn't you tell me I look like an angry serial killer clown?!"
Liam still could find no words.
"God, Dad," he cried, throwing his hands up in the air, trying to hide his misfortunate hair. He ran from the kitchen, then raced up the stairs, skipping every other stair on the way to his sister's room. He burst into the second room on the right, standing in the doorway expectantly.
Leah swiveled in her seat at the vanity table. She was sitting in the lotus position with her long, dark blond hair swept up in some kind of twist. "Did you break your hand masturbating again or did you just forget to knock, Nathan?"
Nathaniel pointed wildly to his head.
"I'll have to re-teach you," she said. "Because I know you would have suffered psychological trauma if you'd barged in on me in a moment of nudity."
"Leah! I need your help!"
"And I want you to leave me the hell alone, but unfortunately both of our wants and needs seem out of the question."
Nathaniel gaped at his older sister.
Suddenly, she squinted at him. "Has it occurred to you that if a bird were to fly into your hair, it would never find its way out?"
"FIX IT!" he pleaded.
She sighed, unfolding her legs and rising from her seat. "Sit," she ordered.
Gratefully, he sank into the chair, staring in fright at his image in the vanity mirror.
"How did this happen?" she asked calmly, not because she cared, but because his obvious panicked state amused her.
"I have reason to be believe you were working your black magic again."
"Your witch jokes grow tiresome, Nathan." She ran a dampened comb through his hair. "Oh my God. I think I heard a snap. You broke my comb."
"No, that was my neck," he growled. "I certainly hope you're not this rough with the unsuspecting victims from whom you steal virginities, or else you're going to get a lot of requested refunds, you praying mantis."
"Okay, get out of my room," she said, struggling to remove the comb from his tangle of curls.
"What did I do?" he cried.
"It's been about 45 seconds since you cast a shadow in my doorway, and you've already made witchcraft, hooker, and insect jokes about me. That merits as your excuse to get out."
"You told me that my witch jokes were getting old, so I had to try out some new material," he protested. "God, make up your bloody mind already." He winced as she yanked his head back brutally in what appeared to be an attempt to free her comb. "Okay, okay, I will not make another comment, unless it is kind."
"Actually, you are not to speak henceforth."
"I can do that." He caught her glare and slouched down in a pout. "Sorry."
Leah went into her bathroom, disappeared for a few moments, and then finally came back armed with a spray bottle. She immediately set to work spraying down his hair.
"Can you please use a little discretion with that thing?" he demanded.
"Your silence didn't even last for a minute."
"Well, I apologize, but Dad's not going to be happy if I show up to meet his fiancé in soaking wet clothes. This is what I'm wearing today."
She hesitated. "That's what you're wearing today?"
"This is what I'm wearing today," he repeated, looking down at his uneven cut-off shorts and his shrunken white T-shirt.
"Umm...may I present a statement regarding the shorts?"
"I like these shorts," he snapped, his face softening despite the defensiveness in his voice. "...Mom...she was cutting them for me, but then she started not feeling good, so I tried to finish them. When she saw what I had done to them, I didn't think she'd ever stop laughing."
Leah nodded, feeling the formerly familiar lump rise in her throat. She hadn't cried over her mother for six years. What was wrong with her now? "So they, uh...like, remind you..."
"Of Mom's laugh," he finished. "It was like, silvery."
She nodded again, carefully wetting down the rest of his hair. When the tears that had threatened finally retreated, she asked, "Ahh, so, what do you think of Dad and this woman? Not that we have much say in the matter, of course."
He shrugged. "Not much, I guess. I don't know her. I remember there was a lot of talk around town when her husband drank himself to death. That was when we first moved here. But anyway, I don't know anything about her."
"Well, she makes Dad happy, so don't do anything stupid today," Leah warned him, the condescending older sister tone returning to her low, perpetually sultry voice.
"Stupid?" he laughed. "Whatever do you mean? I know not the meaning of this word."
She laughed too. "Nathan, it's not wise to prove you're not stupid by declaring that you don't know what the word stupid means."
"Mmm, yes, good point. Go on."
"Do not swear, do not talk about sex--which involved sub-topics such as panties, breasts and handcuffs--Do not share your bodily functions. Do not share your bodily functions STORIES. Do not touch anyone. Do not touch yourself. Do NOT--""
A grin broke out across his impish face. "I think I understand. Basically, just act like a robot?"
"Yes, but don't make any robot sound effects."
"Can I do the robot dance?"
"Absolutely not."
"Okay." He sighed. "I guess I'll have to follow you around for a while with a pencil and a notebook."
"Uh, no. Why?"
"Well, I need to know how a real android acts."
She grumbled. "Poor Dad."
"What?" he laughed. "I'm charming."
"Oh no, for the love of Pete, do not inflict your parody of charm on this woman and her children."