Okay, yes, I know that kind of sucked. But we authors love to just jerk people around… Anyways…

I wrote this chapter because a sudden idea occurred to me and then inserted it before the playground scene, but then I decided that it worked better here for the ending.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, a myocardial infarction is a fancy word for a heart attack.

Anyways, I don't own Recess, Spinelli, Joey Spinelli, Vitto Spinelli, Flo Spinelli, Bob Spinelli, or, for that matter, T.J. I do own Delinquent, Anarchy, and Rebel.

On with the fic!

Why did he take me home? Ugh. And Joey's car is parked in front of it again. And Vitto's motorcycle. Great. Two more to add to the difficulty of the evening that is sure to follow. I toss my cigarette on the ground, pulling out another, which I light, knowing for sure that what follows won't be pleasant. I look to T.J., and, as of right now, I'm kind of hoping that he comes in with me because that way it can't get that ugly, right? I mean, he'll be a guest and you can't get ugly in front of a guest.

"You wanna come in and watch the train wreck? Bet mom cooked some dinner," I propose.

T.J. shrugs and we waltz in. As I suspected, Mom and Dad are talkin' to Vitto and Joey, which is entirely unsurprising. I really ought to change. I look at T.J.

"Teej, I gotta change, so, just stay put, 'mmkay?" I whisper, hoping Mom and Dad can't hear me.

T.J. merely nods solemnly, and I take that as a sign to bolt up the stairs. Anyways, once I'm up in my room, I shut the door with practiced silence, locking it, and then dead-bolting it shut. Yeah, I got a dead-bolt. Wonder why. I oughtta have one on my window.

I remove the pack and the lighter first, cigarette still in my mouth. These I throw on my bed, kicking the high heels off violently. One of them embeds itself in the wall, but I am way beyond caring. Eagerly I peel off the dress, pulling on a short skirt, fishnets, my oldest pair of boots, and my favorite tank-top. Then I snatch the lighter and cigarettes again. Of course, that doesn't change much else, but I undo my door and hustle down the stairs.

Mom and Dad have already found T.J., which is not good, and then they take one look at me, gasping.

"Ashley!" They shriek.

This, naturally, stirs Joey and Vitto, who also walk over. Joey's wearing a really stupid outfit, which I assume is either his work outfit or something he wore to one of his "gigs". Yep, my brother, the rockstar, the struggling artist. Anyways, Vitto's wearing his typical white t-shirt, a pack of cigarettes in the shoulder sleeve, jeans, bomber jacket, and boots.

Even the cats are getting in on it. Now, I don't really own them, I mean, they're animals just like me, and you can't own something alive. Sure, you can say you can, and you can control them, but that won't make you own them. Anyways, they live in my backyard, except for one, who insists on living in my room. So Rebel is jumping at T.J., Delinquent is attacking Vitto, and Anarchy is peeing on my parents' feet. I can only smirk at the looks on their faces.

"Ashley, get this stupid cat off me!" Dad howls.

"Hey, Anarchy, stop when you're ready, okay?" I say to the black cat, leaning down to pick up the little kitten scratching at T.J.'s shoe.

Dad scowls at me, and I pet the cat calmly. But then he turns to Vitto.

"Now, Vitto, you got to get a job."

Oh brother. The family Spinelli is about to get rather messed up once again. The eternal argument between my father and my brother, the two alpha males struggling for control. When will Vitto get a job?

I suspect that he has one, actually, because he's not living off their money. But Dad's just mad because he doesn't seem to have a career plan.

"Look, I'm surviving, Dad."

True enough. He doesn't LOOK malnourished.

"But what do you do, son?"

Vitto rolls his eyes.

"What do you do, Pop?"

Well, that makes Dad silent.

"I have a job. You don't. So get off your duff and get a proper job!"

Duff. Man, they just don't use words like that anymore.

"Hey, Dad, I'm not livin' off of your money, am I?"

True. But Dad doesn't care.

"How are you even making a living?"

"I work. And I work hard, as hard as that is for you to admit, Pops!"

Dad scoffs.

"You wouldn't know hard work if it danced around ya naked."

Hmm.

"Look, so what if I don't have a career path planned out? I clean gutters, I build houses, I paint, I plumb, I weld, I fix cars, I do a lotta things, okay?"

Wow. He's impressive. A regular Jack of all trades.

"Besides, it's better than workin' at Burger Klown."

Uh oh. Joey looks mad.

Nah, wait, Joey's always mad. He's so jealous of Vitto. It really pisses me off.

"Hey. I got dreams, unlike you!"

"Don't put your brother down, Vitto!"

"Oh, shove it, Dad, spare me the lecture. I just came here to say hi to Ma, see my little sis, and Joseph here's an added bonus."

He turns around, giving me a brotherly hug. I haven't seen him for a really long time. He didn't come home for two Christmases. It's pretty sad. So I haven't seen him in about three years.

"Hey, Vitto, man, how are you?" I ask, smiling.

He grins at me.

"Las' time I saw ya, you were up to here, and considerably smaller," Vitto remarks, smirk forming, gesturing.

I nod, grinning back.

"Nice threads, sis," He says as I puff smoke in his face.

He really smirks this time.

"See, Vitto! You're making your sister a delinquent too. Look at that outfit, that cigarette, and that boy!"

Hey, wait… T.J.'s wearing a tux. They make no sense.

Okay, now it's personal. T.J. looks down and I set Rebel down, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Look, Dad, what I wear isn't your business. And for crying out loud, don't insult him, he's one of our neighbors! And if I am a delinquent, Vitto didn't make me one. Joey's the crook in the family." I retort.

Dad shouts back a reply and Joey looks outraged.

What? It's true!

"Ashley, we're just trying to do what's best for you. And don't call your brother a crook!"

I'm screaming now, an animal-like rage taking over me.

"You don't know what's best for me!"

They all look taken aback.

"Well, Ashley, we don't want you to be a slut, okay, so quit it with the short skirts and wrestling!"

This proves to be too much, and I storm out of the house, door slamming behind me, dropping my cigarette and getting another. I can't believe he said that. My own father.

Loren ;

Yeah, Poor Spinelli has problems. Anyways, review, please?