A/N: Yeah, I know this has nothing to do with the fic, but I have a fun fact to share. Midnight tonight is the 93rd anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic.

After packing (if you could call upending an entire drawer of clothes into a suitcase packing), Twister called Otto, excitedly telling him about Val's invitation.

Otto cut him off, sounding grumpy. "I already know. Reggie's been talking it about it all afternoon."

Twister could tell his friend wasn't in much of a talking mood, so he hung up the phone and dialed Sam's number. He asked if Sam would come on the trip to L.A. with them.

"I sure wish I could come," said Sam, sighing into the phone.

"Why can't you?" Twister asked.

"My mom is taking me to visit my grandma in Oregon." Sam explained.

"Don't worry about it, Squid." said Twister. "I'll make a movie of the trip and show it you when you get home."

"Really? Thanks, Twister."

"Maurice!" Twister's dad Raoul said. "Come downstairs. Dinner is getting cold!"

Twister said good-bye, putting the phone back on the cradle. The smell of fish tacos wafted up the stairs. Twister almost tripped over his feet in his hurry to get to the table. By the time he sat down, Lars and Sandy were having a heated argument.

"Mom, I have better things to do than watch Twister and that ugly girlfriend of his make out all week!" The seventeen-year-old sounded ten years younger than he really was.

"Hey, Val's not ugly!" said Twister. "You're just jealous 'cause you can't get a date to save your life."

Lars snarled. "Do you know how dead you are, little bro?"

"Boys, what have I said about fighting with each other at the dinner table?" said Sandy, her tone soft, yet dangerous.

Twister didn't seem to hear her. He had gotten to the age where he no longer allowed himself to be bullied by his older brother. "You haven't even had your first kiss."

"One: that's none of your business," said Lars. "Two: I did so have my first kiss. I had it when I was like seven. Three: I don't need to take this from a shrimp like you." Lars stood up, tossing the napkin that had been on his lap to the floor.

"Lars," said Raoul. "You did not ask to be excused."

"You didn't touch your dinner either," said Sandy.

"I'm not hungry," Lars muttered through clenched teeth.

He stomped out of the kitchen, then went upstairs. Sandy, Raoul, and Twister winced as they heard his bedroom door slam. The rest of dinner passed in shocked silence.

Twister tossed and turned in bed. He was anxious to see Val again. They always had so much fun together. He fell asleep around one in the morning, dreaming about the first time he met Val.

0-0-0-0-0

"OW!" Twister yelped. It felt like his pillow had been yanked from under his head.

The culprit stood over him, arms folded over his chest. "Wake up, you dork. Mom says I have to drive you to L.A."

"Can Otto ride with us?" Twister asked, rubbing his eyes.

"No way! He'll put his filthy sneakers all over the back of my leather seats."

Lars had worked his rear end off at the video rental store to buy a preowned silver Ford Mustang.

"Where are Mom and Dad?"

"They left," said Lars. "And before you ask, I am not gonna let you eat in my car. Now get dressed and let's roll."

The hour-long drive up the coast was torturous, especially with Lars trying to sing along with the radio, which was tuned to a punk/heavy metal station. It seemed as though he knew every song that came on. Either to conserve gas or out of spite, Lars also refused to turn on the air conditioner. Twister was almost completely soaked with sweat by the time they reached a beachside community near the south end of Los Angeles.

"Land ho," said Lars, parking the car.