I was packing up my Recipe Pirate supplies at about two in the morning up in the studio when the elevator 'ding'-ed. Carly came in, clad in shorts and a tee shirt. "Spencer, you have to get to bed."

"No," I whined. "I just have to get this to Socko so he can get his uncle Clay to fire it in his kiln."

She yawned. "Do you want any help?"

I looked over my perfect blue pirate. "Mmm...only if you don't break anything."

"I'm not you."

I stopped, clutched my chest in mock pain. "Oh, how you hurt me so."

She poked me. "You'll be fine."

Handing her a case of clay, I ordered, "Take this."

"That's it?"

"I've got everything else, kiddo. We can both carry the ol' pirate here down to my car after we get this stuff taken care of."

She shrugged and led the way down the stairs. She grabbed a coat off the rack by the front door and threw it over her shoulders, then tossed a sweatshirt at me. "Put it on," she ordered.

"My hands are kind of full," I pointed out. She looked over me, like she was trying to figure out if I was lying or not. And, let me just say, it's kind of difficult to pretend like your hands are full if they aren't, especially if you're carrying a whole lot of boxes full of borrowed stuff you didn't end up using.

I suppose she bought my reason, because Carly tied the sweatshirt around my neck like a snotty rich kid, much to my protest, and pushed me out the door, closing it softly as to not was up Sam, who was still asleep upstairs. That was a long sentence.

"Hey," I said, realizing something, "how come we aren't taking the elevator?"

"Exercise," Carly replied simply.

"Gurh."

"Oh hush. And have you been using that gym membership? You should be good and buff by now."

I scoffed. "I'm quite proud of my girlish figure, thanks."

She tutted and shrugged, so I guess this was a good enough excuse for her. We continued on in silence. The parking lot had gotten dirtier since I'd seen it a day before when I picked Carly up from the airport. I don't know how that was possible, but it happened. Maybe it was because there were more cars? Maybe because the street lamps provided extremely weak lighting? Hmmm.

We stopped at my awesome little silver car, and I pulled my keys from the pocket of my pajama pants. The doors unlocked, and I opened the back passenger side.

"What's wrong with your trunk?" Carly asked suspiciously.

"If you're asking about the dead body," I replied, sticking everything into the backseat, "I dumped it before you got here."

She laughed and followed my lead, putting her one item in the back. I untied the sweatshirt from around my neck. "Urgh! That was awful. Are you gonna go buy me some sweater vests next?"

Carly laughed again, shaking her head. "No, silly. Sam hates sweater vests."

I thanked the good God above for the dim lighting in the lot; my little sister couldn't see my face turn red. "You're still on this Sam thing?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could.

"Duh," she replied, shutting the door. "I know when you like a girl, Spence."

I scoffed, crossed my arms, generally trying to maintain some sort of manly stance. "Oh you do? Please, enlighten me."

"Well, you blush a whole lot, for one."

I scoffed again. "Is that all? Maybe that's just my natural coloring."

She rolled her eyes and her shoulders slumped, the reaction people usually make when you've just said something so stupid. "I've known you for a pretty long time, Spence. You're not naturally red."

"Okay -- I'll give you that. Tell me more about myself." I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and motioned for her to follow me back to the apartment.

"Well," she began, taking a deep breath. I could already tell this was going to be partially embarrassing. "You get really jittery and try to impress her with food terminology, you avoid eye contact with everyone, wear only green shirts, and/or forget to take your cell phone out of your pocket before doing the laundry."

I frowned. "That last one's not fair. I always do that." She shrugged in agreement. "And name a girl that goes along with your examples," I continued.

"Eh, you generally get jittery around girls. I heard that you tried to seduce Marilyn Raimer, that lady from the Jonas Book of World Records, with blintzes. When you first met that girl Sandra Robertson you couldn't look her in the eye for a week, and she thought she had pink eye. Then there was Melissa Crawzinski, the girl you ran into at Food Mo's. You wore green exclusively just because you met in the produce section. And -- "

I held up my hands. "Alright, I get it. I'm a hot mess."

"Not necessarily. All you really need to do is that girls are just guys without -- "

I cut her off for the second time, jamming my fingers in my ears and blocking out her words with several "la la la la la"s. When I figured it was safe, I stopped.

" -- ignorance," Carly finished. "Exhibit A," she told an invisible audience, gesturing at me with a flourish.

I poked her. "Oh, yeah, listen to you, Miss Law Student." Yeah. Carly's living the dream Grandad had intended for me. Well, once she finishes regular college. I don't care. Art is fun. Law is -- law. I shudder.

"Whatever." By now we'd ended up back in the lobby of the apartment, and Lewbert was asleep, kicked back in his chair at the front desk. He honestly looked rather comfortable to me, and I guess the dude doesn't have anywhere else to go. Not like his place is anyone's dream home.

Me and Carls tiptoed past him to our private elevator just off the main lobby, and Carly swiped her electric card to open the doors. "All I'm saying is that you're a typical guy, reacting in the manner acceptable for your gender. Er, stereotypical for your gender. And in any case, a girl would be lucky to have you, Spence."

Ignoring the whole terminology that she worded that whole phrase, I got what she was saying and wrapped my arms around my sister. "You're nice!" I cried out.

"Yeah, uh, thanks, Spencer. Um, I can't -- I can't breathe," she choked out. I immediately released her, happy to have such an awesome sister that really accepted me, unlike the rest of my family. Especially Grandad. I don't know why I'm bringing him up now, but whatever. Hasn't that ever happened to you? When someone randomly pops into your head and you don't know why?

Well. I'm rambling. Heh. Ramble is a funny word. RAMBLE RAMBLE RAMBLE RAMBLE RAMBLE. Rrraaammmbbbllleee. After a while it just sounds like a bunch of noise, right?

Ugh, anyway. After Carly and I carried the Recipe Pirate down to the car, I was really too tired from sculpting and trying to prove my manliness, so Carly was nice enough to drive over to Clay to get my pirate fired. I wonder what he did wrong at his job? That was a pun. Go ahead. Laugh or boo.

While she was gone, I was hanging out in my room and listening to the PearPod I kidnapped from Carly, trying to listen to some of her more emotional songs so I could fall asleep. Surprisingly, they weren't working, although they had in the past. I got up from my bed and went to the kitchen to make some tea, hoping that maybe a warm beverage would do the trick. Just as the kettle started to whistle, I noticed a certain blonde girl sitting on the couch. I'm not sure if Sam was asleep or not, but she was really still. I whispered her name.

"What?" she asked, turning around. She looked like the old Sam I knew: no makeup, messy, curly hair flying every which way. Wow. I hadn't realized how different she truly looked comparing that night to the day she came over to say bye as she left for college.

I realized she was still staring at me and I hadn't responded. "Can't sleep?" I managed.

She nodded. "Crazy dreams."

"The monster and the soup thing again?"

"I can't believe you still remember that," she said, smiling.

"Of course. You want some tea?"

Sam shrugged. "Sure. I stopped dreaming that after you came at me in that monster suit."

"I've actually still got that costume," I told her, pouring hot water into two mugs.

"No way?"

"Swear. I can't get rid of it." I went over to her with both mugs, setting them down on the coffee table. "Let it steep," I said, sitting beside her.

Sam nodded slowly, as if contemplating something. "Can I see it?" she finally asked.

I suddenly remembered how horrifically she beat me up when she thought I was trying to jack her soup. "One condition."

"Name it."

"I don't have to wear it."

She laughed. "Okay, Spence."

I'm putting a link to a picture of the Recipie Pirate on my profile; just check under the the "Different" label in the "Coming Soon" area/section thing.

Some guy's getting blinded by a laser on TV.

Anyway. Review if you want to. (: