This chapter features: snarky
This chapter features: bitchy!Ed, snarky!Al, bashful!Wrath, Carnuts!Hohenheim and Envy. The recipe for the spaghetti and meatballs can be found here: http : / find . myrecipes . com / recipes / recipefinder . dyn ? action display Recipe &recipe id 549791 (and if the link doesn't work, Google images for spaghetti and meatballs. It's the third image if you're using FireFox. )
The smoke is absolutely wretched. Ash is quite literally falling from the sky. It sucks. But yay for gym membership.
This chapter was betaed by Arathe. My usual betas are: recovering from a nervous break down, on vacation, not allowed on the computer, and the other three have mysteriously vanished. And no, I'm not exaggerating at all.
I don't own: 101 Dalmations, Lady and the Tramp,
Begin Chapter 9
…
"Ss-so what's dinner?" I ask. Al's wearing his frilly, floral, pastel colored apron. Wrath is sitting on the corner, staring at him. I roll my eyes. I swear, I know girls who are more masculine than Al.
"Well, Al wants to make spaghetti and meatballs, but that involves the stove," Wrath says, glancing warily at Al, who is now flipping through Mom's recipe books.
"Shut up. How was I supposed to know that whatever they use to pickle birds makes them extremely flammable," Al mutters, turning the page sharply. "Wrath, why don't you tell Ed what you want to make."
I raise my eyebrow. Al doesn't normally use that tone of voice with anyone, unless they've managed to insult his pride. Normally, he just becomes extremely uncooperative. Though, I guess it would be pointless to not cooperate with Wrath. Wrath doesn't seem to be the type of person to respond well to passive-aggressiveness. He seems like someone who would power cheerfully ahead.
"Macaroni and cheese," Wrath says simply, swinging his legs.
"From the box," Al says it like it's a curse.
"I thought we were out of that?" I ask.
"We were. Until Dad bought some," Al mutters wrathfully.
"Ah."
"Well, Ed?" Wrath asks hopefully. "Can we?"
Al glares at me and promises with his deceitfully innocent brown eyes that there will be blood if I don't see things his way. I'd risk it and ignore him, if not for the fact that Envy was going to be eating with us.
"Only if Al makes Oodles of Poodles and Noodles," I say. Al scowls. Oodles of Poodles and Noodles is part of our old made up language. Roughly translated it means Spaghetti and Meatballs a la Lady and The Tramp.
"I hate you," Al mutters, blushing furiously. I fail to see how he can be embarrassed of Oodles of Poodles and Noodles when he's wearing a frilly apron and holds other guys' hands platonically.
"So, Macaroni and cheese it is?" Wrath says, not daring to believe his luck. Al glowers at me.
"Um, no," I inform Wrath. "That's not what it means at all."
Wrath looks more confused than ever.
"What Ed is trying to not to tell you, is that Oodles of Poodles and Noodles is code for—"
"Hey, don't refer t-to Mutterbutterutter as code. It was a llllanguage."
"Yeah, well, it's dead. Like Latin!"
"It is not dead. Those nuns were t-t-totally using it t-t-to t-talk about things they didn't want us t-to know in f-f-ff-front of us."
"You can't prove that!"
"Russell can!"
"Yes, Russell can prove it. Think about what that means, genius. Russell also thinks he can prove that vampires do exist," Al snaps at me. Wrath looks at us like we have spontaneously gone insane.
"Actually," I argue, "It's t-t-two entirely different things. T-to prove his point, Russell needs t-to f-f-ff-find a vampire, which is an unknown. T-to prove my point, all one needs is to hear the nuns t-talk in f-ff-front of kids and tt-t-translate the Lllllatin."
"Shut up and find the recipe."
I pull a stray page out of the back pocket of the binder.
"Here it is."
"You're both insane," Wrath mutters.
"You're related to Envy," Al retorts. Both Wrath and I bristle.
"What's that ss-sss-suh-sss-supposed t-t-tt-to mean?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Envy isn't exactly what normal people think of when they hear the word sane," Al says, giving me an odd look.
"And who is?" Wrath queries.
"Fletcher," Al replies simply. "He's sane."
"I don't know Fletcher," Wrath replies. His feet have stopped swinging some time during the argument and now Wrath stares at them. I wonder, briefly, if all Peccatos stare at their feet during moments of tension or if the trait is unique to Envy and Wrath.
"Err," Al says, faced with the sudden difficulty of finding the new gold standard for sanity. "Just imagine the complete opposite of Envy and Ed's lovechild and that should be about right."
I choke.
Lovechild?
Wrath snickers at the image.
"Can you imagine what it would look like?" Al says, walking over and resting a hand on Wrath's shoulder. He flinches slightly, but Al doesn't, or pretends he doesn't, notice it.
"Average height," Wrath says, smiling shyly.
"Black hair."
"Blond hair."
"But blond hair's a recessive trait," Al complains and I realize that this discussion of Envy's and my (im)possible lovechild is just a really twisted way of studying biology. I mutter darkly and go about getting the necessary ingredients out.
"I think Envy's dad might've had blond hair," Wrath says. "Besides, Ed obviously gets the genes from both sides of the family."
"What color eyes?"
"Hmm. The professor never did mention yellow eyes, or purple for that matter," Wrath says, pensively chewing a hangnail.
"Ed what color are your eyes?" Al asks.
"Hazel," I growl out.
"What color are your mom's eyes?"
"Green, and Dad's are pretty much the same as Ed's."
"They're gold too?"
"My eyes are HAZEL!"
"And Envy would be classified as what?" Al asks, ignoring the amount of force I use to slam the can of tomatoes down on the counter.
"I dunno, they both have weird eyes, so the kid would probably inherit that quality," Wrath says. "I'd say either one eye would be purple and the other gold-"
"HAZEL DAMMIT!"
"-or they'd be violet, with gold flecks around the middle," Wrath finishes, ignoring my outburst completely.
"Oh, that'd be pretty," Al coos admiringly. I snarl. Since when did I have a little sister?
"Here, hand me my sketch book and I'll draw the kids for you," Wrath says, taking a seat on the stool. Al hastens to obey. I duck my head behind a cabinet door to hide my flaming face. I just hope that Al and Wrath don't bring the looks of the possible lovechildren of Envy and me up during dinner. That would be absolutely mortifying.
I stomp over to the fridge and pull out an onion, the bread, an egg, and the hated white secretion of Bos Taurus.
"Ed are your earlobes attached or detached?"
"Detached," I answer shortly.
"Same as Envy's then."
I can't help but start to pay attention now. I've never really seen Envy's ears before. His hair does a pretty good job of covering them; even when he's forced to put his long hair in a ponytail, a good amount of long, wispy bangs covers his ears. I'm glad that Envy doesn't have attached earlobes, though. There's not much you can do with attached earlobes. You can't fidget with them, worry them between your fingers or teeth-
Not that I would do that or anything. You can't bite your own earlobe.
Or Envy's.
Well, I wouldn't bite Envy's earlobe. Unless he bit mine or something.
I grab the black pepper, red pepper, bay leaves, parsley dust, and salt out of the spice cabinet. I did not just think about biting Envy's earlobe while he nibbled on mine.
I set the spices on the counter and turn around. I don't need Al or Wrath to see my face right now. They'd want to know why I was blushing so badly and I can't even think up a good lie to tell them. I grab the blue ceramic jar with holes in the sides. Hopefully, we're not out of garlic cloves.
"Okay, Al," I say as I try to fish the garlic clove out of its jar. "I have all of the ingredients on the counter."
"Right then, well you can just leave now," Al says vaguely.
"NO!"
"I don't see why you want him in the kitchen, Wrath," Al mutters looking a bit miffed. People don't question his cooking skills when Mom is gone.
"He can't be worse than you," Wrath says, setting his sketchbook down. "Now hand me the recipe."
Wordlessly I hand it over.
"Where's the pasta?" Wrath asks. Al glares at me and removes it from the cupboard.
"Okay, Ed, you can boil water, right?" Wrath asks.
"Yes."
"Don't count on it," Al mutters, sulkily.
"Fill this pot halfway full with water," Wrath says handing me a large pot from the pot rack.
"Al, set the oven to four hundred degrees. Ed, put the pot on the stove and turn on the burner."
I flip the burner on to high. This is honestly the most I've done in the way of cooking in years.
"Now put the lid on and wait till it boils."
"I'm going to go get my math homework," I say, walking out of the kitchen. I ignore Wrath's look of pleading. He shouldn't be so freaked out about being alone with Al. Besides, it's almost a proven fact that more time I spend around something cooking the more likely it is to go wrong.
…
When I'm up in my room I also grab my history book and some binder paper. It'd be just like Hughes to spring a quiz on us when we're doing a group project. I swear, it's almost as if he spends his nights laying awake plotting ways to make his quizzes extra unexpected.
I sigh and glance around the room looking for something else to do before going back downstairs. Al's slowly working himself into a really foul mood and I don't want to aggravate it. Fortunately, most of the incidents are canceling each other out. Spraying Dad helped with the whole morning issue. Wrath was with us for the second ride in the Corvette. And even though Wrath doesn't trust Al's cooking skills, Al still gets to cook dinner. But if I go back down, then everything gets thrown out of balance.
Normally I wouldn't care, but Envy's coming over and Al might decide to tease me about him or something worse to restore the "balance." I don't really believe in this balance Al goes on about. It sounds suspiciously like the theme of the third Star Wars movie. Al, of course, denies this and calls it equivalent exchange. I don't really understand it. Al says that in order to receive something you must give something and vice-versa.
This methodology has gotten him into a lot of fights, arguments, and trouble with Salvation Army representatives. Not to mention Mom. Her beef with it is that it takes the unconditional out of unconditional giving. I don't like it because it sounds like a sophisticated tit-for-tat methodology. And like Gandhi said, an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.
"ED!" Wrath bellows. "ARE YOU COMING DOWN?"
I sigh. So much for maintaining a balance.
"YEAH!"
I walk down the stairs slowly. If I can't escape it, I might as well procrastinate it.
…
"Ed," Wrath says when I reappear in the kitchen. I set my books down at the far end of the island. "Help Al make the meatballs."
I smile. The reason this dish got christened Oodles of Poodles and Noodles is the meatballs. Al and I had just watched 101 Dalmatians and we were helping Mom make spaghetti and meatballs. I think I was the one who suggested making the meatballs into dog shapes. Due to the texture of ground beef, we could only make poodle dogs. Mom made this big joke out of it and said "Oh my! We have oodles of poodles!" All of us had fun saying oodles of poodles. It's one of the best times I remember having with Mom and Al.
"What are you doing?" Al hisses at me in outrage. I look up from forming another poodle.
"Making meatballs," I reply.
"Stop it! We did that when we were five!"
"Ss-s-so?" I ask.
"It's embarrassing."
"Al, what's Ed doing with the meatballs?" Wrath asks.
"He's being incredibly immature!" Al says, getting up suddenly. "I can't believe you," he says to me before storming off, face red. I stare after him. Why does he care so much about what Wrath thinks?
"Did I? Was it something I said?" Wrath asks, timidly. He sounds extremely unsure of himself, as if Al's going to cancel the sleepover or something.
"Umm," I say and look at Wrath. What's so special about Wrath that's got Al bending over backwards to impress him?
"He's not—"
"No," I cut Wrath off before he can start to worry. Something tells me that it doesn't take much to make him panic. "Al's just trying t-to hard."
"Why?" Wrath asks, staring off in the direction that Al exited.
"I don't know, but f-f-ff-for ss-ss-some reason he's really trying to impress you," I stutter and hope that's Al sulking in his room and not eavesdropping somewhere.
"But why? Why me?" Wrath asks, looking extremely lost as he turns around to stir the sauce on the stove.
"I don't know," I say honestly. "How'd you guys meet anyways?"
Wrath laughs and says, "Well, we have three classes together, but I don't think he really noticed me until this week."
"S-sounds llllike him," I mutter. It's a typical Al move. He'll spend a couple weeks watching everybody in his classes before starting to get to know the more interesting ones. I think Wrath's the first prospective friend that Al considered worthy of extensive investigation this year.
"Yeah, we're labs partners for biology, he's in photography club, he keeps trying to talk to me, and now I'm here?" Wrath says, waving his arms about. I duck to avoid getting walloped by the spoon he's using to stir the sauce.
"Sorry about that," Wrath says. I shrug.
"Well, have you noticed him watching you intensely llllast week?" I ask.
"No," Wrath says, suddenly jumpy. "Was he?"
"Probably not," I say. "It's just that he normally watches his prospects before making a move on them."
"Prospect?" Wrath sputters, turning pink.
"Yeah," I say. "He llllikes t-to check out potential fff-ff-ffriends before getting t-to know them."
"Oh," Wrath says, abruptly turning back to the spaghetti sauce.
"Yes, he has this ss-sss-ssystem f-ff-ff-ff-f-for evaluating people. He's been complaining all year about how none of the people he's bothered getting t-to know are very interesting," I say and glance around the room, looking for Al. He's not lurking in any of the door ways, so I continue. "He normally doesn't make a move s-ss-so ff-f-f-fast, I guess he considers you pretty intriguing."
Wrath turns around to face me; his face is flushed from standing over the stove.
"Now, how do you feel about Envy?" Wrath asks, smiling.
"Wha-wha-huh?" I stammer out. Where did this come from?
"Do you like him?" Wrath prompts, looking far too pleased to be questioning me. I turn beat red. I may have inadvertently admitted it to Dad that I liked Envy's backrub. I may have enjoyed running my fingers through his hair in an entirely non-platonic way. I might have really enjoyed that dream. I might have relished the feeling of Envy sitting on me in Physics. I may love the feel of his hands. I may be willing to admit to myself that I like Envy, but I am not ready to tell Envy's brother any of this.
"What makes you think that?" I ask quickly. My lie is worthless. I know that my flame red face has given me away.
"You have to ask?" Wrath drawls, bemused. "But yeah, you do know that he likes you?"
My heart stops.
Envy.
Likes.
ME?!
A warm, pleasant, giddy feeling swells in my chest. I can't quite believe it, but it makes perfect sense.
He likes me. He likes me? He likes me? He likes me?
He, Envy Peccato, likes me, Edward Elric.
He likes me!
"Um, kind of," I whisper and look down. I can't stop smiling. "I just didn't have it confirmed, really."
"It's not like he's been particularly subtle," Wrath mutters. "Oh and don't tell him I told you that."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"Tell who what?" Al interrupts. He's standing in the doorway of the TV room.
"Nothing!"
"Envy likes Ed."
I glare at Wrath. He doesn't need to repeat it. Al smiles viciously. I glance around for an escape route. I quickly run my meatball covered hands under the tap and wipe them dry on my pants.
"I'm going to go back upstairs," I say, dodging around the island and sprinting past the dining room. I'm not staying in the same room as Al when he looks that way. Especially not after I managed to 'embarrass' him and particularly not after I spilled his secrets. That's just asking for pain.
…
Once in the safety of my room, I realize that I have forgotten both my math book and history book. I research colonial Pennsylvania, but even that doesn't take up enough time. I sigh, might as well sign on to AIM and waste time.
Stutterbug has signed in
xSexyPalmTree: you're back!
xSexyPalmTree: Not that I've been waiting or anything.
Stutterbug: 'course not.
The thought He likes me, he likes me, repeats itself over and over in my head. I'm grinning too.
xSexyPalmTree: Yeah. Totally.
The sudden desire to flirt with Envy is there. Only thing is, I don't know how.
Stutterbug: Didn't you say something about an audition?
xSexyPalmTree: Yeah, I just got back.
Stutterbug: how'd it go?
xSexyPalmTree: Good, I think.
xSexyPalmTree: So, wanna give me directions to your house so I don't get lost?
Stutterbug: Well, you know where Ling lives?
xSexyPalmTree: No.
Stutterbug: Russell?
xSexyPalmTree: Nope
Stutterbug: Well, if you start at the high school go down El Monte until you reach Sheradin St. Then take a right there. Drive until you reach Maple Ave. Turn left there and go past the bridge until you reach Arcadian Dr.
Stutterbug: turn right there and make another right on to Laurel Ct. And we're 1067.
xSexyPalmTree: You can't say your address, can you.
It's not a question. I'm in awe of Envy. He is the most accepting, perceptive, and accommodating person I've met.
Stutterbug: yeah, some times I wonder if fate hates me. It'd explain a lot.
xSexyPalmTree: So, how's speech going?
Stutterbug: pretty good. It's nice to be back and I'm in a group with Sloth.
xSexyPalmTree: Very cool.
Dammit! The one time I actually want to flirt and there is no opportunity at all. I wonder if Envy's feeling half as awkward as I am.
Stutterbug: So, you like spaghetti right?
xSexyPalmTree: Yeah, it's awesome.
Stutterbug: That's good.
xSexyPalmTree: Why?
Stutterbug: Not telling. :)
xSexyPalmTree: No, Ed, tell me. Please?
Stutterbug: No.
xSexyPalmTree: But I'm cute O:-)
Stutterbug: Understatement, much? But don't you have to leave right now? It's like 5:45 and dinner's at 6:00…
xSexyPalmTree: Oh, right. Shit. See you soon, Edo-chan
xSexyPalmTree has signed off.
I smile. I still can't believe he likes me.
…
Envy shows up in a civilized, but ancient, Honda Civic. I watch from my bedroom as he pulls into the driveway. This car bears no resemblance to the sleek new Civics. Instead it looks like it came straight out of a 70's film. It's boxy and screams liberal environmentalist.
I count to ten before venturing downstairs. I refuse to run out and greet Envy like he's my significant other or something. I'm not desperate or obsessed.
If you obsess over not obsessing, does that still make you obsessed?
I walk out the door and try not to smile too broadly. I still can't believe he likes me. It's amazing, just knowing it. Utter bliss.
"Hey, Envy!" I say, walking over to his car. He closes the door behind him and looks up, surprised.
"Er, hi Ed," he says and looks down quickly.
"Come on in," I say. Taking a leaf out of Al's book, I impulsively grab Envy's hand, interlacing his fingers with mine. Envy's whole body stiffens and he sputters; but he allows me to lead him to the front door, where I let go of him to fumble with the door. I can't help it, Envy's standing perhaps a centimeter away from me and breathing softly in my ear. Maybe flirting wasn't the best of ideas, not if I can't take the heat.
I finally get the door open and walk inside. Envy follows. Wrath greets us happily.
"Where's my stuff?" he asks, eyeing our empty hands.
"In the car," Envy says, tossing Wrath the keys. Wrath grabs at them and misses; Al's sudden materialization by his side is the only thing that keeps Wrath upright. Blushing, he picks up the keys.
"Thanks," Wrath mutters dodging around Envy, who tries to tickle him.
"No problem," Envy calls after him.
"I'll go help him," Al volunteers. "Don't do anything that would frighten the horses."
I glare at him. That comment was completely unnecessary.
"I didn't know you had horses," Envy remarks. I'm going to kill Al.
…
Dad arrives late as usual. He rushes in and stashes something in the freezer. I hope it's not some exotic and illegal animal Dad bought. He's been known to do those sorts of things. To this day, I have no idea where he found a recipe for kangaroo meat, much less the actual kangaroo. It's not exactly a species native to New Hampshire.
Nothing compares to the live octopus he brought home. Mom shrieked loud enough to wake the dead when she reached in to the bowl to grab the supposed dead octopod and it grabbed her back. After that Dad was banned from buying live animals.
"So, Envy," Dad says, entering the kitchen after securing what ever he procured in the freezer. "Nice car."
It isn't a compliment. It's a sneering form of one-upmanship.
"I know," Envy says smugly. "It gets about forty miles to the gallon."
Dad glowers. The Corvette's mileage is not something to brag about. In fact, most Hummers get the same or better gas mileage. Given the fact that gas is over the four dollar and rapidly approaching five dollars, this is not a good thing.
"Mine's a convertible," Dad mutters.
"Mine's affordable," Envy returns.
"Mine's older."
"Mine's in one piece."
"Touché."
I roll my eyes. I have never had any interest in cars, much to my dad's disappointment.
"Would you guys get the plates out?" Al asks, ending Dad and Envy's car competition before it can reach the Is-Not Is-Too level, or worse, the What do you think, Ed/Al/Wrath level. That last one is to be avoided at all costs.
Everyone serves themselves and settles down at the table without any mishaps. Well, aside from Envy muttering something about safety standards and practicality and Dad giving him the death glare.
Envy sits next to me. Al sits across from me, with Wrath on his left side, across from Envy. Dad sits between me and Al, at the head of the table.
"It's edible," Dad pronounces after eating a few bites. Wrath looks downcast.
"I didn't make it," Al and I say at the same time. Dad look relieved.
"Oh, okay," Dad says, smiling through the spaghetti. "That's a relief."
"How bad are you guys?" Envy asks me and Al.
"Bad."
"He got a skillet stuck to the ceiling," Al says pointing at me.
"That's not-"
"And it stayed up there for like five years."
"Oh," Envy says returning to his pasta.
"You set the antique microscope on fire," Wrath says, gesturing at Al with his fork. Al blushes.
"How on earth do you set a microscope on fire?" Dad asks, staring at Al.
"I was just looking at this feather-"
"From the bird on display."
"How was I supposed to know the slide had a purpose or that whatever they used to treat the bird was highly flammable?"
"I hope I'm not getting charged for this," Dad mutters, twisting his fork around in the spaghetti.
"Nah, the teacher thinks it's his fault," Al says blithely.
"Wait till he discovers the feathers," Wrath mutters.
"Um, can anyone explain to me why this meatball look like a poodle?" Envy asks, pointing to a poodle shaped meatball.
"You made Oodles of Poodles and Noodles?" Dad asks, looking horrified.
"Yes," Al says reluctantly.
"And you used tomatoes?"
"Of course."
"There's a salmonella outbreak in the tomatoes!"
"Relax, Dad," Al says, "Mom buys local tomatoes."
"Still," Dad mutters and returns to his spaghetti.
"So, Oodles of Poodles and Noodles?" Envy says, looking at me.
"It's a llllong st-st-sst-ss-ss-ss-ss-st-story," I stutter, my face going red.
"Wanna tell me about it?" Envy says, still looking at me. The evening light does odd things to his light eyes. They are practically plum now, with dark shadows. I don't want to think about the setting sun's effect on my eyes. From past experience I know they'll be almost glowing.
"Llllater," I say, before leaning in and adding, in a whisper, "Al'll kill me if I s-ss-say it now."
"Gotcha," Envy says. My imagination insists that there is the slightest catch in his voice and that he's blushing. But it's probably just the way the light hits him. An optical illusion of sorts.
"So who made this?" Dad asks through a bite of spaghetti. I wince. Does he have to be so embarrassing. Imagining how much worse Mom would be doesn't help. Not with the way Envy is looking at Dad.
"I did," Wrath says quietly. He doesn't make eye contact with Dad. I don't blame him. Few people are willing to make eye contact with Dad. Mom says it's because of his unusual eyes, Al argues that Dad radiates a certain type of maniacal air, I blame his driving skills. Though, in this case, it might just be Wrath's shyness.
"You're a good cook," Dad says before shoveling in another bite. I cringe.
"It's okay, Ed," Envy whispers in my ear. I shiver. His breath is warm and his lips are close. It takes all my self control not to turn around and kiss him. As it is, I arch my neck towards him. "My dad's worse, he's Italian."
I nod shakily. I don't think I could ever seduce Envy. Within two seconds, he'd have the tables turned. I looked at him and smile.
"Thanks," I say. This time Envy is definitely blushing and he ducks his head to hide it.
…
It's like that for the rest of dinner. I try to flirt, fail inevitably, and Envy does whatever it takes to make me feel better. Dad makes inane comments and argues with Al. Wrath remains silent, aside from making the odd comment to Envy. For some reason Envy doesn't take kindly to these comments and spent a good part of the meal glaring at Wrath. Wrath didn't seem to mind. In fact, he found the whole thing rather amusing.
Al was worse, I think as I run water over the plates. He'd been listening far too intently and had lost enough arguments to Dad to be suspicious. I sighed as I put the plate in the dishwasher. Al was definitely gathering blackmail material and I don't want to know how he plans to use it.
I eventually finish with the dishes and head upstairs. I still have to finish the math homework I never started and read that chapter about the colonies for history.
…
The history goes by rather fast. It's not enjoyable. American Pageant, though on its twelfth edition, is still a relic and incredibly biased in favor of America. Therefore, the colonists are portrayed in the best light possible. Winry likes to remind me that I probably wouldn't notice these things if Hughes hadn't had the whole class write an essay comparing the first chapter of the American Pageant to the first chapter of A People's History of The United States.
The People's History is drastically different than the American Pageant. Howard Zinn would never refer to Christopher Columbus's three ships as a "cockleshell fleet," nor would he mention the mass extinction of the Indians Columbus came in contact with as a sort of historical footnote. Instead he details exactly how they were tortured, hunted, maimed, and worked to death. The abuse was so bad that Las Casas, a Spanish monk, was appalled. Spanish. These were the guys that burned people alive because they were 'witches.' So, if they thought it was bad…
Winry, determined as ever to be sensible, likes to point out that Zinn's book is too controversial (Russell says accurate) to be allowed in schools and that it would lead to a drastic increase in AP student suicides. At this point, Russell mutters about survival of the fittest and Winry starts eyeing her wrench ominously.
Even though I hate the way American Pageant sugar coats everything, Winry does have a point. Howard Zinn is the most depressing man alive. Reading his book will strip you of any illusions of America's greatness. It's like some crusty old man telling you that your dog died, Mummy doesn't love that drawing of God-knows-what you did in first grade, Daddy threw out that leaf impression mold you made him for Father's day, and your girlfriend was cheating on you with your brother and your best friend. That kind of depressing.
Naturally, Russell loves the book. I think it has more to do with the fact that he likes being an extremist and anti-authority than any actually belief. Me, I'm just waiting for Zinn to write something on how vampires don't exist. Of course, Russell's soul would probably break if he read it. Still, the look on his face.
I shut the book with a slam when I reach the end of the chapter. The math goes by faster, it's still logs and logs make sense to me. After I finish the homework, I consult my grade sheet, write the score at the top (15 out of 15), and tuck the assignment into the math book.
"ED!" Dad calls from downstairs. "AL! WRATH!"
I open my door, curious. It could be anything. I just hope it's not alive or poisonous. I cherish the hope that it's something normal. Like a cool show on TV or something we forgot to clean up.
"DESSERT!"
All hopes for normality die. There is, though it's most likely was if I'm correct, nothing in this house that warrants being labeled "DESSERT!" The fruitcake from one of Dad's relatives does not count. Neither do cookies or granola bars. No, the thing that Dad smuggled into the freezer is dessert of some kind.
You may be wondering how weird frozen dessert can get. Perhaps you do not recall the kangaroo meat and the live baby octopus. Remember that those are only the tip of the iceberg. If you still don't think dessert can get all that strange, know this: Dad has served Al and I prune tarts, crab ice cream, Mämmi, Pulot Hitam, and Durian.
"LOOK, IT'S NOT ALIVE OR ANYTHING!" Dad shouts again. That's hardly reassuring.
"IS IT A MAMMAL?" Al asks, coming out of his room. I stand by the stairway. Wrath is looking at me confused. Apparently, he comes from a normal house and therefore assumes that food doesn't move.
"IT'S A PLANT!"
I breathe a sigh of relief. This rules out most of the stranger Japanese ice creams like whale, shrimp, and squid.
"ARE YOU COMING?" Dad asks.
"Yeah!" I yell and walk down the stairs. Wrath and Al follow.
…
End
(Yes, I am that evil)
So, has anyone actually eaten prune tarts, crab ice cream, Mämmi, Pulot Hitam, or Durian? I've eaten Mämmi (it's pronounced ma'am as in the opposite of sir, me as in the pronoun) in Finland and it was pretty good. Funny how less and less time is elapsing during the chapters….
Oh and if any of you guys are Canadian (preferably with good grammar and residing in BC) send me a message or email. I have about 3 Canadian stories in the works and I am detail orientated (obsessed some would say).
Review Questions:
Any areas that need improvement? Stuff that you would like to see more of?