green squishy booger stuck to the ends of my fingers, just as I’m about to put my fingers in my mouth.
Oops.
I come back to the real world with a slight thud. Yeah, that’d make someone not like you very much. But that never happened.
I ask Jay for some other examples of my flaws. Like how many could there be? After all, Jay and I share so much in common there can’t possibly be too many things wrong with me otherwise we’d be totally unlike one another.
Jay looks thoughtful again, then says, ‘Well, first of all there’s . . . ’
Half an hour later I have a list that’s longer than Mr Snipe’s homework-for-the-holidays.
Jay must be having an off day. I mean, selfish? Me? Short-sighted? Me? Arrogant, egocentric, blind, shallow, unreliable? Bossy, impulsive, lazy, picky, sarcastic, self-centred, stingy, thoughtless, messy and untidy? Stubborn, gossipy, gullible, frivolous, flaky, disorganised, callous, hurtful, forgetful, grumpy, vengeful, know-it-all (not!), ignorant, impatient, inattentive, insecure, irresponsible, jealous, envious, judgmental, reckless, scatterbrained, self-indulgent, tactless, ungrateful, vindictive, and – what?! Whiny – ?!!!
‘There’s not much room for nice things about me,’ I say, waiting for a barrage of goodness to flow from Jay’s mouth. After a super long moment I realise that either Jay can’t think of anything nice to say, or more likely is composing another extraordinarily long list that could take days.
Did I say I love Jay’s honesty? Not so much right this minute.
Not being one to shy away from the hard truths, I say, ‘Me, whiny? No way, Jay. I’m not whiny. I’m not! I’m nooottt!’
I get ‘the look’.
‘Hold that thought,’ Jay says, and then heads off to music class. I glare at Ethan. Ethan looks back. ‘I’m not whiny, am I?’
‘Nope.’ See! Ethan is a way better judge of character than Jay!!!
‘Hey, you got a dictionary on your phone?’ I ask him.
He nods. I look up ‘egocentric’.
For the next two days I parade around the house in my taekwondo uniform (this way Amber will see my dorky-frivolous-reckless-cute-yet-kind-of-cool side). Whenever I run into her I practise my Korean language skills on her.
In my best Korean, I say: ‘I’d love to take you out to a movie on Saturday afternoon.’
Jay later explains that I told Amber she needed to wear much more makeup and should stop farting in elevators. Hey, give me a break! Is it my fault Great-Grandfather Gong was Chinese, not Korean?
Mum says it’s a Freudian slip.
‘A what?’
‘It’s when you say something that you believe deep down that’s coming from your innermost thoughts,’ Mum says.
‘Uh-huh.’
Luckily, Amber doesn’t speak Korean (apparently I don’t either). All she says is, ‘James, you’re a moron trying to be an idiot.’
‘Thanks, Amber,’ I say, trying desperately to be friends. ‘I’m trying.’
‘Very.’
Just then, Caitlin comes out of her room. She eyes my taekwondo uniform.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Nothing,’ she says, suddenly breathing through her mouth rather than her nose. She has a bag over her shoulder. ‘We’re going to the vert. Amber’s teaching me to skate. You want to come?’
My eyes narrow. ‘Why are you asking me? Oh, I get it. You want me to fall on my bum and look like an idiot, right?’
‘You don’t need to fall on your bum to look like an idiot, James,’ Amber says and slams the front door behind her.
What is it with girls in this house slamming doors?!
As soon as they’re gone I sneak off to the vert to watch them. Why? It beats staying at home and picking my nose. I tell you, I don’t know why! I’m confused!
But then Mum walks past with Mr Freddo and Miss Waffles.
Mr Freddo is a homicidal Doberman who makes Lord Voldemort look like Goldilocks. Miss Waffles is a barf-ugly bulldog that I mentioned earlier, that farts anytime, anywhere, and not just in elevators. I rescued Miss Waffles from the side of a road after a car had hit her. Despite door knocking on every house in Abbotsford and surrounds no one claimed her. Considering her penchant for farting, I wasn’t surprised. She talks so much about nothing I named her Miss Waffles.
Normally, Mr Freddo wants to kill and eat everything he sees – mostly posties, all car drivers, and anything fluffy, even if it’s already dead, like Caitlin’s favourite My Little Pony when she was eight years old. But for some reason, whenever Miss Waffles is around, Mr Freddo goes all gooey-eyed and starts frolicking about like a love-struck puppy.
It’s just weird, if you ask me, but I’m glad I found a Judy for Mr Freddo’s Punch. As though he knows I’m the reason for his sudden happiness, he no longer tries to gnaw my legs when I take him for walks. It seems electricity poles are just as tasty.
Mum keeps trying to match-make them but Miss Waffles isn’t having a bar of it.
It starts to rain and Amber and Caitlin race off to a nearby café.
When I arrive home, Mum asks if I was spying on my sister again.
‘Me? Spying?’ I say, cut to the core by her accusation. ‘Why would I bother spying on her at the vert when I see her every day at home?’
‘Have you been peeking in Caitlin’s room?’
My mouth drops. ‘Why would I peek into that rat-infested sewer?’
‘Why do you always answer a question with a question?’
‘Dunno, Mum. Do you think I might get that from you?’
She looks puzzled for a moment. ‘Do you think so?’
She goes off to spy on Mr Freddo and Miss Waffles. At the door she turns around for a second. ‘You should spend more time with Jay.’
‘Who says I don’t?’
Mum peers at me, like I’m a bug under a microscope she’s still trying to figure out. Mind you, that’s pretty much how all parents look at their kids in times of uncertainty. It’s what Dad calls a default setting.
It’s this brief conversation regarding Caitlin’s bedroom that gives me a great idea.
Chapter Four
I have to give it to her, Amber is an amazing skater. Did I forget to mention how I took a picture of her skating at the vert? I posted it on social media hoping to draw the attention of Hollywood producers or someone important. (Dad calls it ‘fame by association’. Like, if she becomes famous, I’ll be associated with that fame.)
I forgot that once-upon-a-time I ‘friended’ Caitlin on Facebook. Mum suggested I do it after reading a book on family structure. (Note to Mum, pop psychology books have some great ideas!)
So Amber gets roaring mad. Calls me a perv. A stalker. A sewer rat. I’m obviously doing something wrong.
She tried to lock me in a kennel. I did a ‘James Gong’ and made a hasty retreat.
Her attitude towards me has definitely plunged.
Chapter Five
Later,