NOOKS & GRANNIES
Chapter 1
Keegan O’Rourke sat in his ancient Buick in the Dairy Queen parking lot waiting for Amelia. She was ten minutes late as usual. Ordinarily, his best friend’s indifference to punctuality would piss him off, but he didn’t mind today. He’d been on a secret diet for weeks and despite the cranky headaches and bouts of hunger-induced grouchiness, he had lost 12 pounds. He knew it was stupid to keep his diet a secret from Amelia, they normally told each other everything, but he’d tried and failed so many times to lose weight, he didn’t want to make the big proclamation again and then be embarrassed when he blew it and surrendered. The loss of 12 pounds caused him to revel in a subtle sense of smugness. He knew he was being immature, but at nineteen, he didn’t have much else going on in his life to feel smug about.
With the Buick’s defogger permanently stuck in the Off position, Keegan encouraged the windows to cloud up, obscuring him from any onlookers. He pressed Play, held his telescoping baton aloft, and began to conduct Escala, the female electronic string quartet. The combination of their rousing rendition of Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir and the fact that he held his breath from excitement made him dizzy. Nanosecond flashes of his 7th grade self wielding the timpani sticks on the kettledrums intercut with the fervent bow strokes of the women at their violins and cello. Keegan shook his head to dislodge that fat awkward boy and replaced him with a slim, brilliant maestro wearing a custom cutaway tuxedo with a red satin lining to match his socks.
His upper body bobbed in time to the stirring music. His head thrusting from side to side as his enthusiasm rose with the urgent, driving upbow staccato of the strings. Though he knows the martellato – the hammer style that slows to the smooth legato stroke – is coming, he is delighted each time. It’s as if their flexible fingers and wrists were not coaxing out the notes, but their mastery of concentration alone created the music. Just before the rearview mirror misted over completely, he caught a glimpse of his reflection and lost a bit of his zeal.
He exhaled, shoulders slumped, and missed a beat. It was the disappointment in his lack of floppy hair. Keegan knew not all conductors had long locks to bounce and fly as the score lifted their souls, wheeling in ecstatic circles as it ascended heavenward. But it would sure look better, he mused; definitely a distraction from his prematurely receding hairline leaving him with that unfortunate widow’s peak inherited from his maternal grandfather. Keegan made a mental note: No more haircuts for a while.
The insistent, frenetic strings of the three electric violins and cello that made up Escala had captured him heart and soul the moment he’d first heard them. And now, with a flick of his wrist, Keegan directed them to give it everything they had, no holding back. He imagined the four women beyond his fogged windshield, their long hair blowing in a slight breeze, their long slender legs exposed in their short dresses, keeping insistent rhythm. The almost stern expressions on their faces as they played their hearts out, feeling each note with every fiber --
“Dude, I got so excited I spontaneously combusted,” Amelia announced, as she yanked open the passenger door, apparently unaware she’d shattered Keegan’s intense fantasy.
His right index finger shot out to abruptly stop the tremolo movement of the bows and quickly slipped his compressed baton into his coat pocket. He never knew what to expect when she was sounding very pleased with herself. “You look the same to me.”
“No, really, bro, I am charred beyond recognition.”
“That is so disgusting. And so not funny.”
She slid onto the passenger seat. “I’m a genius,” she said with a triumphant smile, if not a little breathless. She flapped her men’s tuxedo jacket open and shut to fan herself. “Dude, you been heavy breathing in here?” A cock of her chin indicated the opaque windshield.
“Shut up,” he mumbled and made a show of exhaling heavily above the dashboard. “The defroster’s not working.”
Amelia crossed her skinny legs and bumped his knee with her bulky burgundy Doc Marten boot. “So, get it fixed.” She plumped the crinolined skirt of her vintage prom dress.
Everything was always so simple to Amelia, he thought. “Well, I’ve been waiting here for, like, an hour.”
“You so have not.” She laughed.
His stomach growled. He had to stop skipping breakfast. It wasn’t helping his waistline shrink and was only giving him headaches. “So, why are you a genius today?”
“You know how I told you I hate working at Nooks & Grannies ‘cause it smells like one ginormous moth ball of death and it’s, like, worse than some funky old church basement rummage sale with chipped knick-knacks and pilled sweaters?” She dug in her orange Vitello Daino hobo bag. “Gum?”
Keegan shook his head and looked away. He couldn’t bear to look at her hands. He’d given up on remarking about her penchant for walking around for all the world to see with her chewed-to-the-quick nails and chipped polish; sometimes different colors on different fingers reminding him of what Van Gogh’s palette must have looked like in his latter stages of insanity. Amelia shoved a piece of chewing gum in her mouth and chomped in silence for a moment until it softened enough to talk around it.
Keegan removed his glasses that were now misting up with Amelia’s added body heat. He pinched the bridge of his nose and fought the urge to think about food.
“…and how my boss freaked when he found out I’d been secretly throwing out some of the crap ‘cause it reeked of old?” she continued and rolled her eyes dramatically. “Do you have a tissue?” She opened the glove box.
“Hey! You don’t just go around opening people’s glove compartments.”
“Why not?” She turned to him. “What am I going to find, kiddie porn?” She lifted his Escala CD and glanced at the photo on the plastic jewel case. She fanned herself with it. Keegan stopped wiping the lenses of his glasses with his red mitten and glared at her.
“How can you take them seriously as musicians if they pose in those short dresses like go-go dancers or something?”
Keegan snatched the CD from her grasp, made a show of wiping her fingerprints from the plastic cover and slid it back into the glove box and shut it.
“Oh, stop. I was kidding. I don’t know what you’re more annoyed at, the kiddie porn comment or your precious Escala.” She resumed her quest for a tissue in her bag. “You listening?”
“Of course I’m listening. I’m, like, two inches away from you and your voice is ricocheting off my cranium.”
Amelia tsked. “Wow, if you’re gonna be all pissy about it, I’ll just go.” She gripped the door handle.
“I’ve got a headache is all,” Keegan said quietly. “I’m not in a very good mood today. And you know it annoys me when you say ginormous. And, frankly, you’re always complaining about your job, but at least you have a job.”
Amelia sighed. “Dude, it’s $8 an hour standing around waiting for some nutjob to walk in wanting to buy some vintage something-or-other and watching their faces drop when they’re met with a sea of garbage. Truly. It’s like a landfill but without the seagulls circling overhead. I don’t even get any hipsters coming in that I could make fun of.”
“Hey, I’d do it. For $8 an hour? Yeah.”
“Well, I’ll ask Bruce if he’s got any expansion plans in the works and could use you.”
“Why do you have to call him Bruce? His name is John.”
“I call everybody Bruce. What is up with you?” Amelia shot Keegan a glance, then studied the fraying hem of her skirt. The scotch tape she’d applied to hold it in place had long since dried and was giving up the ghost. “You can be such a total buzz-kill, you know that?”
Keegan took in a long, slow inhale and held it a moment, bracing himself. “It makes you sound homophobic is all.”
“What? That is so gay, Keegan. I can’t believe you said that.” She shook her head to show him her disappointment.
“See? My point exactly.”
“God, you are acting like such a girl today.” Amelia turned sideways in her seat to face him. “You’re acting like you’re going to break up with me. If you were my boyfriend, which you’re not, and not like I’d know what it was like to have one ‘cause I’m apparently such an oozing plague no guy could tolerate me…”
Keegan sighed and cracked the driver’s side window open an inch and sucked in some fresh air. It made him mental the way Amelia had the knack for turning something around to being about her if she thought she’d get some victim mileage out of it. But on the occasions he mentioned she needed a manicure and should lay off the cheap at-home dye-jobs that were ruining her hair, Amelia would get all quiet and sulk.
“This is where you say something nice,” Amelia prompted softly.
He forced himself to take his gaze from his mitten and look her in the eyes. “No, this is where I tell you it hurts my feelings when you make anti-gay comments and if you don’t stop it…I don’t think we can be friends anymore.” Keegan felt light-headed. Between practically starving himself and now this awkward confrontation, he could either vomit or eat two family-size Snickers bars. He swallowed audibly. He hoped she didn’t notice the pulse throbbing in his neck.
Amelia’s jaw hung open revealing a chunk of chewing gum wedged between a molar and her cheek. After a long moment, she shut her mouth. She opened it again to speak, but then closed it.
Keegan was tempted to let it drop. He hated when they argued. He took a deep breath, looked her in the eye and began quietly. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m not even a real person to you. It’s like I’m an accessory or something. Like your knock-off Prada.” He motioned toward the textured pebble-grain calfskin bag in her lap. “That you like to show off but treat like crap since it’s not a real Prada.”
Amelia’s face contorted. “What the hell are you talking about? I treat you like my handbag?”
Keegan nodded. “Like you think it’s cool that you hang out with ‘a gay’.” He made air quotes. “Or you think it somehow makes you cool, that you’re so liberal and open-minded as to actually befriend ‘a gay’. So you’ll parade me around in front of other people, but when we’re alone you treat me the way you do that Prada knock-off.”
“Damn, Keegan.” Amelia’s voice cracked and she began to cry.
Keegan’s hand shot out instinctively to comfort her because she hadn’t even cried when her mother went to prison.
“You been rehearsing that?” Amelia asked.
Keegan shook his head. Nice going asshole.
“I need a goddamn tissue!” Amelia dug in her pockets. “That’s some heavy shit, dude.” She came up with a battered, used tissue. She unballed it and blew her nose.
He watched her dab at her eyes, creating mascara smudges. She was right, it was heavy shit, but he refused to back down.
“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. You make me sound so shallow, so fake. Dude, we’ve been friends for centuries. You really don’t want to be my--” she hiccupped – “friend anymore?”
“Not if you’re going to continue peppering your conversations with gay slurs like that.”
She blew her nose again. “OK, I’m sorry. I won’t do it anymore. I wasn’t aware it bothered you. I wasn’t even conscious I was doing it. Damn, Keegan, you know I love you, man.”
The lump in his throat hindered his speech. He nodded.
“Friends?”
He nodded.
Amelia hiccupped. “I can’t believe you’re bothered by ginormous.”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s not a real word,” Keegan said louder than he’d intended.
“OK, OK.” Amelia spit on her little finger and held it out to him. “Pinkie swear. You have my word.” Keegan rubbed the pad of his pinkie against hers as they’d done a million times over the years. “You’re the last person I’d want to hurt, man.” She hiccupped and Keegan could tell by her blotchy complexion that she was struggling to keep from crying again. He patted her knee and nodded. They were both very aware that they were all each other had. “I guess I take you for granted sometimes,” she said softly and blew her nose. “ ‘Cause you’ve always been there for me, ya know?”
Keegan nodded. Her immediate apology had taken him by surprise and taken the wind out of his sails. He’d been expecting an argument that he imagined would escalate and culminate in ugly name calling, shouted accusations and slamming doors. Either Amelia was growing up, or he was just being too dramatic. He remembered what a rock she’d been for him when his grandmother passed away and he had to handle all of the arrangements. He knew without Amelia he would’ve crawled into a comatose fetal position. He felt his heart soften toward her but resolved to remain vigilant in his monitoring of her slip-ups of hurtful remarks.
Amelia smoothed her skirt and twirled a lock of damaged hair around her fingers. “Anyways, remember Josie, the slut, who was dating that foreign exchange student senior year?”
Keegan’s face furrowed as he tried to conjure up this Josie person. He shook his head after a moment. “Nope.”
Amelia swatted at him, nearly knocking his glasses from his grasp. “You know her. She had the weird walk. Like she had one leg shorter than the other or something. Remember?”
Keegan held his glasses up to examine the lenses. He squinted at them and paused. “Nope.”
“Oh, my god, you are such a derp. You said you thought she was kinda cute when we saw her waiting for the bus that time in the rain and you said maybe you’d offer her a ride. Remember?”
“Stop jabbing me, will ya? Yes. Now I remember. The incident more than Josie. What about her?”
“Well, it turns out there was something wrong with her. Don’t you feel bad now that you didn’t give her a ride in that downpour?”
“Now that I recall it, you were the one who said not to offer her a lift, that she had head lice.”
Amelia gave an exaggerated sigh. “Stop clouding the issue with your made up remembrances, OK? Anyway, Josie’s grandmother’s next door neighbor is a hoarder.”
Keegan slipped his glasses back on and wiped at the windshield directly in front of his face with his mitten. The full color picture of the ½ lb. Flame Thrower GrillBurger dazzled him. It called to him. He was pretty sure Amelia heard it, too. It had been more than a month since he’d had one. The melted cheese and bacon were calling to him alright. By name. But he’d skip the milkshake and go for a diet soda instead. But that’s such a fat thing to do. He hated when he saw obese people stuffing themselves but then opting for the diet soda. You’re not fooling anybody, he wanted to tell them. His mouth was suddenly full of saliva and he swallowed audibly. Who was he kidding? Keegan knew he’d surrender once he pulled up to the window and order a Snickers Blizzard. How could you go to DQ and not order a Blizzard? It was downright un-American.
“So, you in?” Amelia pulled the gum from her mouth in a long swaybacked string and returned in to her mouth.
He licked his lips. “You bet!”
“Really? Wow, I figured you’d be all argumentative and shit.”
“Why would I do that?”
Amelia shrugged. “You know, going into a stranger’s house full of junk. I know what a germophobe you are.”
“Stranger’s house?”
“See? You weren’t listening. Damn, Keegan. The hoarder who lives next door to Josie’s grandmother. I’m thinking we go see if she’s got anything for Nooks & Grannies.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. How awesome is that? We’d be doing her a favor. She’s got a house full of junk and I need some junk.”
“A real win-win situation.” Keegan shook his head at her. “Look, I’ve got things to do.”
“Such as?”
“I have to go to my grandmother’s house and make sure there are no busted pipes. Air it out.” He shrugged. “Run the water so it doesn’t come out rusty if a real estate agent shows it.”
“We can go to your grandmother’s after the hoarder’s.”
“I don’t know…” Keegan began but couldn’t think of a good reason other than he didn’t feel like it. His head was starting to throb and the growls from his stomach were growing louder.
“I’ll pay you,” Amelia said. “I’ll even treat you to lunch.” She pointed at the DQ drive-up window as she pulled her wallet from the recesses of her bag.
Keegan’s willpower collapsed.
Chapter 1
Keegan O’Rourke sat in his ancient Buick in the Dairy Queen parking lot waiting for Amelia. She was ten minutes late as usual. Ordinarily, his best friend’s indifference to punctuality would piss him off, but he didn’t mind today. He’d been on a secret diet for weeks and despite the cranky headaches and bouts of hunger-induced grouchiness, he had lost 12 pounds. He knew it was stupid to keep his diet a secret from Amelia, they normally told each other everything, but he’d tried and failed so many times to lose weight, he didn’t want to make the big proclamation again and then be embarrassed when he blew it and surrendered. The loss of 12 pounds caused him to revel in a subtle sense of smugness. He knew he was being immature, but at nineteen, he didn’t have much else going on in his life to feel smug about.
With the Buick’s defogger permanently stuck in the Off position, Keegan encouraged the windows to cloud up, obscuring him from any onlookers. He pressed Play, held his telescoping baton aloft, and began to conduct Escala, the female electronic string quartet. The combination of their rousing rendition of Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir and the fact that he held his breath from excitement made him dizzy. Nanosecond flashes of his 7th grade self wielding the timpani sticks on the kettledrums intercut with the fervent bow strokes of the women at their violins and cello. Keegan shook his head to dislodge that fat awkward boy and replaced him with a slim, brilliant maestro wearing a custom cutaway tuxedo with a red satin lining to match his socks.
His upper body bobbed in time to the stirring music. His head thrusting from side to side as his enthusiasm rose with the urgent, driving upbow staccato of the strings. Though he knows the martellato – the hammer style that slows to the smooth legato stroke – is coming, he is delighted each time. It’s as if their flexible fingers and wrists were not coaxing out the notes, but their mastery of concentration alone created the music. Just before the rearview mirror misted over completely, he caught a glimpse of his reflection and lost a bit of his zeal.
He exhaled, shoulders slumped, and missed a beat. It was the disappointment in his lack of floppy hair. Keegan knew not all conductors had long locks to bounce and fly as the score lifted their souls, wheeling in ecstatic circles as it ascended heavenward. But it would sure look better, he mused; definitely a distraction from his prematurely receding hairline leaving him with that unfortunate widow’s peak inherited from his maternal grandfather. Keegan made a mental note: No more haircuts for a while.
The insistent, frenetic strings of the three electric violins and cello that made up Escala had captured him heart and soul the moment he’d first heard them. And now, with a flick of his wrist, Keegan directed them to give it everything they had, no holding back. He imagined the four women beyond his fogged windshield, their long hair blowing in a slight breeze, their long slender legs exposed in their short dresses, keeping insistent rhythm. The almost stern expressions on their faces as they played their hearts out, feeling each note with every fiber --
“Dude, I got so excited I spontaneously combusted,” Amelia announced, as she yanked open the passenger door, apparently unaware she’d shattered Keegan’s intense fantasy.
His right index finger shot out to abruptly stop the tremolo movement of the bows and quickly slipped his compressed baton into his coat pocket. He never knew what to expect when she was sounding very pleased with herself. “You look the same to me.”
“No, really, bro, I am charred beyond recognition.”
“That is so disgusting. And so not funny.”
She slid onto the passenger seat. “I’m a genius,” she said with a triumphant smile, if not a little breathless. She flapped her men’s tuxedo jacket open and shut to fan herself. “Dude, you been heavy breathing in here?” A cock of her chin indicated the opaque windshield.
“Shut up,” he mumbled and made a show of exhaling heavily above the dashboard. “The defroster’s not working.”
Amelia crossed her skinny legs and bumped his knee with her bulky burgundy Doc Marten boot. “So, get it fixed.” She plumped the crinolined skirt of her vintage prom dress.
Everything was always so simple to Amelia, he thought. “Well, I’ve been waiting here for, like, an hour.”
“You so have not.” She laughed.
His stomach growled. He had to stop skipping breakfast. It wasn’t helping his waistline shrink and was only giving him headaches. “So, why are you a genius today?”
“You know how I told you I hate working at Nooks & Grannies ‘cause it smells like one ginormous moth ball of death and it’s, like, worse than some funky old church basement rummage sale with chipped knick-knacks and pilled sweaters?” She dug in her orange Vitello Daino hobo bag. “Gum?”
Keegan shook his head and looked away. He couldn’t bear to look at her hands. He’d given up on remarking about her penchant for walking around for all the world to see with her chewed-to-the-quick nails and chipped polish; sometimes different colors on different fingers reminding him of what Van Gogh’s palette must have looked like in his latter stages of insanity. Amelia shoved a piece of chewing gum in her mouth and chomped in silence for a moment until it softened enough to talk around it.
Keegan removed his glasses that were now misting up with Amelia’s added body heat. He pinched the bridge of his nose and fought the urge to think about food.
“…and how my boss freaked when he found out I’d been secretly throwing out some of the crap ‘cause it reeked of old?” she continued and rolled her eyes dramatically. “Do you have a tissue?” She opened the glove box.
“Hey! You don’t just go around opening people’s glove compartments.”
“Why not?” She turned to him. “What am I going to find, kiddie porn?” She lifted his Escala CD and glanced at the photo on the plastic jewel case. She fanned herself with it. Keegan stopped wiping the lenses of his glasses with his red mitten and glared at her.
“How can you take them seriously as musicians if they pose in those short dresses like go-go dancers or something?”
Keegan snatched the CD from her grasp, made a show of wiping her fingerprints from the plastic cover and slid it back into the glove box and shut it.
“Oh, stop. I was kidding. I don’t know what you’re more annoyed at, the kiddie porn comment or your precious Escala.” She resumed her quest for a tissue in her bag. “You listening?”
“Of course I’m listening. I’m, like, two inches away from you and your voice is ricocheting off my cranium.”
Amelia tsked. “Wow, if you’re gonna be all pissy about it, I’ll just go.” She gripped the door handle.
“I’ve got a headache is all,” Keegan said quietly. “I’m not in a very good mood today. And you know it annoys me when you say ginormous. And, frankly, you’re always complaining about your job, but at least you have a job.”
Amelia sighed. “Dude, it’s $8 an hour standing around waiting for some nutjob to walk in wanting to buy some vintage something-or-other and watching their faces drop when they’re met with a sea of garbage. Truly. It’s like a landfill but without the seagulls circling overhead. I don’t even get any hipsters coming in that I could make fun of.”
“Hey, I’d do it. For $8 an hour? Yeah.”
“Well, I’ll ask Bruce if he’s got any expansion plans in the works and could use you.”
“Why do you have to call him Bruce? His name is John.”
“I call everybody Bruce. What is up with you?” Amelia shot Keegan a glance, then studied the fraying hem of her skirt. The scotch tape she’d applied to hold it in place had long since dried and was giving up the ghost. “You can be such a total buzz-kill, you know that?”
Keegan took in a long, slow inhale and held it a moment, bracing himself. “It makes you sound homophobic is all.”
“What? That is so gay, Keegan. I can’t believe you said that.” She shook her head to show him her disappointment.
“See? My point exactly.”
“God, you are acting like such a girl today.” Amelia turned sideways in her seat to face him. “You’re acting like you’re going to break up with me. If you were my boyfriend, which you’re not, and not like I’d know what it was like to have one ‘cause I’m apparently such an oozing plague no guy could tolerate me…”
Keegan sighed and cracked the driver’s side window open an inch and sucked in some fresh air. It made him mental the way Amelia had the knack for turning something around to being about her if she thought she’d get some victim mileage out of it. But on the occasions he mentioned she needed a manicure and should lay off the cheap at-home dye-jobs that were ruining her hair, Amelia would get all quiet and sulk.
“This is where you say something nice,” Amelia prompted softly.
He forced himself to take his gaze from his mitten and look her in the eyes. “No, this is where I tell you it hurts my feelings when you make anti-gay comments and if you don’t stop it…I don’t think we can be friends anymore.” Keegan felt light-headed. Between practically starving himself and now this awkward confrontation, he could either vomit or eat two family-size Snickers bars. He swallowed audibly. He hoped she didn’t notice the pulse throbbing in his neck.
Amelia’s jaw hung open revealing a chunk of chewing gum wedged between a molar and her cheek. After a long moment, she shut her mouth. She opened it again to speak, but then closed it.
Keegan was tempted to let it drop. He hated when they argued. He took a deep breath, looked her in the eye and began quietly. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m not even a real person to you. It’s like I’m an accessory or something. Like your knock-off Prada.” He motioned toward the textured pebble-grain calfskin bag in her lap. “That you like to show off but treat like crap since it’s not a real Prada.”
Amelia’s face contorted. “What the hell are you talking about? I treat you like my handbag?”
Keegan nodded. “Like you think it’s cool that you hang out with ‘a gay’.” He made air quotes. “Or you think it somehow makes you cool, that you’re so liberal and open-minded as to actually befriend ‘a gay’. So you’ll parade me around in front of other people, but when we’re alone you treat me the way you do that Prada knock-off.”
“Damn, Keegan.” Amelia’s voice cracked and she began to cry.
Keegan’s hand shot out instinctively to comfort her because she hadn’t even cried when her mother went to prison.
“You been rehearsing that?” Amelia asked.
Keegan shook his head. Nice going asshole.
“I need a goddamn tissue!” Amelia dug in her pockets. “That’s some heavy shit, dude.” She came up with a battered, used tissue. She unballed it and blew her nose.
He watched her dab at her eyes, creating mascara smudges. She was right, it was heavy shit, but he refused to back down.
“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. You make me sound so shallow, so fake. Dude, we’ve been friends for centuries. You really don’t want to be my--” she hiccupped – “friend anymore?”
“Not if you’re going to continue peppering your conversations with gay slurs like that.”
She blew her nose again. “OK, I’m sorry. I won’t do it anymore. I wasn’t aware it bothered you. I wasn’t even conscious I was doing it. Damn, Keegan, you know I love you, man.”
The lump in his throat hindered his speech. He nodded.
“Friends?”
He nodded.
Amelia hiccupped. “I can’t believe you’re bothered by ginormous.”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s not a real word,” Keegan said louder than he’d intended.
“OK, OK.” Amelia spit on her little finger and held it out to him. “Pinkie swear. You have my word.” Keegan rubbed the pad of his pinkie against hers as they’d done a million times over the years. “You’re the last person I’d want to hurt, man.” She hiccupped and Keegan could tell by her blotchy complexion that she was struggling to keep from crying again. He patted her knee and nodded. They were both very aware that they were all each other had. “I guess I take you for granted sometimes,” she said softly and blew her nose. “ ‘Cause you’ve always been there for me, ya know?”
Keegan nodded. Her immediate apology had taken him by surprise and taken the wind out of his sails. He’d been expecting an argument that he imagined would escalate and culminate in ugly name calling, shouted accusations and slamming doors. Either Amelia was growing up, or he was just being too dramatic. He remembered what a rock she’d been for him when his grandmother passed away and he had to handle all of the arrangements. He knew without Amelia he would’ve crawled into a comatose fetal position. He felt his heart soften toward her but resolved to remain vigilant in his monitoring of her slip-ups of hurtful remarks.
Amelia smoothed her skirt and twirled a lock of damaged hair around her fingers. “Anyways, remember Josie, the slut, who was dating that foreign exchange student senior year?”
Keegan’s face furrowed as he tried to conjure up this Josie person. He shook his head after a moment. “Nope.”
Amelia swatted at him, nearly knocking his glasses from his grasp. “You know her. She had the weird walk. Like she had one leg shorter than the other or something. Remember?”
Keegan held his glasses up to examine the lenses. He squinted at them and paused. “Nope.”
“Oh, my god, you are such a derp. You said you thought she was kinda cute when we saw her waiting for the bus that time in the rain and you said maybe you’d offer her a ride. Remember?”
“Stop jabbing me, will ya? Yes. Now I remember. The incident more than Josie. What about her?”
“Well, it turns out there was something wrong with her. Don’t you feel bad now that you didn’t give her a ride in that downpour?”
“Now that I recall it, you were the one who said not to offer her a lift, that she had head lice.”
Amelia gave an exaggerated sigh. “Stop clouding the issue with your made up remembrances, OK? Anyway, Josie’s grandmother’s next door neighbor is a hoarder.”
Keegan slipped his glasses back on and wiped at the windshield directly in front of his face with his mitten. The full color picture of the ½ lb. Flame Thrower GrillBurger dazzled him. It called to him. He was pretty sure Amelia heard it, too. It had been more than a month since he’d had one. The melted cheese and bacon were calling to him alright. By name. But he’d skip the milkshake and go for a diet soda instead. But that’s such a fat thing to do. He hated when he saw obese people stuffing themselves but then opting for the diet soda. You’re not fooling anybody, he wanted to tell them. His mouth was suddenly full of saliva and he swallowed audibly. Who was he kidding? Keegan knew he’d surrender once he pulled up to the window and order a Snickers Blizzard. How could you go to DQ and not order a Blizzard? It was downright un-American.
“So, you in?” Amelia pulled the gum from her mouth in a long swaybacked string and returned in to her mouth.
He licked his lips. “You bet!”
“Really? Wow, I figured you’d be all argumentative and shit.”
“Why would I do that?”
Amelia shrugged. “You know, going into a stranger’s house full of junk. I know what a germophobe you are.”
“Stranger’s house?”
“See? You weren’t listening. Damn, Keegan. The hoarder who lives next door to Josie’s grandmother. I’m thinking we go see if she’s got anything for Nooks & Grannies.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. How awesome is that? We’d be doing her a favor. She’s got a house full of junk and I need some junk.”
“A real win-win situation.” Keegan shook his head at her. “Look, I’ve got things to do.”
“Such as?”
“I have to go to my grandmother’s house and make sure there are no busted pipes. Air it out.” He shrugged. “Run the water so it doesn’t come out rusty if a real estate agent shows it.”
“We can go to your grandmother’s after the hoarder’s.”
“I don’t know…” Keegan began but couldn’t think of a good reason other than he didn’t feel like it. His head was starting to throb and the growls from his stomach were growing louder.
“I’ll pay you,” Amelia said. “I’ll even treat you to lunch.” She pointed at the DQ drive-up window as she pulled her wallet from the recesses of her bag.
Keegan’s willpower collapsed.
