Farrow leans on the bedpost. “Getting smarter.”
I shoot my bodyguard a middle finger.
To aggravate me, he makes a point to only acknowledge Xander. “It barely hurts.”
“Okay, good.” Xander bites his nails, a bad habit. Any physical changes to our bodies, the media hones in on—hair color, piercings, tattoos, even bruises and cat scratches. So knowing the extra attention will come, I’m kind of surprised Xander would want a piercing. It’s either out of his love for Luna or he’s hoping it’ll distract tabloids from his sudden growth spurt.
I check my watch. Mom and Dad should be home any minute.
Xander spits out his nail. “What are you getting pierced, Moffy?”
My jaw tenses. “Probably nothing.”
“I told you,” Kinney pipes up from the bed. “He’s a prude.”
Farrow pops a piece of gum, his James Franco smile at full-force right now.
“I’m not a prude,” I tell my sister who looks very similar to a gangly, round-faced Luna except for the dark hair, jet-black eyeliner, mascara and lips. “And even if I were, there’s nothing wrong with being a prude.”
Kinney clicks the remote absentmindedly. “That’s exactly what a prude would say.” Then the TV lands on a tween channel, and a familiar, catchy pop song blares.
“Shit, no!” Xander rotates on the bed to restrain Kinney who lunges towards the television.
I already sprint over and catch Kinney around the waist. Her bony limbs flail and fight to reach the TV. She’s eighty-pounds. I could easily toss her over my shoulder. But I don’t.
Because she’d try to bite my ear off.
“Let. Me. Go!!” Kinney yells.
Farrow finds the remote and shuts off the commercial. She’s still squirming in my arms and trying to launch herself at the TV.
Xander blocks his flat-screen. “This is brand new. You’re not breaking it.”
Kinney kicks out, and I tighten my hold.
Luna returns with all the piercing supplies, and our old floppy-eared basset hound follows. Gotham runs slowly to each of us and licks our legs.
Luna gapes at our sister. “Uhh…”
“Viv,” I explain but also unleash the name that causes Kinney to accidentally elbow my windpipe—fuck. I cough hoarsely, arms slackening on Kinney. I let her go.
And she immediately spins to me, wide-eyed. “Oh hell. Moffy?”
I hold out a hand like I’m fine, but Farrow reaches my side, a hand on my back. I’m bent forward, palms on my thighs. Stop coughing. I try to straighten up and massage my neck.
“Say something,” Kinney demands. “Right now.”
At ease, Farrow says, “How about let him breathe first?”
Kinney sends a death glare his way.
“I’m alright.” I cough one last time into my fist, my eyes watering. I pinch them, and then say to my sister. “I thought you were over Viv. It’s been three months since she left for LA.”
Her girlfriend moved to star in a tween show with a lot of dancing and a lot of singing, and they only split to forgo the long-distance thing.
It didn’t break Kinney’s heart as much as toughen it. Every time the show or song airs, she’s smashed her phone. The television. She’s already eaten through her entire allowance for the year.
And in her words, “Worth it.”
Kinney huffs. “I am over it.” She points at the TV. “That show is just crap. Not the star of the show, obviously. Viv deserves better. She’s much more talented than that.”
“Uh-huh,” Luna nods and hands Farrow the supplies. He pulls out a Zippo lighter from his pocket.
“Maybe you should try seeing someone else?” I suggest. “Is there another girl you’re interested in?”
“No,” she snaps at me. “And you have no experience in dating, so you just need to chill.”
Farrow grins and pops a bubble.
Being burned by my thirteen-year-old sister is nothing new. Having her bring up my lack of experience in dating in front of Farrow, yeah, that’s priceless.
Luna tells our sister, “Tom said he’d take you to a bar to get over Viv.”
“No,” Farrow and I say in unison.
“I meant a lesbian bar,” Luna clarifies.
“Still no,” I say.
Kinney gawks at Farrow and me. “I should revoke both of your memberships to the Rainbow Brigade for being so unfair.” She coined the Rainbow Brigade when she was nine, and she dubbed herself the president since she’s the only lesbian. It consists of me, Tom, Farrow, Oscar, and Kinney. It’s all in spirit since we haven’t done anything as a group together yet. “I know you’ve both been to gay bars and clubs—”
“We’re adults,” Farrow says, chewing his gum slowly.
I add, “And you were twelve barely a month ago.”
“I have the heart of forty-year-old,” she says with complete seriousness.
Farrow rebuts, “You still have the body of a nine-year-old.”
Kinney glares. “I’m thirteen, you turd.”
“Don’t call him a turd,” I snap.
“And you’re a turd, too.”
Farrow smiles and produces a flame from the lighter, sterilizing the needle, but he doesn’t get far. Gotham starts barking like the front door just opened.
MY SIBLINGS, Farrow, and I pile onto the staircase. One part of the house creates a tunnel of sound, and everything my parents say in the foyer is a megaphone to these steps.
We can’t see my mom and dad yet, and Kinney extends her arm. Blocking all of us from descending to the living room.
“Let’s not eavesdrop,” I whisper to her.
“Shh,” she hisses. “They’re probably talking about something nauseatingly cute. Just wait.”
Xander rests on the banister, Luna plops on a stair, and I turn to Farrow beside me. He smiles like your family, man. Then he passes Luna a piece of foiled gum.
I hear my dad first. “This isn’t a debate.” He speaks to my mom. “He’s legitimately the worst character in X-Men lore. Period. Done. End of story.”
“He’s funny. I liked him.”
“You can’t say that out loud,” he tells her. “One. It’s ridiculous. Two. His name was Goldballs.”
“The balls part is not why I liked him,” she combats fiercely.
“I know that, Lil. Other people don’t,” he says. “And you’re a lying liar because I know he’s not even in your top ten. You’re just going stand there and tell me he ranks above Sunspot, Magik, Emma Frost, Cyclops, X-23, or Hellion. Christ, we named three of our children after X-Men.”
Kinney, Xander, and I all exchange a look.
Luna blows a bubble with her gum. She was named after Luna Lovegood, a Harry Potter character.
My dad continues, “Can you imagine if Maximoff was actually named Goldballs?”
I glower at Farrow like do not speak of this, ever. He’s dying in amusement. It’s palpable and all over his face.
Dear World, stop making my boyfriend who loves to fuck with me enjoy today more than he already has. Sincerely, a peeved human.
My mom groans. “Please, stop.”
“Admit he’s not in your top ten.”
“Top twenty.”
“I can live with that,” my dad says.
“Good because I wasn’t going to change it for you,” she replies. I imagine she’s grinning, lifting her chin and playfully crossing her arms. I’ve seen her do it a thousand times before.