Chapter Twenty-Six
Tyler
I’m sitting at the Valentines’ dinner table, shocked because Layla Faye dumped lemonade on my head. I don’t get why she’s so pissed at me.
Maybe she’s never going to come around to liking me, only “R”. What will she do to me when she finds out that I’m the one she’s been texting?
Ms. Valentine hands me some towels while she continues to apologize for her daughter’s craziness. She calls it a “little fit.”
“No worries.” I wipe my face and hair. My shirt and pants will remain wet and sticky until I get home. “I probably deserved it.” I know I didn’t but I say this so she’ll quit fussing over me.
She sits down and looks at Juliet. “I hope you don’t throw fits like this.”
“I won’t,” she mumbles, and shoves a forkful of potatoes in her mouth. “Mmm. Mom,” she swallows. “These potatoes are amazing.”
“Tyler made them.”
“Shut up,” Mark says. “Richardson, I didn’t know you could put Betty Crocker to shame.”
I wink. “I keep my apron next to my Batman gear.”
Chase and Mark chuckle. Juliet just snorts. “Thor is better.”
“You prefer hammers and gods over a human with kick ass gadgets?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says.
Mark frowns. “But Batman is just as cool.”
“Is he? He seems like a jerk. Yeah, his parents died and his butler raised him. But he doesn’t say, ‘Hey Alfred I’ll totally get my own tea.’ Alfred is always asking him, ‘Is there anything else you need, sir?’ Then he treats Robin like a kick toy too. So, he is a jerk,” Juliet says.
“Wow! I never really thought of Batman that way, but I can see that,” I say.
Chase doesn’t add to the conversation, he just eats. Ms. Valentine doesn’t seem to be paying much attention either. Mark glares at me. “But that’s not really Batman. That’s Bruce Wayne.”
“They’re the same person. One just wears a suit at Wayne Enterprises. The other wears a bat costume and fights crime. Both seem to treat Alfred like a butler and not family, like they try to make it seem,” Juliet says.
“She’s got a point,” I say.
“You both are nuts,” Mark snaps.
Juliet shrugs. Chase shakes his head. “I think Spider-Man is pretty cool.”
“Yeah, he is. I like Wonder Woman too,” I admit.
“What? Spider-Man?” Mark sounds completely offended.
Chase nods. “I think he’s pretty cool.”
“Me too,” Juliet says.
Mark glares at Chase and then shovels food into his mouth. If I didn’t know any better I’d think Mark was jealous of Chase.
I finish my plate, wash it, and head back to the table, where Juliet, Mark, and Chase are arguing about something else. Ms. Valentine is no longer at the table. So, I fill a fresh plate with potatoes, beef roast, and fresh green beans. I grab a fork and head up to Layla’s room.
I open the door without knocking. She’s sitting on her bed staring down at her book. She looks up at me and then at the plate of food in my hand.
“Here.” I set it down on her desk. “Don’t tell your mom. I think she might ban me from the house.”
She stares at me. “Why are you bringing me food?”
“It’s a peace offering. I’m sorry for upsetting you.”
She nods. “I’m sorry for being a bitch and dumping drinks on you.”
“It’s cool. My shirt and pants are clinging in all the right places, don’t you think?”
She laughs. “Definitely.” She moves off her bed and takes a seat at her desk. I glance over at her math homework and frown.
While she eats I take a seat on her bed and check her answers.
“What are you doing?” she asks with a mouthful of food.
“Well, girl with no manners. I’m checking your work. You know you got the right answer for two and seven if those were really the numbers from your sheet.”
She pales. I notice her swallow then she says, “Oh. Um. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
This is not the same girl from the phone. This girl will not admit to her problem. Is it because she thinks I’ll think she’s stupid? Maybe she’s actually figured out that I’m really R, the guy who’s been texting her, so I apparently already know. Nah. She hasn’t given me any signs she knows that.
“The first number is seven, not one. In problem number two, the letters are supposed to be A and C, not B and O, although that’s really funny,” I grin.
She chews on her bottom lip. “Okay. Um, and the numbers and letters are right on the others except for problem seven?” She reaches for her paper but I pull it away.
“Eat. Please. Your growling stomach is making me think of starving children in some third world country.”
Layla narrows her eyes and turns to her plate of food. She eats some beef and then mumbles, “Wow.”
“What?”
“This is good.”
“I know.”
“Mom never cooks this well. It’s always dry and overdone.”
I smile. “You’re welcome.”
“What do you mean I’m welcome?”
“I cooked dinner. You’re welcome,” I say with a wink.
“No, you didn’t. Did you? Where did you learn to cook? Don’t you guys have a maid?”
I scowl at her. “Mary Ella teaches me things. I’m not going to have a freaking maid for life you know.”
“What, they won’t travel with you to college?”
“Ha ha. So funny. No.”
She places a heap of potatoes in her mouth and moans. God, her foodgasms are doing things to me. I glance down at her homework again to keep me from thinking dirty thoughts.