Pitbabes2, Chapter 4 pg2

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   “Nope.” The last sip of soda wasn’t fizzy anymore, like when the bottle was first opened. The ice in the glass had melted, diluting all the refreshment, leaving just sugary water. It was probably a sign I should stop pumping sugar into my bloodstream. “One, I’m lazy. Two, in my whole life, I only plan to teach one person.”

   “Man, you’re just hoarding your skills…”

   “And three,” I wanted to end this conversation, and if possible, I’d love for this kid to go home, drink some milk, and sleep before I have to call his guardian to pick him up. “If you call my boyfriend boring one more time and I hear it, I’ll snitch to your mom that you’ve been sneaking weed. Got it?”

   Because I’m starting to lose patience with this little punk.

   “Jeff.” I walked over to greet Jeff, who was sitting by the pool, watching an older guy desperately trying to stack Jenga blocks. And when I say desperately, I mean he couldn’t get past five layers before it toppled, since the drunk guy could barely sit upright. “What’s he doing?”

   “Build me a tower,” Jeff said flatly, hugging his knees as he watched Phii Alan play Jenga with intense focus, even though it was obvious the captain had no chance in that state.

   A drunk guy was stacking wooden blocks with a deadly serious expression, refusing to speak. Next to him, a young kid sat silently cheering him on. Honestly, the scene in front of me was hilarious, but I couldn’t deny it showed why Phii Alan was so happy around Jeff, and why Jeff seemed to feel the same. They trusted each other in a strange way, understanding a language no one else could. That’s the most important thing. I think it’s the only reason people keep searching for someone—because the world is full of arrogant and foolish people. Expecting everyone to understand us is unrealistic. That’s why so many just want one person who gets what we’re trying to say, even if the words come out jumbled, stuttering, odd, or with a weird accent—or even if we can’t say them at all. On this round world, there’s always one person who understands.

   I think these two have found that person.

   “Charlie’s probably in the house,” Jeff said before I could ask anything. He didn’t even look up, just kept staring at Phii Alan, which gave me slight chills. I thought this kid could only see the future, so how’s he acting like he can read minds too? Is there something I don’t know? “Saw him playing games alone earlier.”

   “How long ago was earlier?”

   “An hour or so.”

   “That’s not ‘earlier.’”

   “Not as long as you were chatting with Willy, though.”

   “You pulling my leg?” I was obviously teasing, not expecting much of a reaction from this deadpan kid. Still, when Jeff looked up with that blank stare, his eyes practically saying, Grow up, it stung a bit. “I’m off to find Charlie. Keep an eye on the old man.”

   Jeff didn’t reply, which probably meant he agreed. I walked away from the pool, cutting through the side door into the house. It was late now, and everyone was scattered. Kim, North, and Sonic were still strumming guitars and singing on the porch. Jeff and Phii Alan were playing Jenga by the pool. I’d already shooed Willy and a few other rival team guys away—they were cluttering up the view. Now, there was just one person I didn’t know the whereabouts of or what they were up to.

   Luckily, the kid wasn’t hard to find. Stepping into the living room, I spotted him. Charlie was sprawled out on the couch, a game controller on the floor next to him, alongside three or four empty beer bottles. The sight made me scratch my head. Charlie barely drinks. I know he can, but he doesn’t like it—says it smells bad and tastes bitter. Yet here he was, secretly drinking alone. That was the surprising part.

   “Hey, drunkard,” I said, stopping in front of the couch. I nudged the pile of beer bottles aside with my foot and tapped the passed-out drunk with my knee. It seemed Charlie had only just dozed off, because a light nudge was enough to stir him. “What’s up? Sneaking off to get wasted alone?”

   Charlie didn’t answer. The drunk kid squinted at me, like he was trying to figure out who I was. His expression and demeanor made it pretty clear he wasn’t sober yet. Judging by the amount of beer he’d downed and his drinking tolerance, I’d say he was plastered to the point of forgetting his own address, no question.

   “Yeah, keep staring,” I said, hands on my hips, barely believing Charlie could get this drunk out of nowhere. In all the time we’ve been together, I’ve seen him drunk maybe three times, and every time it was because those idiots outside tricked him into drinking. Never on purpose like this. “Do you even know who I am?”

   “Mmm…” Charlie let out a soft hum from his throat, then flashed a dreamy smile, typical of a drunk person. “Pretty person.”

   “Yeah, pretty person alright,” I sighed deeply. I wanted to scold him, but I couldn’t bring myself to, knowing this isn’t how Charlie usually is. Plus, it’s a party—getting a bit drunk isn’t a crime. It’s just that seeing him like this feels a little weird, that’s all. “Come on, pretty person, let’s get you home.”

   “Pretty person knows where my house is?”

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