The Gang: Story 7

"If I fall along the way, pick me up and dust me off."
-Matchbox 20

"She's the girl all the bad guys want!"
-Bowling For Soup

December 11th

Jake buttoned his shirt, eyes glued to the mirror. He paused. To tuck in the shirttails or not? Nah. Let's be a rebel. Jake smiled at himself. He kind of liked how this looked. Neat, and yet . . . trendy. Jake practiced some sexy smiles.

"What are you *doing*?" Sasha sat up in his bed, sleepy but finally awake.

"Nothin'. Jest, you know . . . tryin' to look good." Jake shrugged. "How about you? If we're gonna leave here an get to school on time you oughtta hop up and think about gettin' dressed."

Sasha blinked down at what he was wearing: baggy jeans, a black long john shirt, and a tie-dyed t-shirt depicting some pot-farming lawn gnomes. It was what he'd slept in. "I suppose I should change the t-shirt . . ."

Jake rolled his eyes, grinning. They were the original odd couple.

When Jake came to the Blake Family's house three months ago, he'd intended to just stay a little while . . . a couple nights . . . then a week or two . . . maybe a month . . .

Jake had moved in. Pretty much all of Jake's belongings had been brought from the McBride's house to Sasha's. Jake was in frequent phone contact with his family and occasionally went over there to eat dinner. Somewhere between Jake's dad not caring and Mrs. Blake's insisting, Jake had moved his address of residence for good.

When Jake came down from the third floor to the first, Mrs. Blake was busy cooking up a storm. She was four months pregnant, beginning to show, and unusually active in that kitchen of hers. The rest of the family had found their way to the table: Bobby, who no longer lived here but came by for the food, Rachel, skipping dance team practice to cram for a second- period test. Patrick was already poised on the phone, a thirteen year old Casanova trying to sweet talk his girlfriend (whatever those were in eighth grade). Geanna was nowhere to be seen but her eleven year old, sing-songy voice could be heard from the living room: "Mo-om! Did you see my backpack?" Mr. Blake, the calm in the storm, was messing with his watch at the breakfast table.

"I think this dumb thing's broken . . . " He glanced up. "Hey, Jake."

Jake swallowed. "Hi Mr. Blake."

Ronald Blake grinned. "You know you can call me Ronnie, Jake."

"Yeah . . . Ah know."

They went through it every morning.

"Sit," ordered Carlotta, coming in with a plate of pancakes. "Eat some food. Where's that good for nothing lazy friend of yours, my son with too much hair?"

Jake laughed. "He'll be down in a minute," he answered her. "Man! How much of this food did you make??"

"She has to make it," replied Ronnie. "Let the woman cook all day, otherwise she'll sit around glued to that TV watching, I don't know, Days of Our Lives or something and crying over who's dating Chrissy's stepfather's dog or some sort of nonsense."

Mrs. Blake made a face at him, laughing. "Lei sono appena geloso che prendo per giocare intorno qui tutto il giorno mentre lei deve lavorare!"

"No I'm not." Ronnie took off the watch and threw it away. "Hey, go buy me another watch."

Sasha entered the room. He had replaced the gnome t-shirt with a Smashing Pumpkins concert shirt. Other than that, very little had been changed about his appearance.

"Brush your hair," his mother instructed.

Rachel winked at Sasha. "She's been bad-mouthing your hair behind your back again."

Sasha shrugged. "So, Mom, we're going to have a meeting of The Gang today." His eyes followed the plate of food she plunked in front of him. "Right after school."

"I'll make some cookies."

"Ah, I love this stage." Mr. Blake leaned over to Sasha. "Remember when she was pregnant with Geanna and she made spice cake for three months? Almost every day."

Geanna came in, making a face. "I don't like spice cake."

"That's probably why." Sasha moved the food on his plate around a little bit, making a face. He didn't do eggs.

"I made a cake last night," said Carlotta, coming back in and sitting at the table. "Bobby and his friends, they helped me eat it."

"Can I take your car to school?" Sasha asked his mother.

"What's wrong with yours?"

"Not enough gas to make it to school."

She rolled her eyes. "Le cose che faccio per lei. Fine."

Sasha grinned. "I love you, Mom."