My Side is Greener, Sis

Chapter One

Mom cheerfully waved at every single one of our neighbors as we passed by each house. When Mr. Teapotts, the richest man in our neighborhood lazily nodded his head, Mom nudged me in the ribs.

I sighed, plastered my fakest oh-my-god-I’m-Lizzie smile, and waved my hand. Mr. Teapotts’s lazy grin quickly changed to that of a wet-bobcat-pissed-off frown. His face sure doesn’t make me feel so hot.

My Mom doesn’t notice.

Well, maybe it’s partially my fault. I have a huge crush on his daughter, Jade, and for the third consecutive year, I’ve wanted to ask her out. Problem is, I can’t ask her out at school since she’s…..well, erm, not in the same group.

I’m considered a smart-ass jock cause I play baseball, captain of the football team, and get straight A’s on my report card. I hang out with other smart-ass jocks that play sports, but have to get straight A’s or else they’re rich parents freak out. Savvy?

And Jade?

Hm, frankly I don’t know what kind of group she belongs to, or what you would call her. She’s definitely one of those nerds who spend hours on studying and preparing projects for school. She’s also really stubborn—she won’t give in even if all hell broke loose. And Jade is definitely not feminine and girlish, even though she wears pink and lots of other colors.

Get this, she actually looks pretty in pink. (Some girls should never wear pink. Like *cough*Lizzie*cough*)

She’s also charming…I never seem to forget that she’s friendly because whenever I see her, she’s either smiling or lending a hand to a crying, moaning, or frustrated friend. Jade also belongs to several different social groups of girls, since they all obviously like her and admire her….. They practically scream her name out during lunch to sit with them.

So I guess she’s popular, right?

We finally passed his formidable ivory mansion, and I folded my arms and gazed outside my window. Same ole boring Miss Webbers planting tulips in her vast tulip manifestation of a garden, Mr. Reese jogging and sweating like there’s no tomorrow, little brats playing tag, and big mansions looming before me. Nothing worth looking at...

Problem is, all my dumb-ass friends, except Dan, have a crush on her too. Problem is, they’ll never admit it. So, it’s a tug-of-war when we have conversations about her. All the guys obviously want to say nice things about Jade but….

Rule of thumb with dumb asses like us, we trash people we like. Confused?

Join the club.

And Dan Mui? Dan and Jade have been good friends since elementary years. You’d think my good ole chum would hook me up with the girl of my dreams, right? Well, Dan’s not the brightest crayon in the box when it comes to girls and my feelings.

I sometimes wonder if Jade likes Dan…I mean he’s cool, tall, dark, and handsome—like glamorous movie star handsome. It’s hard to see a guy like that these days and not gag, but Dan really sticks out….in an admirable way.

But then again, I don’t know if Jade even likes guys…

Jade’s different. And I guess that’s what I like about her. And because she’s not in the same group as me, I have to call her house to actually talk to her. For some dumb reason, her Dad is always at home when I call, and he ALWAYS picks up the phone.

Once I called her house fifteen times since I was determined to ask her out, and her Dad picked up the phone every single time! FIFTEEN TIMES! That’s crazy shit, I tell you!

Yeah, I should give up, but I’m pretty pig-headed myself. It takes a lot to make me give up something I want so badly.

Due to my father’s peaceful request [insert sarcastic laugh] I took piano and cello lessons for eight freaking years. I rarely see my Dad since he travels around the world and all, but when he’s around—it’s total dictatorship.

Once, when my friends talked about girls and sex in the seventh grade, I asked my Dad when he started liking girls, like the smart moron I was.

All I got from my Dad was, “Son, I don’t want you dating until you’re married. Crystal?”

At the age of 12, I loudly cussed and slammed my door. My Dad never had time to even look at me, let alone talk to me. I ask him a decent heart-to-heart, father-to-son question, and he shuts the open window in my face.

And you know what? He left for Timbuktu the next morning on an urgent call.

“Honey, what are you thinking about?” she paused, then suddenly cried as though the parental light bulb just turned on, “Is something bothering you? Are you stressed out, sweetie?”

In my head, frustrated red signals exploded and nasty curses were on the tip of my tongue. Is my Mom that naïve and dumb? Wasn’t she supposed to learn about parental crap at Parent School, or something like that? My twin sister is going out with my best friend! For crying out loud, MY BEST FRIEND! MINE! I don’t like sharing, dammit!

“Nothing.” I mumbled. Isn’t it funny how the only word that comes to my mouth is ‘nothing’? It’s like one big package wrapped in vague details and values—meaning the complete opposite. If nothing ever happened to you, how are you living?

You have to breath, talk, socialize with people even if you don’t want to, and yes, you have to feel something. Well, I’ll leave all this complicated thinking to the men in white coats—they think for a living.

At the exact same moment, my Mom turned on the radio to the Mother’s Heart station, her ultimate Bible, well, in the form of a radio station. She worships the two ladies that are talk hosts on the station.

She enthusiastically turned up the volume up to level 15, just as the news bulletin was being read by a perky woman who had one too many cups of hazelnut coffee.

“—And now you are tuning into today’s news on the radio station, Mother’s Heart, sponsored by Light Connections and Ripping Tides Communication. I’m Yolanda!”

A different, but still overly-cheesy voice ended her sentence, “And I’m Wanda! Thanks for joining us today, folks! Today’s report focuses on a Mother-and-Son relationship, and how delicate it can be, especially during puberty.”

“Oh god, Mom, change the station!”

“Shush, Elliot, I have to listen to this!”

I groaned and attempted to bash my head on the window. Anything was better than the crap these two women had to say on teenage guys.

“—Mothers should be careful when dealing with an emotional son, since he can lash out at any given time—in the forms of cussing, abusing drugs, beating up kids, or raping young girls! As you all know, all little boys will grow up to be men!” Yolanda said, trying to hide her giggles. That woman has laughing issues.

“I totally agree, boys will rape girls if they feel unloved by mothers or feel stressed. Mothers, it is your duty to alleviate your son’s mood when he comes home from school by asking good, caring questions like, ‘How was your day?’ ‘Did your test or presentation go well?’ Or something along those lines.” Wanda chimed, taking a long slurp of her drink. She has drinking issues, I bet.

Yolanda started off again, “I believe that boys should have reasonable freedom when dating girls because if you restrain them too much, they’ll try to rebel against you!”

My Mom briefly glanced at the car’s radio, a look of surprise on her face.

I restrained a smirk. For once, the chatterbox was right.

“That is why I allowed my sons to date when they were 17 years old, with a driving license and a firm grasp of their ideas for the future.”

My Mom smiled.

My compliment just went down the drain.

Wanda snorted, “Wow, 17 is a bit extreme, don’t you think? They’re almost adults by then!”

“Exactly.” Yolanda said with deliberate punctuality, as though saying, ‘Shut up, bitch, I’m running this joint!”

Wanda sniffed, “Well, I let my daughters date when they were 15 years old. It’s just wrong to lock up your children like that! It’s causes mental problems…not that any of your children have…disabilities.” If that wasn’t a comeback, I don’t know what is.

I chuckled, nodded my head, and said, “Damn straight!” I had momentarily forgotten my Mom’s presence. I quickly covered my mouth with my left hand in fake innocence and murmured “Sorry, Mom.”

Mom pursed her lips in a tight line as she turned the car into Wally’s World parking lot.

When she had parked her green Cherokee jeep into an empty space, and an old guy with the nametag ‘Bobby’ gave us a cart, I whispered to Mom, “I’ll be in the school supplies aisle, k?”

Mom’s lower lip slightly trembled as she said, “Don’t you want to shop with your own mom?”

I gulped and replied, “I also have to get personal stuff, Mom.”

“Like what, pumpkin?”

“Stuff. As in manly stuff.”

Mom made a silent ‘o’ with her mouth and gave me the thumbs up sign. “I’ll meet you back right here in one hour, no later or earlier, alright? I’ll be in the fruit cans section!”

I don’t respond since I’m already speed-walking to the nearest aisle—away from Mom.

I stopped to catch my breath, and I slightly leaned forward. My eyes traveled behind me to make sure she wasn’t following me, and then my eyes traveled in front of me—the candy aisle.

I almost choked when I saw Lizzie and her gum-chewing, brainless twits in the candy aisle shoving their hands in the plastic boxes and sampling the gummy worms. I quickly ducked behind a toilet paper pyramid, cursing my luck. If she saw me, all hell would break loose.

I turned my gaze over to my mom, and she was right where I left her, sifting through a mountain of coupons in the canned soup and fruit aisle.

Just when I was about to quietly sneak away into the cereal aisle, a familiar gruff voice yelled, “Yo, Elliot!”

I turned around, glaring at my mortal nemesis, Blake Ricotio. Ever since 5th grade, he and I have been competing against each other over girls, rock bands, grades, sports, and friends. At our high school, you’re either on my side, or on the losing Blake’s side.

And his new desirable buddy?

Dan Mui.

I’ve seen Blake sizing up Dan during class or whenever we bump into each other in the hallways. I hate that bastard! He always puts his arm around Dan’s shoulders, sits by him at lunch, and practically bribes him to be on his side. That’s why I make my other close pal, Brett, stay on the other side of Dan at all times.

Just in case that bastard starts getting funny ideas.

It’s all about power and greed in that asshole’s eyes—I can even feel it. He’s the epitome of rich spoiled brats at Rainsford Academy, since his dad is the CEO of an oil company, or something like that. With his messy blonde hair, an oval face sprinkled with freckles, cold chips of blue ice for eyes, and thin lips covering his sharp canines.

He also has a lean, wiry body stretched out by years of running track, swimming competitions, and playing basketball. Girls are constantly swooning for the bastard—he has a smooth, casual drawl and his trademark smirk is reputed to melt any girls’ heart.

My most favorite memory was in the ninth grade. Blake took on the biggest bet in his fucking life—have Jade swoon for him in one week, or become MY slave for one week. Jade openly turned him down and to this day, still bursts out laughing whenever she sees his face. I was nice enough to give him a little pet name—Blake Flakes. Sigh, the good ole times~

Now let’s get back to reality, Elliot. Get a grip of yourself, your enemy is having another stupid staring contest with you, and you’re going down memory lane.

“I hear your whore of a sister and Dan are going out.” Blake drawled slowly, never leaving my eyes. He was just begging to be punched in the guts, I swear.

His impish minions laughed and snorted behind him—in a way that would have made cavemen jealous. Yes, always in his damn shadow. Blake has a total of four loyal asses—Whitney, Ozzy, Krill, and Zaine—that do his petty bidding. I don’t know about you, but those are the sorriest excuses of names I have ever heard.   

Whitney short for Wallace, is a nickname for a failure of a guy—he’s 5’4 with curly red hair and wimpy, pale blue pearls for eyes. Always opinionated and having a wicked reputation for his top grades—Blake always seemed to do well in classes with Whitney.

Ozzy and Krill are twins—twice the confusion and twice the evil plots. Ozzy was gifted with a photographic memory and Krill was gifted with a giant’s strength and uncle’s thick skull. Yep, complete opposites. But, they both seem to share a love for tricky deceptive plans—Ozzy the brains, and Krill with the brawn.

Somehow, they look exactly alike, despite their odd differences. Both have shaggy, chin-length black hair streaked with golden-brown highlights, large hazelnut eyes, and slightly tanned complexions. God, they almost look like Greek gods—all they need are golden harlots and Greek tunics.

But I’d have to say the real character of the bunch is Zaine…his real name unknown even to the teachers. They say that one day he just walked into class and said his name was Zaine, no last name, nada.

He has stormy gray eyes, and dark brown, almost black silky hair, and a record of miscreant and juvenile deeds as long as time itself. He’s done everything but drugs and alcohol, pretty impressive for a guy who shoplifted a gas station at the age of 14. Never really talks to anyone but Blake and Jade, for some reason…. Hm, don’t know why, don’t really care~ He’s on Blake’s side, not mine. But it’s somewhat disturbing that tomboyish goodie-two-shoes and him have normal conversations about school…at school, you know what I mean?

His only interest in school is drama and music. He once said in Psychology class that if it weren’t for acting and the drums, he’d probably become severely demented and depressed. Hm, sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me, but hey, I listen to guys being tough all the time. It’s just a part of every living guy—the desire to impress exceeds reason. Sometimes to a fault.

I shoved my fists into my khaki pockets, there was no sense in picking a fight when my mom is only three aisles away from us.

“Shove off, Blake Flakes, before I beat the living crap out of you.” I said coolly, slightly loosening my eyelids for a laid-back expression. Or in other words, showing that I’m not intimidated.

“You’re gonna eat your words, Asian boy!” Whitney sniffed, shaking his tiny fist and hiding behind Blake’s towering figure at the same time.

I grinded my teeth; Mom was all-American and my father was Korean. Thus, I was a true mix—black hair, sea-green eyes, button nose, dimples, and tanned, golden complexion.

However, Blake beat me to him, “Whitney, keep your flapping trap shut!” Krill cracked his knuckles, Ozzy placed a restraining hand on his shoulder, and Zaine was lost in his own la-la land.

I was about to make my charismatic exit with an intense comeback, but out of nowhere, a flood of red locks and evil cat-like green orbs distorted my vision. I was being choked mercilessly by her skinny, pale arms and my eardrums were piercing with her high-pitched squeals.

Oh god, please, no.

Anything but Lizzie…

Hey, thanks for the reviews! I was a little skeptical about this story. I was wondering if I was wasting my time by writing realistic fiction…

But I have a few reasons why I like writing My Side is Greener, Sis:

[no.1] based on my experiences and real life

[no. 2] writing in a guy’s POV—even though I have no idea what’s inside their heads most of the time

[no. 3] my friends would kill me if they read this story. hey, I have thrill issues~

[no. 4] nice break from usual fantasy and pirate stories. Whew~ making up bigger-than-life characters is a lot of work…not to mention time.

[no. 5] anything else? Well, I’ll post it up when I think of some more.

*And no, names are not used here! If that was perchance bothering your conscience!”