Chapter Eleven

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. (1)

You can say that again. Not even I was expecting that. (2)

Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod. Oh. My. Fucking. GOD.

Hyperventilate much?

oH mY jEsUs FuCk. What the hell was that?! JESUS CHRIST. AHH.

I'm so glad I got to indulge myself on that one. I haven't been out in a while. Heh, heh, heh... (3)

There was a REASON I locked you in that box, Larry!

Larry? Whatever. You should be THANKING me for that good fuck just now, not reprimanding me.

You're such a nymphomaniac!

That's offensive!

Nympho, nympho, nympho!

Uhm, Dirk...

NYMPHONYMPHONYMPHO--

Dirk!

What?!

Larry is right.

Thank you.

What? Why?!

Dirk, you're a teenage boy with about as much sexual energy as a retired nun. You were either going to have that little threesome, or go off an rape somebody... without my help.

Huh? That's not true! I'm totally sexual!

When was the last time you had a wetdream?

Uh...

Or read a dirty magazine?

Well, you see...

Or even masturbated, for that matter?

...What's your point?

Will you all shut up? You're depressing me. (4)

You're always depressed, Bart.

What the hell? I'm Bart now? What a stupid name. I'm going to go back to my corner and ponder why we even exist for awhile longer.

...My mind has corners?

WHEE! Like, Oh my God, what's going on? Heeheehee! (5)

Oh, FUCK no.

Go away, Eustace.

Nuh-uh, not until you teeell me what's going oooon!

If you paid attention more often instead of noticing the cracks in the sidewalk or a mole on some hobo's face, you would already know.

But cracks are preeeettyyyy!

Heh, heh, heh...

Nyyyymphooo...

Shut. Up.

What the hell where we talking about before the freak show arrived?

I... am not... sure...

A bird chirped too-loudly outside of the window across from the bed. The bed. Stephen's bed? No. Stephen's... dad's bed?

Oh.

SHIT.

My eyes open slowly, the lids heavy and wanting to close again. But they soon go wider than I had wanted then to when and unexpected shape is about to inches from my face. And by unexpected I mean... er, pleasant.

It was Stephen's face. Right there. Really close. Like, really, really close. Like... really, really close. So close I'm surprised I could even recognize his face. I can feel his breath. I have the sudden urge to giggle. Wait a minute... I don't giggle! Nor do I say "like" and "really" in such quick succession. Oh, right. Lalala. Not Dirk. Well, yes Dirk, but not... Dirk. Eustace. Mm-hmm... Why am I Eustace? Odd. But whatevs. Did I just seriously say (um, think) whatevs?! Stephen's face... Right there... Wow, I just realized that he's still asleep.

Do you have fucking ADD?

I sit up slowly, back cracking loudly, and I look back. Stephen shifted, groaning quietly, and buried his face into the pillows. I glaced over my other shoulder and smiled seeing Greg in a similar state. I wanted to touch them. Just touch, nothing else. But that would wake them up, and I didn't want that.

I had the sudden urge to cook an omelette.

Where are my clothes? Floor, perhaps? Most likely. I will check there first.

Hey... I'm naked!

Of course, why else would you be looking for your clothes?

Shirt, pants, omelette, maybe a sock or two. Hey... I don't want to wear an omelette!

You give this body a bad name.

I slipped off of the bed carefully trying to move the bed as little as possible so that the other two wouldn't wake up. I look at the carpet, trying to remember what I was looking for. Clothing. Right. That. My eyes shifted from in front of the TV to the far corner of the room, underneath the window. There's a shirt. At least I think it's a shirt. Who's shirt? Whatever, fuck it, I'm wearing it. I stride over to said shirt and quickly pull it over my head. It was then I realized it was Greg's shirt. In other words, really tight. I consider searching for my own, when a pair of pants catch my eye. Then there was the dilema of underwear... Whatever. They were Stephen's pants, and since he had already been in mine, I'm sure he wouldn't mind me not wearing anything underneath his.

Almost fully dressed, I walk back to the door and open it quietly, and even more quietly shut it behind me, and then make my way down the stairs to the kitchen. I hum to myself the tune of the Indiana Jones theme, making up words as I went, "Omele-ette, omele-ette. Where are the-e eggs? Where are the e-e-eggs?" I opened the fridge, searching within it's wicked depths for the damned eggs. There! Behind the milk! "Oh, there they a-are, oh there they are. I fou-ound them! I found the-e-em!" I close the fridge door with my hip, then set down the eggs on the counter. Randomly, I open up the oven, searching around for any stray cookies from last night. There was one incredibly burnt one stuck in the back corner. In fact, it was so burnt, I wasn't even sure it was a cookie. The important (or worst) thing was, I ate it.

Stephen's POV (how long has it been...?)

After Greg and I shared an extremely awkward moment when we both woke up, and after I had rushed to clean up my dad's bed sheets, and after we drudged down the stairs in mismatched clothing, the smell of eggs assaulted my nostrils. I was standing just outside the kitchen door, ready to go in, when I glanced back at Greg who was standing nervously by the couch. He saw me staring. I looked back down at my shirt, and further down at Dirk's pants, even though they were technically mine since I was wearing them. They were... snug, to say the least. But at least they weren't Greg's pants. Those fuckers are way to short.

"Gooood morning!" somebody announced. I say somebody because it was way to high and girly to be anyone I know. And yet, I knew it was Dirk. On cue, Dirk paraded out of the kitchen, waving one hand to fast in our direction, the other brandishing a large wooden spoon for stirring things.

"...Apron," Greg murmured behind me because, indeed, Dirk was wearing my mom's old apron, the one only Josephina used now. I laughed loudly; it was just too rediculous.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Dirk chirped, pointing at me, "Are you-" his hands shifts a bit to Greg's direction, "-ready for some really bad omelettes?!"

There was a pause.

"Are you serious?" Greg asked.

I stared.

No way was this hyper, apron-wearing, flamboyantly gay man standing in front of me Dirk, no matter how amusing it was. No way.

"I sa-aid," Dirk sighed, poking me in the chest, "Are you ready for some really bad omelettes?! I expect an answer!" he dropped the wooden spoon, and stepped right up close to my face, looking up into my eyes, "Answer me!" he grasped my shoulders, "WHY DON'T YOU ANSWER?!"

"Dude, Dirk!" I yelled, holding him away from me, "What's gotten into you?"

"You, of course!" he smiled, and then skipped back into the kitchen, leaving me blushing. Greg walked by me, quickly picking up the dropped spoon, then followed after Dirk. After a minute or so, I went too.

Dirk hadn't been lying. The omelettes were bad. And I haven't even tasted them yet. And I wasn't sure I wanted to either, judging by how black and crispy they looked on the plate Dirk shoved in my face. We were seated at the table at the far end of my kitchen, which was right next to the big open window that looked out at the frontyard. Greg sort of poked at the thing on his plate with a fork, a look of utter disgust on my face.

"They're really bad aren't they?" Dirk smiled and laughed.

"Horrifying," I said.

"Lethal," Greg added, pushing his plate away from himself, "I'm not really a breakfast person anyway."

"That's a lie. You just don't want to hurt his feelings," I chortled. He kicked my shin under the table.

"It okay, really," Dirk clapped his hands, "I dunno, I just had this urge to make an omelette this morning when I woke up, and I, uh, I just couldn't help myself, even though I'm really bad cook, and I knew they'd come out gross, and you guys probably wouldn't even eat any anyway, and I was right, you're not, but I did it anyway," he ran out of breath at the very end, and he coughed.

"Okay, seriously," Greg started, looking at Dirk, "What the fuck is up with you, Dirk?"

"What do mean?"

"The Dirk I know is a little quiet, a little awkward, and a little weird, but now you're just... really weird."

"And hyper. Don't forget hyper," I said.

"And hyper."

Dirk considered this for a second, then said, "It's like I have split personalities or something, isn't it?" he shrugged, giggling wildly. Suddenly one of his hands reached up and he slapped himself.

"Dirk?" I asked. That sounded like it hurt...

"What?" he looked at me, surprised. He slowly lowered his hand, and suddenly looked very embarassed, "Oh, um... sorry about that... I guess I was just a bit...," he muttered something the rest but I couldn't catch it.

"There, that's the Dirk I know," Greg said. He stood up from the table and gathered all three of our untouched plates and walked over to the sink, disposing of Dirk's cooking. I kept on looking at Dirk, who stared down at the table top, his face an interesting shade of red. His eyes flickered up to me, and then back down.

"What is it...?" he mumbled.

"That was... interesting," I offered.

"I'm sorry."

"For what? It was funny."

"Don't mention this ever again, please, Stephen?"

"...Okay."

Greg's POV (later that day)

I wasn't sure why I was acting to nonchalant about the whole thing. Stephen was too, but that's just how he is. I know for a fact that I normally would have interrogated Dirk for God knows how long until I got a satisfying answer as to why he had acted like that. Maybe it had something to do with the sex. I wasn't sure why I was being to calm about that either. ... Maybe it had something to do with the sex.

The three of us were seated on the couch in the living room. We had ended up just eating some cereal for breakfast, and now we were just sitting in silence. A comfortable silence, for me anyway. I wasn't so sure about Dirk, however, he still looked a bit upset. We all jumped when the front door slammed open to reveal Stephen's dad. I hadn't heard his car... Oh, well. Stephen got up a bit reluctantly and went to greet him. Dirk stayed seated, but was sitting very rigid all of a sudden.

"Hey, dad, how was your trip?" Stephen asked.

"Bad," was all he got in reply. Stephen's dad handed his son his briefcase, and started loosening his tie. He ranted something or another about his business trip and how everyone he worked with were idiots. After he stopped speaking, he snapped at Stephen, "Well, don't just stand there, bring that upstairs!" Stephen jumped, and quickly walked up the stairs with the heavy-seeming suitcase. Stephen's dad sighed, and looked over at Dirk and I. He frowned, and walked closer to us. He was a short man (though he was taller than me much to my dissapointment; everyone is taller than me!) with bright red hair that was usually slicked back. Right now it was a bit disheveled from the drive home, "Hey, I don't recalle inviting this guy," he stared pointedly at Dirk. Dirk looked up too quickly, his eyes wide. I felt a sudden surge of pity for him. He'd never dealt with Stephen's dad before. Dirk looked like he wanted to say something, but the older man interupted him, "What's your name, boy?"

"Dirk... Michaels...," Dirk said.

"Well, Dirk Michaels, I don't believe I've ever met you before."

"Um... no."

"Stand up," he commanded. Dirk stood up too quickly, as if pulled by strings. Stephen's dad held out a hand. Dirk stared, "Don't just stare, boy, shake!" Dirk did, nervously. I waited, anticipating the worst. Stephen's dad judged a person by their handshake. If Dirk's came up short on his standards then, well, it was good bye Dirk. After their hands separated, there was a moment. A moment in which Dirk stared Stephen's dad square in the eyes, and vice versa. Finally, the older man smiled in respect. He turned around and trudged up the steps just as Stephen was coming back down them. Dirk flopped back down onto the couch cushions, exhaling loudly.

"I guess dad likes you," Stephen said, sitting down next to me.

"I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or not...," Dirk mumbled.

We heard the man open up his doorway upstairs, and we waited. Waited for any sign that he noticed that the bed sheets were freshly washed, or that GTO Vice City was scratched. After five minutes or so, we all sighed in relief when he went into the bathroom undeterred.

"Safe," Stephen cheered. Dirk's shoulder's dropped as if he had been holding his breath the entire time. Maybe he had. Stephen held up his hand and we high-fived eachother.

"Stephen!" we nearly jumped six feet in the air when Stephen's dad called from upstairs, "Call Josephina and see if she's ready to be picked up!"

"Okay, dad!" Stephen called back.

There was a pause.

And then we all broke out in uncontrollable laughter.

(1) Dirk the "normal", innocent, typical teenager. (depicted in italics as always)

(2) Clark the sadistic, masochistic, rapist aspect of Dirk. (depicted in bold)

(3) Larry major libido. That's basically it. (depicted with underlines)

(4) Bart sad, depressed, everything emo. (depicted in bold and underlines)

(5) Eustace (YOO-stahss) hyper, preppy, annoying, childish. (depicted with all three italics, bold, and underlines)

Did you have difficulty with the first part? If you did, tough. Don't complain. I had a hard time too. And I wrote it!

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