Chapter 2 – Toothy Woman Repellants

Getting lost and stuck in traffic jams, I would have to say, is the best part of the move so far. Well, the road to the move, that is.

After my parents stopped bickering, my papi said that he would stop us all at a gas station because he needed air to clear his brain – even if it wouldn't turn out so clean. And that he needed gas.

My mom exclaimed, "Hallelujah!"

And I'm just all nonchalant about it because it was really suffocating in that truck. There was no space to breathe, and it was starting to get tiring after spending five hours trying to find our way, there. We only had three more exits to go before we reached our new "home".

I went into the mini mart at the station, and I saw this guy (who looked around my age or older) standing in the candy aisle (and we all wonder why truckers never have good nutrition). I stepped in the aisle alongside him, trying to seem as if I wanted some candy – which I did, but I wanted the guy more because he just looked more scrumptious than that candy ever could.

So, here I am, standing next to him for five minutes when neither of us has said anything or picked out anything. I wasn't sure if my mami or papi was waiting for me, but I, sure as hell, didn't care.

He turns his head around to look at me, and I notice it, so I give him a quick glance. Then I turn my head just as he did, only to face him, and he gives me a big smile.

Which immediately turns me off.

I know, he has got such a great body – you can tell that he's got these wonderful washboard-abs because his shirt has just the right amount of "tight-ness". And his hair is just this gorgeous shade of straight dark brown, and it sorts of had a green tint in it, so I imagined that he probably tried dying his hair, too. Oh, and his eyes are the perfect shade of green. They're so striking, that you can't mistake it for anything but that beautiful emerald green.

But why would his smile be a turn-off especially when he has the cutest set of dimples? Simply because he just had to open his mouth and reveal his teeth. It was a bit yellow-ish, and some of it was crooked, and I swear that you can smell his reeking, foul odor even from where I was standing which was about two feet and a half off.

He opens his mouth to say something, but then I cleverly pick up a pack of chocolate-covered peanut butter cookies and say to him, "Well, would you look at that? I finally found the Ressisto cookies that I wanted."

He grabs my arm, and I squeal. I gulp. What the hell does he think he's doing? "Um . . ." I reply smartly.

"Yeah, about the teeth . . . I know, I know, they're disgusting. Don't worry – they're only fake," he says, then he takes them off while I wrinkle my nose at it. I see his real teeth, and I'm thinking that I'm in heaven, now. He is the picture of male perfection. I know that Valerie and I would probably be tearing each other limb from limb by now just so that we can set our "claims" on him, even if we had no chance at all.

He grins sheepishly, revealing a perfect set of straight bright teeth. "Heh . . . special teeth – they even have odor-causing bacteria that induces a chemical reaction to produce the stink effect or something like that. I forgot what the wrapper said. . ."

I burst out laughing at that. "Why would you buy yourself a set of crooked, yellowed, ugly false teeth with bad breath?"

He smirks, "I thought that it would be a good idea to scare some girls who come within a ten-meter radar near me."

"Why?" I ask.

He rubs his chin, grinning. "Because I want to know what girls would do when they see me with them."

I laugh again. "That's so awesome!" I gush. "Do a lot of girls react like I just did?" I ask out of curiosity.

"Nah, you're the first who's ever done that, though. You didn't sneer at me like those other girls did – even when the girls looked way uglier than I did with the teeth."

I smile and (weirdly) congratulate him.

My cheeks turn red from blushing because he says that my magenta-highlighted-blue hair was awesome. I try complimenting him on his green-tinted dark brown hair, but it only gets me more embarrassed because he says that when he was a kid there was something wrong with his hair and that the pigments weren't going to turn out the way that it was supposed to.

Which I think is even cooler. But he says, "I think the doctors said that it was a bad thing. I might get bald faster than any of the 'normal'boys."

I agree, and when he looks at me incredulously, I mumble, "You can't be normal with looks like those."

He smirks and then I say, "Oh, fuck! Sorry. . ."

"For my good looks, or the language? Because I'm used to both." He sounded so cocky and sure of himself that it looked almost funny. Almost because not even I can succumb to such confidence.

I smile. "N-no, I have to get going. Me and my parents are heading to my new home – my house, as I like to say – three exits away. I'm moving to Montfakeo. Or Montagino, if you prefer its formal name. Don't know if you've heard of it, but last time I took a look at it, it looked like Countryville to me."

"Montfakeo," he stated, raising his left eyebrow. I, myself, raise both in affirmation. He grins cheekily at me. "Countryville, huh? Yeah, I've heard of it since, you know, I do live and go to school there."

My jaw drops slightly. There was no way that I was going to school with someone as hot as he was and ugh . . . I called his hometown Countryville! I feel the heat rising to my cheeks because I told him that he was hot, and I only spill embarrassing stuff like that when I feel sure that I won't meet that person again.

"Th-then," I stutter, "what are you doing here?"

He laughs and tells me that he was just on his way to visit his grandparents two exits farther and that he stopped here to fill up some gas and get some refreshments. His cheeks turn this adorable scarlet color when I tell him that it was sweet that he was considerate enough to visit his grand-'rentals.

"Yeah, I love my abuelita and abuelito." He looked at me confusedly and I told him that's what I called my Spanish grandparents. "Yeah, they're wonderful people. And my abuelita? She calls me barbecue sauce. She's really . . . sweet. No food-ly puns intended."

He laughed, clapped my shoulder, and then said, "Well, I guess we ought to go, now, huh? Your parentals must be waiting."

I nod my head. "Yup, and yours must be, too."

He smiles and says, "Let's just say that when you drive on your own, you don't need your parents."

I laugh and bid him goodbye, telling him that I'd be seeing him later – which I would, of course since he was going to the same school that I would be registered into next week.

He steps outside, the door closing with a resonating "ding-ding-dong" from the wind chimes above the door. I head to the cash register to pay for my Ressisto cookies which I had, in fact, intended to buy.

I arrive back in the truck, only to face some mighty pissed-off parents of mine. I slide into the passenger seat next to my mother. She scowls at me, demanding to know why I took such a long time to which I reply, "Took too long to find it," with a shrug.

Then she looks at me skeptically because, after all, the front rack even had them lined up, but I didn't go to the front because of . . . the guy.

The guy. I didn't even catch his name! I grumble quietly to myself, angry that I didn't ask him for his and that, well, he didn't ask for mine in return.

My mother sighs exaggeratedly and then loudly says, "What boy's name didn't you get?"

I look out the window to ignore her just so she would stop talking to me – this method almost always works.

Except in times like these when she throws me an outraged, emotional breakdown.

"Lani, honey. Don't ignore me – I'm your mom!" She gives me this annoyed and infuriated look and explains further. "You're not superior to me. Don't even think that. What do you think – I'm a dog?! Go ahead, treat me like one."

I roll my eyes and give her a what-did-you-just-say look. But simultaneously, I feel irritated and guilty – I always did this to her. I can't help the way I feel. It's just . . . ugh, God. I was born with these ridiculous emotions.

"Did I say I was treating you like a dog?" I wittily retort and albeit too mean.

My mami looks at me, horrified and opens her mouth to say something, but my papi cut her off. "Lanilei! You don't talk to yo' mami like that. It's disrespectful and not right!" he yells at the top of his lungs.

I roll my eyes, shrug and turn to look out the window. My mami and papi are still lecturing me on my disrespect and I occasionally answer them with a grunt, a shrug or a three, at most, worded sentence. My parents just don't get me anymore.

I hated myself for sounding so . . . angst-filled, but really, my mom needs to get a life and start acting more . . . I'm not sure, myself, but she should be shaping up a bit. And my dad? Well, he needs to lower his blood level.

Whatever. I'm sure as hell that this move will not be pleasant.

---

"This place is wonderful!" my mami yelled, seating herself on the blue-cushioned sofa we had just placed in the living room. "I mean, there's so much more space than in that lanky apartment in Marisport that we owned. Did you see it, Lani? It even has a lake in the backyard! And we own six acres of land! You're dad says he wants to start a farm!" She laughs, and I can't help but smile just a teensy bit. She looks just like a teen should when she (or maybe even a he) gets their first kiss – priceless.

She focuses her attention to me, still smiling, revealing a happy mediocre face. Her nose was a little too sticky-out-y, just like her ears, and when you measured the width, you would find it to be really thin. It contrasted her chin and cheeks – they were thick and it would make you wonder why her body looked relatively normal and not fat. But the prettiest feature on my mom's face were her perfectly blond curls and her striking eyes. They were curved in an Asian-eyed manner and was this glacier-shaded blue.

"So . . . Lani . . . do you like it?!" she asks in a hope-filled tone of voice.

I shrug and I half-heartedly give a half-smile. "Yeah, mmhm, I guess . . ." I mumble. I didn't really want to admit it, but I did like the house, even if it did look out-of-shape – there was no heating system, the water smelled bad, the house smelled bad, there were webs, spiders and bugs everywhere, et cetera. Despite all of those things, I liked it, even if it didn't have that "Home is where the heart is" vibe.

She turns around and says, "I know this'll be hard for you – leaving your friends and your family. Don't worry, I know." I hate it when my mami starts to talk about things like this. I get all huffy and she complains to me about being so uptight?! When will she ever learn that I hate being "lectured" on these types of things?

So she gets the hint, I cut her off abruptly and say, "Mami, I'm going to get my stuff. Did papi take everything out of that truck?"

She looks outside and yells, "Diego! Did you get everything out of the truck yet, hons!?!" My papi screams even louder and tells her that he has, so I trudged outside.

But before I went to the van to grab my belongings, I took in a view of my "yard". It was huge, to put it in the least. In the suburbs, you would never see anyone owning this much property, unless you were Jonathon Grumps, himself. Well, technically, you would own more than what I have, but let's keep that info for ourselves.

The scene unfolding before me was absolutely breathtaking! I mean, sure, it looked extremely untidy and messy – the wooden ranch fence looked like it was about to fall apart with warning – but there was such amazing wildlife occurring.

Birds were chirping loudly, flying. In the distance, I could spot a deer, wanting to jump out of its hiding place and frolic in the fields. And . . . there were so many flowers and trees, and this one clearing looked like something from a fantasy-like fairy tale.

It was a romantic spot, and I wouldn't mind like having to share that with Jeremy . . .

Oh, my God. Oh, my God! Oh, my God!

I forgot about my boyfriend, and it was all because of the stupid move! I wish that I could call him now, so that I could hear his deep, scratchy voice that always makes me quiver.

I wish that he had moved with me just so that I could see his face every day. His enchanting dark eyes that just pull you in the dark abyss. But despite his dark and mysterious eyes, the rest of his facial features were gentle – except for that stubble he keeps. Not that I mind it, it's adorable. It just hurts a little when I kiss him.

When I ask mom if she can hook the phone up soon, she just scoffs and tells me that we need to wait for two days more so that the company could hook it up. I whine and I yell and she just tells me that she'll try calling them up later.

Which is impossible since the phone isn't even hooked up! As a result of my anger, I run up the stairs and enter my bare room.

It creeps me out a little, since it's so dark. I flip the switch, and sure enough, I scream like a blonde ditz. I see the one thing that I do not like: a huge, daddy longleg dangling from the door frame, slowly inching its way up on its silk string of web.

And to my sheer horror, there are more of those repulsive spiders crawling on my wall in my room. No wonder why the previous owners decided to move out – they probably couldn't exterminate all the spiders that lived in this room, let alone the house.

I let out another scream, desperate, and lock myself in the bathroom where, surprise, surprise, spiders currently make a habitat of it.

And all I can think is Oh, my God. I am living in a dump, and will fail miserably in this dump for eternity, and then I will die in this dump!

---

I am officially dead . . . in this dump.

My mami, papi and I are at the dinner table, saying our prayers. I know it sounds sinful, but the only thing that I can think of right now is the food – not the prayers.

"Bless us, O Lord. And these, thy gifts. Which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord. Amen." Then we make the sign of the cross, and dig in for our meals.

I make a grab for the piece of sausage to my left and then the tortilla on my right. My mom and dad exchange amused glances and I just roll my eyes at them. I eat my food quickly, seeming ravenous because shortly after, I take a swig of my Colanin.

"So," my mom says to break the serene and (what I think is) calming silence, "Isn't this house just the greatest?"

I almost choke on my food, but coughed it up instead. Mami puts on this disgruntled face and asks what is wrong with her cooking. I just shake my head and tell her that nothing is wrong, but I don't know if she believes me or not.

She continues rambling on about the beauty of the house, and my dad joins in. He compliments the beautiful, peaceful and calming serenity of their new house. And I just give a shrug and an "iono" whenever they try asking for my views on it.

I didn't really want to admit that I liked having so much space, that I liked the quiet atmosphere, but I didn't want to say that I felt comfortable in it. Because I wasn't. It just wasn't home.

---

I looked at the pamphlet in front of me. Montagino Central High School.

The picture of the high school was fairly normal – nothing that was too big or too small. But it did look like it was in excellent condition. It was also weirdly attached to the middle school. Not that they were in the same building, but that they were simply built right next to each other, with not even a foot of land in-between. It was cool and all, if you had any siblings to share it with, but I didn't, so it's not of much use to me.

I start reading the pamphlet and I see the most ridiculous picture, ever! The principal, Mr. Marcus Finlinz has these thick-framed glasses and has this open-mouthed smile, and he almost looks like he wants to raise his hand and give me a thumbs up.

It is hilarious.

Thankfully, I've seen the pictures of the rest of the staff, and they seem pretty normal to me. Some were young, and looked inexperienced, and some were old, warty, hag-like teachers. I smile and am happy that some things just never change.

As I start reading, it becomes more serious, and they talk about all the codes and regulations, and they seem pretty strict. In fact, this pamphlet idea was way beyond my old high school – they never would have bothered with things like this because they thought that us students should get acquainted with things first hand, instead of reading the rules from a book that most people wouldn't even bother taking out of their mailbox.

Yeah, I am one of those people: Gets bored when I have to read any obligatory thing. It's a very bad uncharacteristic thing of me, but I guess it's what make a part of me.

But I check out the calendar because that's the only thing that's worth looking at, and I find a whole schedule of interesting and important events.

Some of them were PTA events, school meetings, and two picture-days. But what really interested me were the teen related school events – the ones that everyone mostly attends.

And to my surprise, there were dances for every first Friday of each even month, un-including the special dances – like the Halloween Ball, the Nondenominational Dance, etc. My school – my old school – only included the special dances.

After thoroughly reading the rules and regulations of the school, I set it down on the table for my parents, who were probably going to reinforce the protocols of the school to me.

Ugh . . . parents. I'm so sick and tired of them.

Author's Notes:

Em... the hair thing... yeah.. I made it all up. So don't you go off and accuse me of . . . I dunno. Whatever. But, uh, if it's real. . . I had no clue about it.

Ressisto cookies . . . yeah, they're fake. : They're supposed to resemble Reeses cookies. Yum, yum, yum. D (hahaha... the squiggly and the right arrow thingie is supposed to be ze nose.)

LOL That was what my mom said to me one day because she got fed up with me and my quiet smugliness she thinks I possess... LMAO... I still do it, though, and she still gets mad at me. But she never told me to call her a dog, again. :P

The house is EXACTLY like my own – if I actually described the house... LOL. But, yeah, I used to live in an apartment and stuffies, and the house doesn't have good heating, it has MANY bugs and spiders, the water DOES smell bad, the house (used to) have a bad smell – I dunno if it stil does. AND It STILL doesn't have that "Home is where the heart is" vibe like my apartment did. . . ::sigh:: Oh... and there was (unfortunately) no blue couch... LOL It was more like a green leather sofa... we had the one with the three seats, and... ::sigh::... we couldn't take that one. We only took the recliner-ishly one and the loveseat... vv;

LOL Jonathon Grumps... Would you have made the connection with Donald Trump??? LOL

Colanin... LMAO... Yupitty yup yup... that would be my version of Coca Cola for ya'. LOL

LOL Ooh!! A guy is in this chapter! LOL... See??? I don't want to make romance the main story. . . it must be uniquely romanced with just a smidgen of romance.

THANKS TO ALL OF MY REVIEWERS!!! (IF I EVEN GOT REVIEWED... LOL) Keep reading for more on "Barbecue"'s life. LOL.

R&R if you please!