Seth
I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into, but I’m kind of okay with it. Hannah and I are sitting together on the couch, surrounded by piles and piles of snacks. She’s flipping through shows, trying to find something to watch. I suggest that show about Vikings, but she immediately shoots it down. Something about not liking the gore and violence.
She wants to watch some woman on YouTube put on dramatic makeup and talk about real-life serial killers…because that’s not grotesque and terrifying. At least Vikings is mostly fictitious, and if any of it actually happened, it was, like, a thousand years ago.
“I don’t understand how you can say that a fictional TV show is too much for you, but you can listen to someone describe the murder of a real person. That’s way scarier,” I argue while holding the remote hostage.
“But she’s just talking about it. I’m not actually having to see it acted out on the screen.” She lunges for the remote, so I shove it under my thigh. “Are we really going to fight over the remote again?” she asks.
“Okay, let’s play rock, paper, scissors for it,” I suggest.
“Fine,” she grumbles as she turns her body to face me. We both hold our hands out in front of us, and Hannah’s eyes go all squinty at me. I think it’s meant to look intimidating, but she just looks a bit on the crazy side, like she’s watching those videos so she can figure out what not to do when she decides to make someone disappear.
“Two out of three wins,” I say. We pound our fists onto our palms and chant, “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot.”
I hold out rock, and Hannah holds out paper. “Haha! In your face!” she calls out.
“Still two more rounds,” I reply. We go again, and I win this time. I say a quick prayer that I’ll win this round, because I really don’t want to watch a random woman on YouTube ramble on about serial killers like it’s just a typical Thursday. Stuff like that freaks me the heck out. How am I supposed to sleep soundly in my bed at night knowing people like that are roaming freely in the world?
“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot,” we say together. I put out scissors, and Hannah puts out paper before quickly changing it to rock.
“Cheater! You had paper!” I shout.
“What? Are you crazy? I did not,” she argues. Her eyes are shifty, and I bite my lips to keep from laughing.
“I’m not blind, Hannanah.”
“Don’t call me that!” she screeches as she lunges forward to grab the remote from the coffee table. I reach to take it from her, but she sees me, jumps up from the couch, and runs around to the opposite side. I’m standing on one side, and she stands on the other. I take off in a run to get to her, but she runs to the other side. She holds the remote above her head, like she’s trying to keep it out of my reach, as we watch each other. I don’t know what she thinks that will achieve. Hannah’s not exactly short, but I still have quite a few inches on her.
“Admit that I’m not a cheater!” she says. She taunts me with the remote, so I run around to her side of the table.
“I will not, because I’m not a liar, unlike someone in this room,” I say as she runs away from me again. She’s standing in front of the couch now, so I leap over the coffee table and tackle her onto the couch.
“Not again,” she groans. I pin her wrists down and take the remote from her. I jump up from the couch in victory. She tries to come at me, but I block her with my free arm as I flip to the Viking show. I settle back onto the couch and look over at her with a smug grin on my face.
“You know what? I was going to share my snacks with you, but I don’t think I will now,” she says. She starts packing away all of the chips and candy she brought. Now I’m feeling a little conflicted. I really want some of those pretzel M&M’s. But you know what, I won that battle fair and square. She’s the cheater, not me! I grab a bag of M&Ms, rip it open, and take a huge handful.
“What are you doing? Those are mine!” she demands.
I hold the remote up and say, “And this is mine.” I start the show, and she storms out of the room.
“I never should have let you come over!” She gives me another attempt at a scary face before leaving the room. I settle onto the couch with my candy piled on my lap and watch the show.
A few minutes later, I hear Whitney Houston blaring from the back hallway. Suddenly, this show is not holding my attention like it was before. Carrying a bag of chips with me, I go to investigate what she’s doing back there. I see her reflection in the mirror before I get to the bathroom door. She has some kind of green substance all over her face, and she’s dancing around the room, using a hairbrush as a microphone. It’s possibly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
Her back is turned to me, so I lean on the doorframe, waiting for her to notice me. She spins around and yelps when she sees me. The hairbrush goes flying across the room and crashes against the wall. She smooths her hair down and asks, “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be watching your barbaric show in the living room.” If her face wasn’t covered in green goop, I know it would be bright red right now.
“But I like this show much better,” I reply. She goes to cover her face with her hands but remembers the mush at the last second and puts them back down at her sides. “What is this stuff supposed to do?” I ask, poking her cheek. She smacks my hand, and I jerk it back, inspecting the substance on my finger.
“It cleans out your pores and makes your skin nice and soft.”
“Is there more? I want to do one.”
“Really?” she asks with a laugh.
“Sure! Why not?” It’s not like I have anything better to do at the moment.
Hannah grabs another packet from her purse and has me clean my face with warm water. I sit on the edge of the tub and pat my face dry with a fluffy towel. She hands the packet to me, but I have five thousand questions: How much should I use? Is more better or worse? How close to my eyes is too close? After about the sixth question, though, Hannah takes the packet out of my hand and rips it open with her teeth. She squeezes it on her hand, and to my horror, this goop is not green like hers.