So - have another one due this week. This is the chapter that would immediately follow my last post.
I'm working under the assumption that eventually I'll quit posting chapters here or I'll be in that "milk for free" situation if I ever try to publish it. Of course - that implies finishing it at some point and I'm still challenged on the overall plot.. but maybe I'll get there.
Shout out to Ben Folds for inspiring Eff U and to Stephenie Meyer for writing a kick ass Twilight Saga that will still be relevant long enough for me to maybe sell a book that references it (and hopefully not get sued).
Here ya go:
The Stevers clan was big on maintaining family traditions. Actually, to be perfectly accurate – mom and dad were big on honoring traditions. Krista and Claire fought them progressively more each year as they realized that, in their family, a “tradition” was typically mom and dad’s way of throwing a grand & alliteration-filled label on something that was usually pretty lame. For example, their “Stevers’ Semi-Annual Sunshine Sensation” was really just dad’s way of getting the shrubs trimmed and flowers planted for free twice a year. In a similar disappointing vein, their “Stevers’ Saturday Swallow Soirée” was really just the ‘rents way of milking Krista and Claire for information on school and their social lives under the guise of an elaborately home-cooked breakfast. If you want to get real particular about it, the breakfasts weren’t even all that elaborate anymore. Claire rarely ate and mom and dad were always watching something; right now it was their cholesterol. Since this was the Saturday morning after the homecoming game, the topics were sure to be particularly mind-numbing to Claire.
“Honey, I’m so glad you’re awake and can join us!” beamed mom as Krista walked downstairs and headed towards the kitchen. This was the first time that either mom or dad had looked up from their egg white and spinach omelet since they sat down.
Claire didn’t mind that she’d been sitting at the table in silence with them for a good 15 minutes. They were just now on their second round of mimosas and were finally starting to get some momentum. Claire had her head buried in Twilight again and was determined to finish it this weekend. Edward was SO much hotter than any of the boys at school, especially the EMO kids she hung out with – even the ones that thought they might actually BE vampires. Mystic, her best friend at school whose real name was Violet, had finished it a week ago and was having trouble keeping her mouth shut about how it ended. Not cool.
“Hi, mom. Hi, dad. Do we have any grapefruit?” asked Krista. She was on her latest cheerleader-approved weight loss plan that involved consuming a freighting number of citrus and little else. A great side-effect was she had terrific breath but that was offset by a new-found gaseousness – very lady like.
“Sure thing, kitten. The grapefruit’s in the refrigerator like it’s been all week. How did you like the game last night? You and Chas do anything fun afterwards?” asked dad. He was at the game but it was obvious to everyone at the table that he was really fishing for details as to why his daughter wasn’t home by the previously promised one o’clock curfew.
In true Krista fashion, she avoided that question completely. “The game was great. Don’t you think I looked stunning riding around the field in that sweet new Plexus convertible? I thought I was going to have to smack Kelli because she was suppose to ride in the Plexus but it totally matched my dress way better and everyone knows that silver brings out my eyes. I finally just reminded her that I was the captain of the cheerleading squad and SHE was ONLY a lieutenant and EVERYBODY knows that a captain outranks a lieutenant. I mean, like really. What the F.., I mean, hell, was she thinking? On top of that, her shoes were from last year’s collection. I mean, someone could’ve totally looked down from the stands and saw them. You just can’t DO that in a Plexus. Tragedy avoided and I looked hot… so very hot. Some people… ugh.” After that short speech, dad’s eyes had glazed over, mom sucking down her 3rd mimosa, and Claire was almost envious of her sister’s ability to bore people to death in order to avoid answering a direct question. That was almost a trait worth learning.
“So dad, how’re things at Eff U?”
Those words, like always, caused dad to listen up and put on his ‘now kids’ face. Dad was a professor at Effingham College which was named Effingham University back before the world become crass. The president of the school eventually changed the official title, but the nickname stuck. It was known colloquially as ‘Eff U’ across all the neighboring states. With a moniker like that, it was doomed as only people with a tweaked sense of humor wanted it to be their alma mater. Dad taught entry-level literature classes so he was always busy as many locals started out at Eff U for financial reasons.
“Classes are going great, Krista. We’re studying 18th century English literature at the moment. Friday I had the class reading Pope and debating whether they thought he was being ironic or if truly he meant for the English to eat Irish babies. I was somewhat delighted by the unanimous result of the dialog. We’ve never landed on ‘Eat the Irish’ before.” At this point, you could almost hear crickets chirruping in the background as once again, the Soirée conversation had ground to a halt by one of dad’s completely creep-tastic comments. When it came to being a dad, the man was half Ward Cleaver and half Peter Griffin. Mom, on the other hand was sort of a chemically enhanced Carol Brady – more on her another time.
“Yeah…dad…okay… Hey Goth-girl, what are your plans for the day? Are you going to sit in your room and be sad, read about dead people, or write pathetic poetry? Just wondering how you’re spending the afternoon so I know how best to annoy you. I figure I need to put the final touches on my homecoming queen acceptance speech and then head over to Nicole’s so that we can do each other’s makeup and get ready for the dance. With that kind of busy schedule, I need to optimize my harassment so that you’ll cave in the least amount of time and loan me the damn necklace I asked for last night. I can’t believe you’re being so bitchy.”
“Language, young lady,” sighed dad.
“First - I’m EMO, not Goth. Second - dead people,” replied Claire. “God, I’m so glad that you are not my real family. You guys are a freak show.” And with that, she picked up her book and headed to her room.
“What’d she mean by that comment?” asked dad.
“What was that about Eff U and the Pope?” redirected Krista with a mischievous grin.
