We the Weirdos

Chapter Twelve

I have no idea how Lysander turned "Julia! Is that Ryan?" to "Kill Maria! Chick chat dye in?"

I mean, like seriously, how? Magically hearing? Or is it just a stupid boy superpower? I know I won't get that power. But I don't want it, so good for me.

It was so embarrassing just passing my house like it was just a random stranger's house. Sorry! Did you want me to know me house so well that I knew the number of bricks on it? Well, sorry, I don't got a lotta time.

I knew it, the second someone started yelling, I know it was my mom. How? Who DOESN'T know their mother's voice?

Well, I also could tell it was my mom because her voice sounded just right yelling at random people. You know, those scary Karens that just come to you with their Gucci purses getting ready to throw them at you? Yeah, that same voice. That's my mom.

"Hi... mom." I said. Lysander was smiling like the idiot he was. Dang it! He probably found my secret Cheeze-it stash! How dare he?

She frowned. "Weren't you taken away by some random police guy?"

Well, duh, yeah I was. And she didn't even bother asking if I was okay. I love my mom so much.

'Random police guy.' That's a better name then Martin. Hmm, maybe that's what I'll call him from now on. But I still hope I'll never ever see him again.

"Yeah, I was. I did a thing called coming back home, I don't think you've ever heard of it." I told her. Lysander was still silent.

"Hi, Ryan." She said, reaching her hand out for a handshake.

"Oh. Ryan? Who's tha-" I elbowed him. "Oh, yes. That's me. Ryan. Stupid me! How could I forget? Ha-ha." He laughed. Like a robot. No, I think it was more maniacal. Either way it didn't sound human. I don't think Lysander's human, though.

"So, Ryan, how's your little brother?" My mom asked.

"My.. brother? Oh. Yes. Oh. Yeah. My brother - he's doing fine. What about yo- what about Julia's brother?" He asked. The idiot.

"Oh. Julia never told you?" My mom asked, glaring at me.

"We're friends, not child caretakers! We're not supposed to compare how beat up our brothers are! 'Oh hey, my brother has five bruises on his face!' 'Oh hey, my brother has six! One more than yours!' Is that what an everyday conversation is supposed to sound like?" I asked.

"I don't like it that you're this sassy," my mom said.

"I don't like it how there's no such thing as free gold. Well, life ain't fair, dear momma." I told her, grinning.

She sighed. Then she just walked into the kitchen, leaving us alone, standing there.

"So, Ryan, how are you doing today?" I asked him.

"Oh, ma'am, I'm going great. Thank your highness so much for asking thee." He said dramatically. The only thing he's actually good at. Hah! Roasted.

"You said something wrong! 'Thee' means 'you.' You're supposed to say 'thy.' That's the correct way of saying it, sir, Ryan."

"Does it look like I care?" He asked. He actually truly look intrigued.

"Yeah. You do look like you care."

"Okay, fine. Maybe I do. But still! I'm not in drama class or super dramatic or anything." He said.

"You're dramatic enough to be in drama class. But the minute the teacher saw your annoying face she's probably like: 'Nope, I don't want this kid in my class.' Matter of fact you actually are super dramatic, idiot. Pay attention." I told him.