My Brother's Best Friend

Chap. 43

"Oh no!" I gasped, as Gwen fell from the tower while Spiderman was battling the Green Goblin.

"Oh please," Emmett scoffed, snacking on some Milk Duds. "As if they'd let Spiderman's love die."

"True," I agreed, watching as Spiderman caught her just before she hit the floor.

"See?" Emmett asked, reaching over to nudge me.

My heart pounded in my chest, watching as Spiderman called out for Gwen, waiting for her to wake up.

And then blood dripped from Gwen's lifeless body.

"Oh my God," I said, my eyes widening as the shot zoomed out.

"No," Emmett declined.

The next shot was a funeral.

"Holy shit," I said, falling back on the couch as a tear rolled down my cheek. "They killed her."

"But that's not fair!" Emmett protested.

"Poor Peter already lost his parents," I said, as more tears continued to stream down my cheeks. "And now he's lost his one true love."

"That's got to suck."

That's low Spiderman 2 writers, that's just low.

"I don't like that movie," I pouted, as the ending credits rolled.

"It ended happy," Emmett pointed out.

"Not really."

"Considering everything that happened," he amended.

"The writers of that movie must hate love," I said, throwing away my empty package of Skittles.

"Love is overrated," Emmett said, with a shrug.

"Well you have to actually be in love first before you can make comments about it."

"I am," he said, with a smirk. "I love pizza. And I love playing soccer. And I love partying."

I rolled my eyes, throwing a pillow at him.

"Speaking of pizza," Emmett said, his eyes lighting up.

"Count me out."

"But we haven't even eaten dinner yet."

"Do you know how many calories are in a Skittles package?" I asked him.

He raised his eyebrows at me.

"231," I informed him. "That's practically dinner."

He just continued to stare at me.

"Stop that."

"Okay for one, Skittles are not dinner," he informed me. "And for two, do you honestly think 231 calories constitutes a dinner?"

"Well not an entire dinner, but most of it."

"It doesn't," he declined. "Not even close."

Well this conversation just got really awkward very quickly.

"So how was the tournament this weekend?" I asked, changing the subject.

"I already told you," he reminded me, heading into the kitchen. "We won."

"That's not what I asked dimwit."

He chuckled, pulling out a to-go menu from the Pizza Palace down the street. "Well I started on Saturday morning's game, and then didn't Saturday afternoon. And then started again Sunday morning."

"So what happened Saturday afternoon?"

"Coach said he wanted to save me for later," Emmett said, with a shrug. "Does tortellini sound good?"