Boys Will Be Boys (v.2)

chapter twenty-two - surprise

I'm just prefacing this chapter by apologizing for all the confusion! I published and unpublished this chapter yesterday and I'm really sorry to those who were disappointed or thought it was their electronics' fault! I hope you can all forgive me 😅 Enjoy the chapter!

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chapter twenty-two — surprise

IT WASN'T GOING TO PLAN, BUT IT WAS STILL PERFECT. I'd been hoping for sun and chirping birds, but I got a misty morning and screaming teenage boys. Marco was opening the windows, the haze of smoke surrounding the kitchen getting effectively vacuumed out as he flapped at it frantically with a placemat. DJ helped him, his flowery apron clearing itself of flour as he shook it outside. The dust and the smoke mingled, separating as one chose to fly and the other settled grimly on the ground. Roger emerged from the fray victorious, soda bread safely balanced on his oven mitts.

Soda bread was Mum's favorite and today was her birthday: I was going all out.

Or as all out as Lukas was letting me so I didn't drop dead before Mum even came home for the surprise.

"This smells delicious," Roger admitted, carefully putting it aside, "I don't know how you did it, Lukas, but it looks really good"

"Thanks!" Lukas grinned, popping up off the floor. We'd spilled some of the buttermilk on the tiles and Lukas had been mopping it up, tossing the wad of paper towels into the bin casually. It was subtle, but I caught the goofy little smile he gave himself when he made the shot like he was some kinda NBA legend.

It's only a foot away, you doofus.

"I added extra raisins 'cause I know your Mom likes it that way"

Lukas' arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into his side as I squirmed. He was getting more handsy recently and it was annoying, although, maybe not that annoying. Lukas laughed, letting me go and I bounced against the counter, the corner digging into my hip. It hurt a little, but I didn't really give a shit. My bruises from basketball were starting to lessen since I had access to the indoor court now and, though hardwood could be a bitch, it was much more forgiving than blacktop speckled with broken, beer glass.

"This would go wonderfully with my brownies" Marco nodded sagely, giving up his post as smoke-wafter and sidling up to the soda-bread slyly. Roger eyed him apprehensively, protectively stacking the mitts next to the tray like a little wall.

"Marco, I don't trust your brownies," Roger poked at the plate Marco had brought in. Marco's brownies were unbearably shitty looking— misshapen and coated with green clover-shaped sprinkles. Apparently, he thought it was St. Patrick's day even though it was the middle of fucking September.

"I told you, I gave up pot," Marco frowned stubbornly, only moving away from the food when DJ reassured him with a few pats in his shoulder. Each pat left a white handprint on Marco's shirt, back starting to look like he'd tried playing pattycake with a ghost. Marco looked stupidly pleased, heading to the bathroom to wash flour off his hands.

He didn't see DJ pop one of the offending brownies into his mouth.

"All good," DJ hummed, licking at his fingers, "They're not that bad"

I still don't trust them.

DJ shrugged at my expression, wiping his hands down the front of the apron and following Marco into the bathroom. I scowled, moving Marco's brownie into a less obvious place by the rest of the unimportant snacks. We'd gotten salt and vinegar chips and I'd cut up some vegetables to have with ranch. I had pork chops, salad, and smashed potatoes on standby. Pizza too because why not. And Fanta. Mum loves orange soda. The guys had helped me make a party playlist for her too, based off of the many albums and dusty CDs that sat in our basement. It was mainly the Beatles, Bowie, and U2, but there were some artists I didn't know all too well in there too.