Summer Break

"What in the fuck is wrong with you Niko? Do you know how worried I was when I just saw Mathew at my house?"

Niko doesn't move a muscle. He just slumps against the couch, his chin dangerously close to touching his chest as he nods off. 

"Niko Garcia." I seethe. 

He doesn't even budge but that sends me over the edge. I stomp in front of him and pinch his arm. Hard.  He doesn't even nudge from that, and I pinched him multiple times. 

He just sat there, now slumped over awkwardly on his side, with his hands tucked between his thighs, as he snores quietly. He looked ridiculous and dumb. 

However, I was still watching him for Niki. So instead of trying to wake him up again, I grabbed a blanket from his room and covered him up. Mrs. Garcia would have a raging fit if she saw him on the couch with the clothes he's in. 

"Please don't kill me, Mrs. Garcia, I'm keeping your son alive." I pray. 

I know she won't hear me, but if she smells the god-awful smell Niko's body reeked of, on the couch, I definitely would be a dead woman come August. I couldn't even describe the stench. 

I decide to wait for Niko to get up. I wanted to hit him across the head and sold him for his stupidity, but instead, I turn on the TV. I don't exactly watch it, it doesn't pique my interest. I do look down at Niko every now and then, scared he's actually dead. I hold my breath a couple of times because I swore he stopped breathing, but then I saw his chest move ever so slightly.

This boy was definitely going to kill me. 

It went on like that for a couple of hours. It was already getting dark and my stomach was growling but I didn't want to move until Niko was actually up. He did stir every now and then but he never got up. I contemplated leaving him here until Mr. Garcia came home so he could deal with that. Then I thought of how I would be the one to get into the most trouble. Then I thought of how delicious the food was in the fridge. 

That's what got me up. 

I look at Niko, still sleeping soundly. He has drool dripping from his lips onto his arms folded underneath his head. I roll my eyes at him and grab a napkin to wipe it up. This kid was exactly like a baby. 

I crouch in front of the couch, right in front of him, and look at him tenderly. This kid was like my little brother, and I'd probably do almost everything for him. 

I brush his bangs out of his face and just as he stirs and his eyes happen to open, I flick him on the forehead. Hard. 

"Ow." He groans. "What was that for?" He asks, his voice is groggy and scratchy. 

I shrug, standing up. "That's for freaking me out." Then I smack him on the head. He looks up at me bewildered with a 'What the hell' look. "And that's for drinking so much..." 

I go to smack him on the arm but he catches my wrist, holding it firmly. When did this kid get so strong? 

"Hey!" I whine. "That was gonna be for carrying you up the stairs all by myself." 

He nods, probably not even listening to what I was saying. He rubs his eyes and stands up while staggering the tiniest bit. He steadies himself on my shoulder which almost takes me out. 

When he finds his balance he walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge. I don't follow him. Mostly because I didn't want to deal with whatever he was making. He pulls out everything that doesn't belong on a sandwich: Pickles, chips, cinnamon, tater tots, and...peanut butter?