@Robertopancake: A Story About a Boy

Chapter Two

Robertopancake #nowplaying Jumping Someone Else's Train-The Cure. I love the Cure. Hahaha.

6:02 PM - 16 Dec 2014

Robertopancake I officially have 160 Twitter followers! *pelvic thrust*

6:05 PM - 16 Dec 2014

Robertopancake And about 145 of them appear to be devious spambots. So I have like 15 Twitter friends & I <3 them all!

6:07 PM - 16 Dec 2014

Robertopancake Special Lady Friend arriving shortly-*real* not *cyber* chick, ftw!

6:08 PM - 16 Dec 2014

Robertopancake #nowplaying Kinda I Want To-NIN

6:10 PM - 16 Dec 2014

"Rob!" My mother shouts from downstairs. Her voice is all screechy. I take the stairs two at a time on my way down, landing on the wood floor at the bottom with a huge thunk.

"Sup?" I nod, tossing my hair out of my face and shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans. Deenie is standing just inside of our entryway, fiddling with the zipper on her coat and popping her gum. I throw her what I hope is an enticing, come-hither smile.

"Can we chat just briefly in the kitchen, Robin?" my mother asks sweetly, looking at Deenie but speaking to me through clenched teeth.

I follow her into the other room. She pulls me over to the kitchen island, out of Deenie's view. Patrick is standing about two feet away from me in a suit that makes him look like a fleshy, pale suburban pimp. He's opening mail and tossing things into a pile to deal with later.

"When I asked you to babysit Danica tonight and told you that you could have a friend over, I was sort of thinking of a male friend," she hisses, putting on her earrings with both hands as she talks. I've just recently shot up to a height that makes me feel King Kong next to my mother, so she's looking up at me, her eyes all glinty like shiny, black lava rock.

"But Deenie's my best friend," I counter calmly. I'm going to toy with her a little bit here. "She's like a guy to me-seriously. I'm not even sure she has breasts." I reach for a green apple on top of a fruit pyramid that my mom has created in a wooden bowl on the island.

My mother stops messing with her earrings. Her hands fall to her sides. "Robin." Her voice is flat. Disappointed. "That is totally inappropriate."

"Dude, don't worry, she's got breasts--nice ones," Pat pipes up, not looking away from the bill he's reading.

"Patrick," my mom says, her voice sharp as a lego in the carpet. "That is also totally inappropriate." She reaches over and snatches the bill from his hands, then leans back and peers through the open doorway, waggling her fingers and giving a fake smile. Deenie must still be standing in the hallway, waiting to see if she's going to get invited in or not. "Aren't you even going to back me up on this?" she hisses again, this time at Pat. She burns holes in him with her laser beam stare.

"Uhh, well," he says, straightening his tie. It has a cartoon reindeer on it. Poor Rudolph is wearing one of those helmets that's been rigged up with two cans of beer and straws that run into the reindeer's mouth. His hand roams down past his hideous tie, running absentmindedly over the paunch he's attempting to conceal under his suit jacket. "I mean, Danica's here, so they probably won't be getting into all that much trouble," he says, assessing me.

He's trying to clock my prowess as a ladykiller. I can tell he thinks I've got no game, and thus will be getting no play. Shows you what a dolt like Patrick knows. I shoot him back a look that I hope reads as challenge accepted.