Soccer Darling

[ t w o ] - Homework

The phone rang blindly, startling me off the comfy stretch of the couch to answer the darn thing.

"Hello? Andrews speaking."

"Whoa, man, do you always sound that old?" a familiar voice retorted.

I took a deep breath and sighed sardonically. Him again, of all people. "What now, Ralph?"

"Ah, that's the Lizzie I know," he said, chuckling through the phone. "Let's see, uh, I need you to help me with homework." I'd heard some shuffling on his side, a bit of incoherent yelling, before Ralph spoke again, "Dave and Ernie too."

"They're over at your place? Doing homework?" I repeated, assured that the term homework would not be done if the trio were going to do it together. The only thing that would happen to it is simply being neglected while they laugh their asses off at some weekend comedy rerun.

"Yes, and... not exactly," he answered, sounding sheepish. "That's why we need you." I could almost see the grin on his face when he said that.

I groaned, rubbing my temple. "Why don't you just call James over?"

"We did," he corrected. "But he said he had things to do. I didn't ask what." Idiot.

I ran my hands through my hair. "What about Lloyd?"

"He's on a date. With Jennifer. Freaking. Oswald."

"What the—" I choked out, my eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. "They're dating? For real?"

"No joke. Hell, I don't even know how or when they started going out, because the last time I saw them, they were still trying to kill the crap out of each other," he ranted. "So will you help us or what?"

I sighed, knowing well that I couldn't get away with any kind of protest at the moment. "Fine. Be there in fifteen minutes."

I could hear him whisper out a satisfied yes  on the other end of the phone. "Oh yeah, you're the man, Lizzie. Uh, I mean, woman." He paused. "Wait, does that—"

I interrupted him, pretending to clear my throat. "Okay, Ralph, that's great. Bye." I hung up, snickering.

I retreated into my room to put on something decent to wear. "Mom, I'm going to Ralph's, okay?" I called out, grabbing my phone from the coffee table in the living room and pocketing it inside my shorts.

"Okay, sweetie, be back before seven!" she replied from the kitchen, bubbly as ever. I bit back a smile as I closed the front door. I spotted my bike and hopped onto it.

It wasn't the first time I went to Ralph's place, so I've pretty much gotten used to the fact that he lives on the top floor of, well, a huge office in the middle of a bustling intersection. It still fazes me, however, on how he manages to live in the sight of cars and skyscrapers and crowds of people and other things I would probably get tired of if I were in his shoes. He never complains about any of it, though.

Maybe Ralph just has a way with things, because there are a lot of things about Ralph that's out of the ordinary. Not living in a neighborhood is one. And then there are those quirky habits, and not to mention fetishes. His obsession for kittens is, if I have to say, the most exasperating to handle and so far the worst of all his fetishes—once a small, furry feline lands in his clutches, not even a good bribe can make him let the poor thing go. And believe me, we tried. Eventually the kitten got tired of us being idiots in shining armor and decided to give Ralph's arm a good scratch to escape. Ralph was then howling in pain and whining about how evil the kitty-villain was while James and I had to do first aid on the nasty wound—those little claws were actually frightening.