Showmanship

3 - Broken Walls, Daddy Director , and A Visit to Fourth Street

Broken Walls

    "James!"

    My phone rung a short while ago. I usually don't answer calls, but Marge's contact was lighting up my phone screen and I had no choice.

    "What?" I answered groggily.

   "Will you help me with a science project tomorrow?" She asked. Her voice sounded as chipper as normal and I could hear we laptop fan in the background.

    I rubbed my eyes, yawning as I said, "Why are you asking me this at 3:00 A.M in the morning?"

   "No time for questions! Only answers!" She said her words so quickly that they were a jumbled mess.

    "Sure." I yawned again and if she kept me up any longer I would fall asleep accidentally. "Can I just go to bed?"

   "Okay night," She hung up, and my phone went to a buzzing blank noise that left me with a dial tone and me dropping my phone to the floor, so I could fall asleep again.

     So I spent my Saturday morning that I had off helping my little sister work on her science project that was due Monday. Not one of the strangest things I have done on a Saturday.

     She had to paper mocha this Volcano thing and then a smart guy I'm her lab group was going to make it spray Lava. Well not actually lava, just hot water with a lot of orange food coloring in it.

     "I didn't ask you how Monday went,"  Marge said. She carefully laid a piece of newspaper on the wire binding.

    I didn't answer, just continued to work. I didn't want to answer, but I knew that wasn't an answer because it was Marge. If she couldn't keep secrets neither could I.

    "You're going to tell me James," She answered frankly, "you might as well tell me now when everyone else but mum is out the house."

    I laughed a little at her toils to try and pry into my secrets. "What makes you the one in the family that gets to know about my love life?"

    "I'm your best friend," She stayed concerned on her paper mocha, but I knew she was expecting me to answer.

     "What about Bridget?"

     "That's weird," Marge crinkled up her tiny little button nose that ran in the family, "she's my twin."

   "I'm your brother." I glanced up at her, but she stayed strong on the paper mochaing.

   "It's cool when I get to say that my best friend is 21," She smiled, not concerned with the fact that it was a little strange that she counted herself best friends with her older brother. Maybe it was more strange that I counted her my best friend.

    "So," she looked back at me, "how did you screw up."

   "Who says I screwed up?" I started trying to think up of an excuse, "maybe I just don't like her that way and your all wrong-"

    "Oh what's that," Marge pointed up to the ceiling and my eyes followed. All I only saw the roof of the garage, shining back at the both of us. "It's the chance of me believing you flying away."