Sketch

21 - Sam

Dedicated to Willow256!

She's doing it on purpose.  I have to admit, I admire the fact that she's trying, but she's not going to win.  I'll have her out of this house in a week.

We sit on opposite sides of the lounge.  Ollie's gone out with Tandy and Vince is in his room, doing what, I don't want to know.

Emmy's watching some sort of American sitcom on the TV, the canned laughter filling the room after every single feeble joke, but I don't care.  As long as she's not on the pop music channels, I'm not bothered what she watches.

I shift on the love seat behind the pool table, glancing out of the window and down at London.  It's beginning to get dark out and the streetlights shine out pathways and roads that seem to meander all over the city.  I try to think of lyrics to explain what I'm seeing but nothing that I can come up with is song material.  All I've got on my notepad so far is a list of angry words I'd shout at Emmy if I wasn't scared of Tanya using her mum voice on me again.  It's bad enough when my own mum uses it on me.  I bite my pen lid.  I can't even think of words to describe what missing my parents is like.  It's sad that they're all the way over the other side of the world but they're happy, so that's all that matters.  We get the occasional phone call and postcard.

I glance at Emmy, who's now painting her nails a bright green, and wonder if she's missing her family.  I'm not going to ask her though.  What she said yesterday's really got to me.  I'm pissed at Vince for telling her I've got trust issues.  I haven't; it just takes time for me to warm to new people.  It's hard enough when I want to get to know someone. This deal with Emmy is torture, even if I'd been leaning towards giving her a go.  The argument's blown all of those thoughts away and now I'm freezing her out twice as hard.  Not passing the ketchup is childish, but it worked, making her roll her eyes at me.

"Do you think those actors really get paid something like two-hundred and fifty grand an episode?"

It takes me a moment to realise that Emmy's actually talking to me.  Well, trying to.  I set my gaze harder on the paper in my lap, doodling music notes in the corner so I look busy.

"Sam?"

I bite my lip.

"Yo?  I know what doodling looks like.  I did it every day at school."

I know she's trying to get me to look up but I'm determined not to.  I mean, she should be angry at me.  Michelle would  give me the cold shoulder for weeks if I pissed her off too much.  I shudder at the memories.

"Hello?"

I jump when  I see that Emmy's standing opposite me, leaning back into the pool table casually.  She hasn't changed out of her pyjamas all day and her bare legs are distracting.  I glare at her.

"What?"

"Didn't you hear me?  I asked you a question."

I roll my eyes.  "I'm busy."

"No you're not," she says, pointing at my notepad with a newly painted green fingernail.  "For the past hour you've either been staring into space or out of the window."

I bite down harder on my lip.  "So?"

"So," she says, straightening up and moving closer. 

I clutch my notepad to my chest defensively and she waves a hand at me. 

"Don't worry, I'm not going to look.  I was just going to ask you what you've come up with so far."

I frown.  "It's private."

She laughs and I have to fight not to smile at the sound of it.  "That's so stupid.  How can a song be private?  You're going to sing it to the world anyway."

"I'm not telling you," I say, hating the way she makes me act like a child. 

"But I'm your band mate," she says, raising her eyebrows as she draws out the last two words.

I cross my arms.  "Not for long."

She snorts.  "Oh, Sam.  I'm not going anywhere."

The anger wells up again then and I fidget in my seat, moving my eyes to Vince's drum kit so I don't get tempted to storm off for the third time in three days.

"Whatever," I mutter.

"So what have you written so far?"

I open my mouth to repeat that I'm not going to show her but she interrupts me, plonking herself down next to me.  I lean away from her as if she's got some contagious disease before I realise how stupid that makes me look.

Emmy's eyes light up with a smile.  "Mean.  Annoying.  Bitch.  Rude.  Weird."

"What?"

"Is that what you've written?  My dad always used to make me write down words to describe the person I'm having trouble with, you know, so you're less likely to explode when you're around them."

I can't help raising my eyebrows in surprise and Emmy notices.  My dad used to tell me to do that too.

"So, what have you got so far?"

I press my lips into a line, studying her face.  She's got a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks and without make-up she looks more like sixteen than eighteen.  Her top lip's fuller than the bottom one and she gets a dimple in her left cheek when she smiles.  I shake my head.

"Blunt.  Irritating.  Bitch."

"Snap," she sings before laughing. "Go on."

"You're so weird."

She shrugs.  "So?  Did you have that one down, 'cause I said that just now."

I glance at my paper and feel Emmy's eyes move to my notepad too.

"Funny?"

My heart thuds hard against my ribs.  "No."

She points at me, her smile making the dimple appear on her cheek.  "You had funny down."

"No."

"You did," she insists. "Next to stupid and thief, which you spelt wrong by the way.  It's i before e."

I frown.  "Grammar nerd."

She smiles.  "About the only subject I aced."

I give her a blank look.

"Funny looking?  Is that what you meant?"

I go to shake my head but stop myself.  It definitely wasn't that.

"Or are you just surprised that a girl can have a sense of humour?"  She tilts her head to the side.  "It's not impossible, you know."

I close my notepad and get up.

"I'll make you laugh one day," she says as I walk to my room. 

"I wouldn't bet on it," I call.  And I wouldn't.  I'd lose.