Like To Be You ✓

twenty pt. two

This is probably the last chapter you'll get until March 30😬😬

Also, look at that cute drawing of Neil and Greg I got off Pinterest (because I'm a Pinterest hoarder)!

Enjoy!

o-o-o

Gregory Hugh Francis is terrified. I can see it in his eyes as he leaps off the table and skitters away from Zayne's approaching figure.

"I thought you loved me!" Zayne calls out after him. "Meow. I said meow, Greg! Respond!"

Gregory hides behind Mom's favourite petunia pot and whimpers.

"Leave him alone, Zayne." I say. "He knows you're an imposter cat."

Zayne' s lips turn down and he takes a big gulp of his Coke. "I'm just trying to get him to love me."

I don't reply, because I don't have an answer for that. Zayne looks sad, so I hand him another bottle of beer. He solemnly takes it and trudges towards the buffet. A few minutes later, I see him sitting at a table with a mountain of food and alcohol surrounding it. He looks happy, so I leave him to it and go down to the gaming pad.

"Dude, you clearly can't play. Give me the controller!"

"Fuck off, man. I've been playing this for two years."

"Well, you've been playing shit."

"Go away!"

I watch the two nerds argue over the game, and then in the middle of their stupid scuffle one of them accidentally hits the other in the eye, and it's a big fucking mess.

"Ow! My eye!"

"Oh my God, Joey, I'm so sorry! Here, you can hit me back."

And he does. Or at least attempts to. His puny fist hits the other dude somewhere on his chin, and I'm this close to losing my shit.

"Get outta here." I say, looking at the two dudes sprawled on the floor. They get up on their spindly legs and and scowl at each other before scuttling out of the room. I take the controller and seat myself comfortably on the giant wheely chair and put on Fifa '19, which is a really big mistake because ten minutes later the entire soccer team is surrounded around me, breathing on my neck. They cheer and boo and whine, which makes me want to yank the flatscreen out and throw it in their faces. The only person I could tolerate is Tobias, but the poor kid's in Okhlahoma attending his great aunt's funeral.

"Ryan?" I say as Ronaldo aims for a goal which gets blocked.

"Yes?" Ryan Webber's eyes are glued to the screen.

"Can you please back the fuck away from my face? I can feel every breath of yours in my ear, and I'm not enjoying it."

"Sorry, sorry." He still isn't paying attention. He just slides down far enough behind my chair so that his eyes don't miss the view. "C'mon, dude." he nudges my shoulder. "You gotta score."

I want to throw the controller in his face and scream Well then why don't you play! But Tyler is here and I do not want him to witness one of my temper tantrums. Also, I'm pretty sure the entire team would make me a laughing stock, then beat the shit out of me for hurting one of their defenders.

"Man, these chicken tenders are really good." Westley Greene says with his chicken tenders breath directed at me as he licks his fingers. "Even better than Popeyes!"

I roll my eyes. "They are from Popeyes."

"Oh."

You see, when you pause a game of soccer midway amongst 10 drunk boys who have their energy at the highest level, there's a dilemma. Now they all want to play, and there is one controller. The rest of the screens are occupied.

"Me! Me! Me!" Everybody's hand goes up as they make grabby attempts to catch hold of the controller.

"Get some help, man." I say to Westley, who's gone crazy with the grabby hands motion. I nearly hand over the controller to him before remembering the chicken grease and saliva his hands have on them, so I just give it to Ryan, who's giving me pretty cute puppy eyes. He smiles widely at me and skips happily to the seat.

"Let's play, bitches!"

I push past the gigantic bodies and run up the stairs. I really want some chicken tenders now.

And that's how Tyler finds me a few minutes later, with three chicken strips down my throat and two more on the way.

"Uh, the others were asking if you wanted to continue the game?"

"Guh?"

He waits for me to finish chewing, watching me with a smile, like one of those you give when you see a messy kid rolling around in mud. Except I'm rolling around in chicken tenders and cajun fries.

So. Freaking. Delicious.

"You want some?" I manage to get out, pointing to the counter behind me loaded with more food.

Tyler scrutinises the counters before making his way to them.

I'm on my eleventh chicken strip when Zayne slams a can of coke on the table. I almost choke.

"Gregory. Hugh. Francis."

"Hmm?"

"He just bit me."

"That's what you get when you chase after him."

Tyler takes a seat at the tiny round table, and Zayne reaches over and picks a satay skewer off his plate. "Thanks, man."

Tyler gives him a look before digging into his food. "Meera and Miranda are waiting downstairs." He reminds us.

"Oh, the game!" Zayne jumps up. I think Gregory Hugh Francis infected him, because he's all excited and his stiff costume tail is swishing as he moves his back. Or maybe he's drunk.

"You good, man?" Tyler asks, and he looks comical with a concerned look while pulling off a piece of chicken from the skewer.

"Hell yeah! But we have a game to get to." Zayne rushes to the bar and picks up an entire bottle of Vodka. "I like alcohol," he tells me, then downs a really large gulp. Tyler winces.

Zayne is drunk, Miranda is trying to seduce him, and Meera is... well, Meera.

"Sorry." She looks at Tyler with an awkward smile, holding up the broken thermocol sticks that were supposed to be his batons. She'd been drumming them against the bed.

Tyler waves it off. "Have to throw them anyway."

The game of Life is officially a mess. Somewhere along the way, Zayne decided it would be okay to smash his tiny car into mine and kill me off, and then he began killing everyone off and pegs were flying in the air and colourful notes were littering the floor.

"Rawr." Zayne tells Meera with a blank face at one point. She gives him an odd look.

"You're supposed to say it back. Rawr."

"Okay. Rawr. Happy?"

No, it's rawr, not rawr. "

I push away from the edge of the bed and go stand at the window, watching people leave. My eyes automatically go to the palm trees in front of the house, on the other side of the street, and my heart nearly jumps out of my chest.

It's the same shadow I saw from the library window. Short height, stocky build, dark overalls, big ears.

I grab my phone off my study table, switch on the camera and run back to the window. The man is a blurry shadow in the picture I take.

I watch him jog away, my head a really chaotic mess.

o-o-o