Like To Be You ✓

twenty five

It's a little after dinner when I hear scratching and shuffling outside my door.

"Go away, Greg!" I say, but he doesn't stop. It's hard to concentrate on my assignment with him mewing and pawing at the door, so I let him in.

"What do you want?" I say, and he surprises me by rubbing his face against my leg and contently mewing. I tense, waiting for him to hack up a hairball or vomit at my feet, but he does neither.

I reach down for him, already bracing myself for some scratches and probably a paw to my face, but he readily jumps into my arms and begins purring, his tail curling and his ears twitching.

I frown and sit on the bed, where he comfortably curls against me. I don't know where this sudden affection is coming from, and it scares me.

Or maybe he's the one who's scared.

"Greg," I say, "Did you see anybody entering the house? Anybody apart from Mom and me?"

He licks his paw and daintily lays it back on the bed.

"Gregory." I say. He gives me a disinterested glance and instead mewls, then hops onto my lap and settles down. I scratch the base of his ears and his back all the way till his tail, and whoa, something is definitely wrong with this cat because I have zero scratches on my skin and he is purring in my lap.

I stroke his fur carefully, smiling at the way he looks so content. I stop when I feel a slight bump on his side. I press it a bit, checking if it's just a protruding bone, but he whines and hisses at my hand. I pull it away, then slowly reach for his side again. He hisses again and scratches me. 

"Did you hurt yourself? Or did somebody hurt you?" I ask Greg. He doesn't respond.

I may hate this cat more than I hate Lucky Charms (the marshmallows taste like sugary cardboard), but I don't like the idea of somebody else hurting him.

The next two weeks pass in a blur of stress and anxiety. On the day of my last midterm, I nearly run towards my car. The thought of escaping school fuels me to run faster. Thanksgiving break starts in a few days, and I'm beyond excited. I plan on spending my day today sleeping, but my mother has other plans for me.

"Start packing." She says.

"But we're leaving in three days! There's so much time!"

My mother puts a fist on her hip and gives me a look. "I know my son well enough. He won't budge until the last moment."

"Fine." I roll my eyes and trudge up the stairs. Falling onto the bed, I stretch and groan contently. Gregory Hugh Francis leaps onto my back and copies my action, then climbs up to my shoulder and settles right above my face. I think my ear is pressed to his butt.

Then he farts.

I can feel the stench on my face as it makes the sound of a deflating kiddie pool. I scramble up and yell at him, trying not to gag.

"Oh Jesus." I run out of my room, trying to rid myself of the odour that seems to stick to my skin. I gag a few times, watching with annoyance as Mom picks Greg up and coos at him. She looks like she's holding herself back from bursting into laughter.

"It smells like tuna that's been kept out for days! I will kill him one day, I swear."

And I stick to my promise.

o-o-o

Kidding, the little brat's still alive, and also enjoying my mother's attention as she pets him in the back seat of the car. We'd had an argument earlier on whose car to take. I'd begged her to allow me to drive my beautiful Tesla, but alas, we had to take her beloved Range Rover after she announced that Greg was coming along. That feline was not entering my car at all.

The drive to Lattice Hills is close to five hours. It gives me a lot of time to think, something I do not want to do.

Sometimes I think of nothing, sometimes I think of Randall and my father, but mostly, I think of Tyler.

I ignored him in school these past couple of days. Well, 'ignore' would not be the right word. We both gave each other some space; no hellos in chemistry, no competition in math, and no smiles in the hallways.

Whenever I caught a glimpse of him, it was either on the field, or in class. He's been quiet, just like me. I don't know what will happen next.

We make it to my grandparents' just as the sun is setting. I park the car in the villa's huge driveway, in front of a tiny Greek fountain.

My grandmother comes waddling down the stairs, Tyler the Labrador barking behind her.

As my grandmother holds my mother and I close to her in a strong hug, Tyler jumps at our feet, barking his head off. He quietens when he receives my attention, but then his eyes move to the car window, where Gregory is watching him with a menacing look in his eyes.

I hope Tyler the Labrador eats him one day.

x

I sometimes think my cousin Shirley needs help.

She's screaming in my ear because my other cousin Hazel took her Bratz doll away from her. I push Shirley back down on the bed to save my ear. From across me, Hazel's older brother Harry laughs.

"Push her a bit harder next time." He grins through his pale blue braces, which weirdly seem to compliment his eyes.

"Shut up, Ron." Shirley snarls. Oh right, he's also a ginger, so it's only necessary we brand him as a Weasley.

"Shirley." Her older sister, Kiara, warns. "Stop it."

Shirley glares at us and pokes her tongue out. 

The adults are all having a drink downstairs, so we three are left to look over the kids. It is not something I was looking forward to on the way here.

"When I grow up, I want to marry you." Hazel tells Joshua, Kiara's brother, with big puppy eyes.

"Ew." Harry nearly gags.

"That's really creepy, Haze." Kiara says. "He's your cousin."

"This is Colorado, not Alabama." I pull Hazel into my lap.

Hazel looks up at me with her big, big eyes. "But Joshua is the best!"

"Brother." Harry adds for her. There's silence for a few moments, before all hell breaks loose. 

"What did you do to her?" Shirley shrieks, violently shaking her Bratz.

"Nothing!" Hazel scrambles up against my chest, clearly scared of Shirley's tantrums.

"Hey, that's ugly!" Joshua jumps on the bed, landing on the doll. 

"Yasmin!" Shirley cries out, leaping for the doll resting under Joshua's back.

"Can I kill myself?" Harry says. There's a bit of peanut butter stuck in his braces from having a sandwich earlier. It makes me feel icky whenever I look at it, so I instead hold little Hazel close to my chest to keep her away from Shirley's claws.

Ah, home, sweet home. 

o-o-o