Curse of Arachnaman (8 page)

"Really?"

Peter cut in before I could even manage a squeak. “Ignore him,” he said, jerking his head in my direction. “He was born with an alien twin whose suckers were glued to his skull."

"You suck, Peter."

"No, your alien twin did. I should weigh your brain while you're asleep and see how much was vacuumed out of you before your mom gave birth."

Okay, we were
so
going to break up after this.

The fast-food girl, whose name was Sasha, according to her tag, shook her head and slowly crept away. Peter sighed and leaned forward, eyes flashing. Have I ever mentioned how hot he looked when he glared at me? Have I? Okay, my boyfriend was
hot
. Especially when I pissed him off, which was pretty often. “You have ten seconds to tell me what's going on,” he said.

"It's stupid,” I retorted. “I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to. And it's stupid. Did I just hear an echo?"

"Your best friend's out there, staring at you, screwing up our date, and freaking out the staff. Tell me."

"No."

"I brought a clean towel."

I smirked while gnawing away like an anemic cow that just stuffed its face with a bucket of plump, juicy, organic grass. “Big deal. You bring clean towels all the time."

Peter didn't miss a beat. He didn't even blink, the shameless bastard. “It's a
beach
towel."

"She's making me go with her to her grandmother's bingo night, and I told her no after I said yes! There! Happy? And that towel had better be shredded by the time we're done this evening!” I paused and then backpedaled. “Condoms? Did you say that you brought condoms, too?"

"You wish,” he said. “Sorry, no condoms. I believe in waiting for the right moment because I'm old-fashioned that way.” Yeah,
right
. He slid down his seat and stumbled to his feet. “And I'm hauling Althea's pissy ass in here because I'm starving, and I can't stand another second of being put off my dinner because of some stupid promise about bingo night."

I sat there, watching Peter saunter off. “You tricked me again? I
hate
it when you play dirty!” I snarled, but by the time the words came, he'd already stepped outside.

I suppose the only comfort I had then was his mention of a beach towel. Not a bath towel, mind you, but a
beach
towel. You know, like Aladdin's flying carpet. Okay, so it wasn't exactly as awesome as airborne Arabian rugs, but my point is that beach towels, by their very nature, promise any horny sixteen-year-old the moon and the stars and an infinity of amazing cosmic supernovas between him and his boyfriend. I turned the idea over and over in my mind, barely noticing the two figures shambling past the doors and making their way to our booth.

"Watch out,” Althea's voice cut through my thoughts. “I know that look. Eric's up to something again."

"Whatever it is you're planning, forget it,” Peter said as he slid back on his seat, Althea taking her place beside him.

"If you check under the table,” she said, “I'm sure you'll find that it's got something to do with you."

I coughed, nearly blowing soda through my nose. “Shut up, Horace."

"Nice to see you, too, Mister Senator.” Althea glanced at Peter. “He's starting out pretty young, you know, breaking promises left and right."

I rolled my eyes. “If I promised you something, Althea, it's because I was coerced. Yeah, you heard me. Coerced. So I'm taking my promise back."

"I didn't coerce you!"

"Uh, should I remind you about the—” Here I raised both hands and made the quotation marks sign with my fingers. “—accidentally-moving cables that got me in my own bedroom and held me up like a human burrito for a gazillion seconds till I had to scream ‘I promise I'll go with you'? Seriously, all this time I was under the impression that Peter's the dirtiest player on the planet. He's got nothing to you and your criminal mind.” I turned to Peter. “Did she tell you what happened? How she cheated me in a game of Hangman and then made my computer puke out cyber cables or something that attacked me? You know, I've heard about tentacle sex online, and what Althea pulled with her crazy cyber cables came pretty close to that."

Peter shook his head slowly. He looked like he wanted to go home and pretend that this evening never happened.

"Well, it happened exactly the way I described it. She cheated, and then she turned cyber terrorist. Before I knew it, I was wrapped up in her creepy tentacle cable thingies, pissing myself, while she made me promise to go to bingo night. It was total abuse of power! I should file a complaint with the city!"

"Okay, my bad.” Althea sighed. “I shouldn't have held you up that way. I'll truss you up like a Thanksgiving turkey next time."

"There! I was terrorized into a promise! And she's
still
terrorizing me! Case closed! Now can we have our date night back? Our dinner's already ruined, time's ticking away, and we haven't even had sex yet,” I said, throwing my hands up.

It was Peter's turn to choke on his soda.

"You're definitely not going to get any tonight, Plath,” Althea said, reaching for a couple of now-soggy-and-semi-cold French fries. “Look what you just did."

"And whose fault was that?” I retorted.

Althea sighed. She actually looked beaten and tired. “Okay, okay, I'm sorry I forced you into promising to come with me to Grandma's bingo night. But you gotta understand, Eric, if you make me go alone, I'll totally go nuts. You know how much of a brain suck bingo night is for anyone under forty. And I don't want to go postal and mow down a bunch of seniors in the church's community hall.” She leaned over the table and gave me that deer-in-the-headlights look. “I swear I'm gonna lose it if you don't come with me."

I scowled at her. “You lost it a long time ago, girlfriend. Try again."

"Please? Pleasepleasepleaseplease? I promise I'll treat you to ginormous pizza slices for a month. Please?"

"Talk to the hand.” I actually raised a hand when I said that. I surprised myself with these slips into corniness sometimes.

"Will good karma be motivation enough? Think about it. In your next life, you'll be married to the hottest, sweetest, richest gay man around—"

I sniffed. “I could come back as sewer sludge in my next life."

"Well, that's only because you're not helping a good friend out."

"Ha. Try again.” I pointed at my watch. “You've got three seconds to make me change my mind. Tick, tock, tick, tock...oops. That's four."

Althea glanced at hers and turned to Peter, who was still coughing. “I gotta go and pick up some stuff from the grocery store for Mom. Peter, talk to him, okay? Please? I already told you the details."

"Most likely blown out of proportion,” I cut in, biting into my turkey burger. “Time's up, girlie. Buh-bye."

"If worse comes to worst, threaten celibacy for the rest of your teenage years.” She turned to glare at me. This time around, I was ready for the heat waves and made like I was fanning myself with my napkin while looking bored. “That oughta learn him."

I rolled my eyes again. “Whatever, dude. Now scram. We have a date to finish."

Althea slid off the seat, fixed her shirt and jacket, slung her messenger bag across her torso, and said, “I won't be using cyber cables next time, Plath."

"Your powers should be revoked—or something. Terrorist."

I watched her march off in a huff, while Peter heaved a sigh of, what, relief? Exhaustion? I figured it was the latter because he raked his fingers through his hair and gnawed on his lower lip till it swelled up, making my jeans tighten. Again. Then he slumped in his seat and leveled me with that extremely-patient-but-gently-disapproving-boyfriend sort of look.

"Eric..."

"Oh, come on, Peter,” I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “I really hate bingo night. I've already been to one of those with my dad, and they seriously
suck
. And I'm not lying when I say that Althea bullied me into saying yes."

"Yeah, I know she bullied you. That's really the only way to get you to listen. She knows you too well. Anyway, it's only once, you know, and it's her grandmother's special monthly thing."

"That sounds menstrual."

Peter raised a brow. “Are you forcing me to make you celibate for the rest of your teenage years?"

I considered it while taking another bite of my turkey burger. “Can we have wild monkey sex on your beach towel first and then discuss that afterward?"

"No."

I set my food down and leaned forward, holding Peter's gaze because I was desperate. “Have you ever been to one of those movable potties in public parks? Do you know that they're actually, like, rifts in space that take you directly to Satan's lair? They're seriously inter-dimensional portals...well, the toilet seats and whatever's boiling under them, are. Bingo night's the less disgusting version of those. I'm not kidding, Peter. It's like purgatory on earth. And they serve rubbery hot dogs."

"I like rubbery hot dogs."

I sighed, feeling the hot, sweat-slicked hold of promised not-quite-full-on-sex—i.e., we'd never gone all the way yet—slipping away. I could never win in stupid moral arguments like this. It was so unfair.

"Peter, I don't want to go!"

"You'd do it for your grandmother."

I figured as much.

"Look, Althea screwed you over. I know that. But what about Grandma Horace? Remember all those little treats she used to make you when you and Althea were in grade school? And don't forget Mrs. Horace and her special jam..."

I threw my hands up. “Okay, okay, fine! Fine! I'll go! God!"

Peter broke into a broad, sparkly grin. “Atta boy. I knew you'd come around. Don't do it for Althea. Do it for her grandmother. Just think of it that way, all right?” He reached across the table and took my hand in his, giving it a tight squeeze.

I sulked. “I'll have to sneak in some Jack Daniels or something. You know, I've got a feeling that you're really a closet Catholic, the way you work that guilt trip on me all the time."

Peter merely laughed, gave my hand one more squeeze, and then prattled on about...well, whatever. His mood had improved, he seemed proud of me, and he dove into his now cold burger and fries with an appetite that would make Mom adopt him on the spot.

By the way, we didn't shred the beach towel later that evening, but it sure was soaked. The location was perfect, too, with us tangling at our favorite little beach hideaway in full view of a clear night sky and a crescent moon.

For all that, though, we still returned home virgins. Yay, restraint. Backward slash, end sarcasm. Someday, down the road, maybe I'd look back on this and laugh. How's that for optimism?

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In spite of my previous wibbling over my journal—how bored I was, and how it was pointless to own a stupid blank book with stupid pens and a stupid oil lamp—I gradually fell into a nice pattern of scribbling almost every night. It was kind of nice, really, being able to unload like that, now that I really didn't have my friends to chat up the way I'd used to. I was still mulling over the online blog thing, though. I mean, come on. Earning money from people clicking on links? It was a brilliant idea! Besides, being online was
the
way to meet new people, and maybe I could create a new network of friends via my blog. But I guessed, if I'd spent Mom's money on my stuff, I might as well put everything to good use.

The downside to all that private writing time was that my wrists grew sore after a particularly long and detailed journal entry, which was mostly about Scanlon Dorsey and how much garlic he'd cost my family so far. Yeah, I'd been keeping tabs. Mom had already begun noticing her dwindling garlic supply, but I wasn't about to talk. Well, not unless I got caught, anyway.

First test for wrist strength came when Mom and I went to Uncle Chung's for some Chinese food dinner. It was payday, so, yay for us. No frozen pizza.

"Good evening, Mrs. Plath!” Mrs. Zhang called out from behind her steam-filled counter. I wasn't sure if it was just me, but her little take-out place seemed to get foggier and foggier every time I went there. I could barely make out her silhouette as she waved a ladle above her head. “Haven't seen you in a while! I only see skinny boy here! What, no boyfriend with you tonight? You two not an item anymore or something? You real heartbreaker, huh? Tsk, tsk!"

"Good evening,” Mom said as we stood before the food counter. “I've been busy with work, Mrs. Zhang. And, no, Eric's solo tonight. No boyfriend anywhere. It's a bit of a miracle, actually."

Yeah, thanks, Mom. I glowered at the steaming trays of greasy food before me. I guessed adults forgot how it was, being sixteen and in a first relationship. Sometimes I thought that they were jealous because when a person was young, everything was pretty intense. You couldn't say that about adult romance. Older people were more, like, sly and conniving even when they flirted with each other. Then they jumped into bed and then woke up in the morning to realize that, hey, they had a spouse and children back home! So whom were they really in love with?

Okay, so I'd just made all of that up. I was a little inspired because I was forced to watch some horrible, sappy-ass chick flick on TV while waiting for Mom to get ready for this trip to Uncle Chung's. Liz was watching, anyway, and I didn't have a choice. Then again, I supposed I'd rather suffer through some sappy chick flick than be dragged to the kiddie ice cream parlor by Scanlon Dorsey because he figured that spoiling me would earn him brownie points with Liz.

"Special for today—buy two potstickers, get one egg roll free!” Mrs. Zhang said proudly, waving a hand before her face to dissipate the clouds that continued to roll between us. I still could barely see her in the fog. “Good treat for kid here. He needs bulk. If you let me keep him for a month, I'll make sure he eats everything I cook, and he goes home all fixed."

"I don't want to be fixed,” I gasped. “Dude, are you kidding me? I'm not a stray animal!"

"Eric, Mrs. Zhang's not a dude.” Mom leaned closer to Mrs. Zhang. “You're welcome to keep him for two months. Just make sure that he does his own laundry because, well, you know how teenage boys are."