Warren had a crush on an animated character—an animated toy character. In his defense, her freckles were pretty cute. But on that dank-basement, rainy afternoon, I refused to watch the movie a sixth time.
Warren scratched himself. “Umm! I can’t believe you won’t watch the movie!”
I tapped my pencil on the table, watching his spittle fleck her picture in his Trapper Keeper. “Wow. I can’t believe you’re a freshman. . . . No—I can believe it.”
“Wait, who’s a freshman,” Gary said as he walked into the rumpus room chomping on a carrot. “Gladiator anyone,” he held up a handful of DVDs. He sniffed. “Who killed Dean?”
“It’s Warren about his anime girl again.”
“The smell?”
“Did you know carrots are supposed to help your vision?” Gary said, giving that cross-eyed look that he used to defy his coke bottle glasses and stick it to the optometrist his mother had been dating.
“Is your mother still dating that obstetrician you got your glasses from? I haven’t seen Dean in days,” I said.
“Optometrist!” Gary said. “You two are a couple of jackwagons.”
“Opta-what?” I said. “what-jack?” Warren.
He dabbed at his beard. “Your mom’s hot. Do you think she’d maybe want to watch the movie?”
“Warren! Don’t make me get the umbrella.”
Warren glanced furtively at Gary. “How can you say that after what happened to Dean?” he whispered.
The couch cushion twitched, and Warren’s eyes got big, and Gary’s carrot fell out of his mouth and onto the couch. Out popped Dean.
“You dang skunk!”
And little Deans. All going for the carrot.
“Deanne?”
Warren tactfully set aside his girlfriend binder.
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