by Julia Rittenberg
Sam crinkled her nose as they walked.
"I still don't see why you like butterscotch."
"Come on, Sammie, I never say anything about that Zac Efron you love so much," chided Dave.
"Shut up! I dont even like his movies. Just him. I can just tell that he's a good person."
"Whatever you say, vanilla-eater."
"That's not even an insult."
"It could be."
They sat down at their curb. After a few minutes, an obnoxious SUV drove up. "Say hi to your boyfriend. I won't mind," assured Dave.
Sam hurried to her young love; Dave noticed a slight limp. He stored it for later.
When Sam returned, aglow with teenage hormones, he had decided on his opening question.
"So what is the redeeming qualify of the latest model?"
"He likes that I wear the same pants everyday. American Eagle is also his favorite store."
"What a winner."
"I will disregad the sarcasm and instead agree with you."
"Has he made you conservative, or something? Where the hell did you get that sweater?" Dave pulled at the neckline and saw a flash of discolored shoulder.
Sam pulled it up quickly, hoping to bypass the possible revelation. "I borrowed it from Mom. I didn't want to get cold."
"Why are you bruised?" The normal laughter in Dave's voice was replaced with concern. "Your skin is tougher than Mom's oatmeal cookies. What happened?"
"Nothing. Matthew's dog is a little too friendly sometimes. He jumped on me kind of violently."
"You're such a liar. There's no dog."
"Yes there is!"
"There might be, but it's not the dog."
"Yes it was."
He poked her shoulder. Sam winced. "Right. A dog did that. It was Matthew, wasn't it? Did that bastard rape you?"
Sam knew the look in her brother's eyes. If she didn't tell him the truth, Dave would concoct one of his ridiculous hero journeys.
"I'll tell you! Just don't interrupt. She braced herself. Why hadn't she called the police? Or told their parents?
"On our date last week, Matthew took me to the park where we first met to be romantic. It was really cute, don't you think?"
Dave looked furious.
"Moving on. Some guys came up and tried to mug us. When they found we had no money, they were all like, 'Oh, we'll just get our money's worth some other way,' looking me up and down all creepy-like. I guess instinct took over or something when they tried to grab me, because I totally freaked and beat the crap out of them. Obviously, one cannot leave battle without some scars, so I have a shoulder bruise and my foot hurts, so I'm limping."
They sat in silence.
"Are you mad?"
"I can't say I'm not a little incredulous, but awesome job! I'm really proud of you. Mom and Dad would be too."
"You don't think it was stupid?"
"Of course it was, but you held your own and came out great. This also makes me think better of Matthew. He's not intimidated by your bad-assery?"
"No. He said it was an excellent fight." She sighed. "I think I'll tell Mom and Dad tonight."
"Great. We'll put on some Sinatra to calm 'em down, and they'll be telling this at cocktail parties withing a month."
They got up from the curb and started walking.
Sam crinkled her nose. "I hate Sinatra."
"I love him. Tolerate it." He bumped her shoulder.
"Ouch!" she complained. "I may have skin as tough as bricks, but I am a dainty child."
"I said Mom's oatmeal cookies."
"Same thing, really."
"I still don't see why you like butterscotch."
"Come on, Sammie, I never say anything about that Zac Efron you love so much," chided Dave.
"Shut up! I dont even like his movies. Just him. I can just tell that he's a good person."
"Whatever you say, vanilla-eater."
"That's not even an insult."
"It could be."
They sat down at their curb. After a few minutes, an obnoxious SUV drove up. "Say hi to your boyfriend. I won't mind," assured Dave.
Sam hurried to her young love; Dave noticed a slight limp. He stored it for later.
When Sam returned, aglow with teenage hormones, he had decided on his opening question.
"So what is the redeeming qualify of the latest model?"
"He likes that I wear the same pants everyday. American Eagle is also his favorite store."
"What a winner."
"I will disregad the sarcasm and instead agree with you."
"Has he made you conservative, or something? Where the hell did you get that sweater?" Dave pulled at the neckline and saw a flash of discolored shoulder.
Sam pulled it up quickly, hoping to bypass the possible revelation. "I borrowed it from Mom. I didn't want to get cold."
"Why are you bruised?" The normal laughter in Dave's voice was replaced with concern. "Your skin is tougher than Mom's oatmeal cookies. What happened?"
"Nothing. Matthew's dog is a little too friendly sometimes. He jumped on me kind of violently."
"You're such a liar. There's no dog."
"Yes there is!"
"There might be, but it's not the dog."
"Yes it was."
He poked her shoulder. Sam winced. "Right. A dog did that. It was Matthew, wasn't it? Did that bastard rape you?"
Sam knew the look in her brother's eyes. If she didn't tell him the truth, Dave would concoct one of his ridiculous hero journeys.
"I'll tell you! Just don't interrupt. She braced herself. Why hadn't she called the police? Or told their parents?
"On our date last week, Matthew took me to the park where we first met to be romantic. It was really cute, don't you think?"
Dave looked furious.
"Moving on. Some guys came up and tried to mug us. When they found we had no money, they were all like, 'Oh, we'll just get our money's worth some other way,' looking me up and down all creepy-like. I guess instinct took over or something when they tried to grab me, because I totally freaked and beat the crap out of them. Obviously, one cannot leave battle without some scars, so I have a shoulder bruise and my foot hurts, so I'm limping."
They sat in silence.
"Are you mad?"
"I can't say I'm not a little incredulous, but awesome job! I'm really proud of you. Mom and Dad would be too."
"You don't think it was stupid?"
"Of course it was, but you held your own and came out great. This also makes me think better of Matthew. He's not intimidated by your bad-assery?"
"No. He said it was an excellent fight." She sighed. "I think I'll tell Mom and Dad tonight."
"Great. We'll put on some Sinatra to calm 'em down, and they'll be telling this at cocktail parties withing a month."
They got up from the curb and started walking.
Sam crinkled her nose. "I hate Sinatra."
"I love him. Tolerate it." He bumped her shoulder.
"Ouch!" she complained. "I may have skin as tough as bricks, but I am a dainty child."
"I said Mom's oatmeal cookies."
"Same thing, really."
