West of Mars -- the Meet and Greet

Amy wanted corn. It was her turn to make dinner. Mitchell had volunteered to buy corn. "It's summertime," he'd said, then promised he would throw it on the grill. Mitchell liked grilled corn and Amy hated cooking. It worked all around.

Problem was, it was still early in the summer. The corn wasn't ripe. And Amy wasn't telling what else she was making, which made it hard to guess what else to buy.

There were packages of corn in the freezer, already shucked. That seemed wrong; everyone knew corn was better fresh.

But Amy wanted corn. She'd better appreciate this.



I wish I had a relationship with my sisters like Mitchell has with Amy. For more of their antics, see The Time Before Dinner, Naked, and Baking Cookies.

Notice how much I wind up writing about food? I wonder what a psychiatrist would say about me and this tendency of mine... No, on second thought, I don't.

More food: Soy Sauce 1, Soy Sauce 2, and Val's Cake.

If you want to know more about Mitchell and Amy, click on their names and you can take the magic ride back to their bio pages. At the bottom of those pages are more links for you, if these weren't enough.

Labels: Amy, Mitchell, Velvet Verbosity

Mitchell stopped at the top of the steps and sniffed, then inhaled as deeply -- and as quietly -- as he could. "Something smells," he said, wrinkling his nose and pretending the reek was bad. He even waved his hand in front of his face as he leaned forward so he could see Amy and Beth on the family room couch -- and so they could see him.

"That's why you're supposed to say excuse me when you fart, Pipsqueak!"

"Oh. Sorry," Mitchell said and shut his bedroom door behind him. He didn't have to hear Amy's laugh to know it was following him. She thought she was so funny.

"When's the cookie raid?" Trevor asked.

"Give it an hour," Mitchell said and reached for his guitar. "Don't want to strike too soon or they'll just eat what's left of the dough again and we won't get shit."

"We'll get to lick the bowl."

"Not last time, we didn't. Trust me, Trev. We lay low, we get the goods."

Trevor stood up and was out of the room before Mitchell could stop him.

"Bring me three!" Mitchell called after him, chuckling. He'd gotten them all that time.

Labels: Amy, brotherly love, creative writing, fiction, food, Mitchell, outtake, Trevor

So my stresses of the past few weeks haven't been totally resolved (although I managed the bun quite nicely for the dress rehearsal. Now, on to the recital!) and won't be until Friday, at the earliest. Yet for whatever reason, my stress levels have dropped and the muse has returned. If you were here on Monday for Rhian's Poetry Train, you read this outtake. If you haven't read it yet, please make time for it; it's now one of my all-time favorites, with Death By Cheese and Green Hair Week. At any rate, this week's Thirteen springs from that outtake. Poor Mitchell and his newly-pierced ears... Thirteen things Mitchell did Upon Coming To 1. Put a hand up to his ear to find out why it was throbbing. 2. Felt three earrings instead of the expected one. 3. Peeled himself off the bed where Trevor had put him when he passed out and staggered over to his mirror for a better look. 4. Puked all over the mirror and his dresser. 5. Panicked at this latest mess. 6. Proclaimed it was Trevor's to clean up. All of it. 7. Found Trevor smoking out on the back patio. Beat him almost as senseless as Hank used to, only without the psychological torture thrown in. 8. Supervised Trevor's clean up of mess in bedroom, including bloody sheets from the passed-out piercing. 9. Spent four days hiding his ears from everyone. Considered gelling his hair into place in front of his ears (both, to reduce suspicion) but the gel turned his hair an ugly shade of grey. 10. Blackmailed Amy into keeping quiet when she discovered Trevor's handiwork. (Bribes had a bad tendency to get ignored after a few days.) 11. Went shopping with Amy for new earrings to wear as soon as the lame-assed starter earrings could come out. Amy bought him the famed winged dragon that a fan took out of his ear with her teeth while video cameras were rolling. Bitch kept it, too. That clip made it into the band's first behind-the-scenes video, Take the (Back)Stage. 12. Beat Trevor up again 'cause three earrings cost way more than one, and require some finesse to pull off properly -- or so says Amy, who knows more about fashion. Or did, back in those early days, before Mitchell hired stylists and Amy spent her days in long white lab coats. 13. Finally came clean to Sonya and Patterson when they were healed and not about to close when Patterson insisted they come out. Unfortunately for all the trouble Mitchell went through, they didn't care. Mitchell suspected Amy squealed and what they cared most about was his coming clean about what Trevor had done to him. No comment was ever made by either parent about the earrings, although Sonya would buy him some from time to time if she saw some she thought he'd like. Don't forget to check out the Hidden Treasures Summer Reading Contest! And in case you've been living under a rock, voting is still open for the Blogger's Choice Awards. Go make me number one, will ya?

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!


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Labels: Amy, Blogger's Choice Award, earrings, meme, Mitchell, Summer's Hidden Treasures, Thursday Thirteen, Trevor

Mom alert: Some grown-up words in this one, and if you didn't guess, some nudity, too. It's fiction; it's all good.

It wasn't turning into a good afternoon. Mitchell had been over at the Owenses' house, trying to mow their lawn. Trying; they'd left Sarge, their German Shepard, outside, and he'd either stick himself between Mitchell's legs or else he'd laid down in the mower's path, tongue lolling as if he was laughing. Because, of course, Mitchell couldn't mow over the dog, much as he wanted to.

He got home hot and crabby, disgusted to hear that Amy had her friend Valerie over again. They were in Amy's room, the door was open, and Mitchell could hear them giggling and laughing. Just like usual. They'd never learn.

He shucked off his sweaty t-shirt and shorts; the socks and shoes had gone even before he'd entered the house. The underwear absolutely had to follow; there was nothing worse than sweaty underwear. It chafed.

The towel he'd left in his room had, of course, been stolen by Trevor. That meant he had to…

Mitchell grinned. Amy's door was wide open. Amy's door was between Mitchell's room and the bathroom. And nothing or no one could go past Amy's room without her looking out. This was going to be beautiful. Better than usual.

Sure enough, as he strolled past, the girls shrieked, then Amy wailed, "Mom! Mitchell's naked in front of Valerie again!"

He stopped, of course, and came back to stand just within view. "You left the door open," he told them.

"So? That doesn't give you the right to go parading around the house naked."

"I'm not parading anywhere, you fucking princess--"

"Mom!"

"I'm going to take a shower," Mitchell continued, ignoring her latest screech. Ma wasn't going to get in the middle of this one, and if she did, it'd be to tell Amy to keep her bedroom door shut already.

"Why can't you shower at normal times, you loser?"

Mitchell took a step closer, all too aware that Valerie was checking him out. So far as he knew, Valerie didn't have any brothers. This was probably good stuff for her. "If someone in this house wouldn't hog the bathroom for a good half-hour every morning, maybe I could get in there before school."

Amy shut her mouth, cutting off whatever she'd been about to say.

"And if that same someone," he continued, taking another step forward, "would shut her fucking flap every time I try to take a shower before bed, I'd do it then."

"Going to bed with wet hair--" Amy started, but Mitchell held a hand up.

Amy recoiled.

"Got a whiff, huh?" Mitchell asked, lifting his entire arm. "While you were in here, giggling over guys in magazines and proving I'm right that you don't have a brain in there," he said, tapping Amy in the forehead, "I was out, working my butt off and trying not to mow Sarge. While you two were in here, dreaming about your stupid weddings, I was out there, working to make my dreams come true. You don't like the results, shut your fucking door."

He surprised even himself when he pushed Amy back into her room and leaned in to grab the door and shut it himself. In the back of his mind, he could hear Trevor nodding with approval, but he felt like an idiot. Ma would kill him for touching Amy like that.

She flung her door open before he could close the door to the bathroom. "Oh, yeah?" she yelled, stalking down the hall toward him.

He ignored the impulse to shut the door in her face. Whatever she was about to say might be good.

"You think you're hot shit, strutting around all naked like this, huh?"

He sighed. "Aim, what the fuck do you want?"

"I want… I want…" Her eyes darted back and forth as she tried to think on her
feet. Fortunately for Mitchell, she wasn't very good at it. "I want you to leave me and Valerie alone!"

"I walked past your door, you egotistical bitch!"

"Mom!"

Mitchell pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Calling for Mom like that's only going to get you in trouble," Trevor said from the other end of the hall. "And quit being jealous that your brother's got all the family jewels and you've just got those teeny titties already, will you? Let the idiot go shower before I go and get naked on you. 'Cause let me tell you, girls, if I go and do that, I'm not staying in this hallway, youknowwhatImean?"

Chuckling as the girls shrieked some more, Mitchell finally closed the bathroom door. That almost made up for that stupid dog laying down in front of the lawnmower. Even if it had taken Trevor to make it good.


Just a reminder... go vote for me!

Labels: Amy, Blogger's Choice Award, creative writing, fiction, Mitchell, outtake, Trevor

Way back on Thursday, I promised you guys an outtake based on my Thursday Thirteen. Here it is and don't forget about the BAFAB contest I'm throwing!

Mitchell joined Amy in the doorway to the room that used to be Wayne's private space, back when the farmhouse had been Wayne's. Mitchell looked things over; it was shaping up into an office all right. His office. Like Kerri's studio in what had been an attic was hers, this was his.

"M," Amy said, drawing the sound out as if she was eating something good.

He grunted, immediately on guard. This wasn't going to be pretty.

"What's that big wooden thing in the middle of the room?"

"A desk, Aim," he said, playing along. Privately, he was disappointed that she couldn't do any better. After all, he'd practically been voted Least Likely to Need a Desk in high school. Rock stars didn't need desks, unless they got caught up in the drama of sweeping everything off them so that a girl could be laid down there. It was better when you left the stains for someone else to clean up.

"You." Amy said. It was a declaration. "You have a desk."

"A whole office-like space," he agreed, nodding. "I've got a band to run, remember?"

"You didn't need a desk in your apartment."

"Not so long as I was happy eating off my lap," Mitchell said. "What did you think the table turned into?"

She played with her lower lip, thinking. "That really is a desk," she finally said.

"Scares the shit outta me, too," he lied. The truth was it felt good. Powerful. Like he knew exactly who was in control of ShapeShifter, and he was the one who had that control.

Okay, he admitted. That part scared the shit out of him. But it wasn't like Trevor could have run the band. Eric refused to do anything more than hear the final decisions and Daniel wasn't willing to handle it alone. That left it up to Mitchell.

Amy nodded, like she'd agreed with something he'd been thinking. She clapped him on the shoulder. "The band's in good hands," she said, and left the room, heading down the small hallway to the breezeway that led to the new addition.

Mitchell stayed in his office for a minute, letting Amy's words sink in. Had she really just praised him?

"Aim!" He tore down the hall after her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her hand on the doorknob of one of the new guest rooms.

"You just… you were nice. You feel okay?"

"Every now and then, Pipsqueak, you earn it." Her smile, that sisterly one he hated, broadened. "Must be Kerri's influence 'cause we both know you couldn't do it alone."

He put his arm around her shoulders. "That's better."

"It is a cool desk, Mitchell."

He snorted. "The whole fucking house is cool, Aim."

"Yeah, well, I'm still mad it's yours and not mine. Don't push your luck."

Labels: Amy, fiction, Mitchell, outtake

Mitchell watched from the couch, half-amused, as Amy pleaded her case on the other side of the family room. So far, she wasn't doing so hot.

"Mom, it's just a movie!"

"Not with a boy we haven't met yet, Amy," their mother said placidly. Mitchell watched her more than Amy, actually, fascinated by the way that she got calmer the more Amy yelled and whined. He wanted to shut Amy up somehow; she was getting as bad as Beth. Boys, boys, boys.

He shook his head and tossed his baseball into the air, catching it so easily, he didn't even have to think about it. There was more to life than boys.

Baseball, for example.

And, he thought, trying not to grin too bright in case Ma or Amy saw it and flew off the handle, thinking he was smiling at them, girls.

"Well, if you drive me there, you can meet him then," Amy tried.

"How's he getting there?"

Amy looked down at the carpet and twisted her shoulders back and forth. Mitchell's grin grew; this was going to be good. "He just said he'd meet me there, out front, and if he wasn't there five minutes before, it wasn't his fault and we'd try another time."

Mitchell sat up and leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he kept playing with the baseball. Ma was going to hate that excuse. She didn't go in for situations that involved if, unless they were science experiments.

Sure enough, Ma was frowning. "That doesn't sound like a dependable young man," she said. She gave Amy one of those long looks down her nose, the kind that made all of them squirm. Amy folded her arms behind her back and kept staring at the carpet, her shoulders still twisting as she fidgeted.

"Amy, are you sure this is the sort of boy you want to be with?" The question was gentle, which surprised Mitchell. He'd thought Ma was ready for some strong action. The fact that she wasn't was almost a let-down.

Amy crossed her arms over her chest and scowled as she nodded. Mitchell tossed his baseball again and kept quiet. Things were about to get good. Getting kicked out now would not be smart.

"Why?" Ma asked and folded her hands over her knees, like she did when she really wanted to listen.

Amy shrugged. "'Cause he's neat. He's different from the other boys. He's not a loser like Pipsqueak." She jerked her chin at him.

"Hey!" he said, his brain already in hyperdrive, thinking of ways to get back at her for what was sure to be his imminent eviction from the room.

"Leave your brother out of this," Ma said in that same calm voice, but Mitchell could tell, as he shot her a grateful look, that she was losing patience. "I will not drive you to the movies to meet this young man who may or may not be there," she said and stood up. What she said next was going to be the judge's verdict. Mitchell bit back another smile, thinking that social studies had been good for something more than a place to sit and daydream.

"If you want to go, find your own way there," Ma said.

She left the room and Mitchell tossed the baseball again, fighting the temptation to torment Amy somehow. It'd be fun to throw the baseball at her and leave a bruise for this movie date that might not happen, but Ma would kill him for that. Not worth it. Besides, he'd feel bad every time he had to look at the bruise, and bruises took a couple of days to fade.

"Any ideas?" Amy asked him glumly.

He shrugged. "What do I know? I'm just a pipsqueak."

She flounced out of the room and slammed her bedroom door behind her. Ma stuck her head out of the kitchen and frowned at the noise; Mitchell shrugged and sprawled on his back on the couch, still tossing the ball. It was sort of a bummer that Amy's new dude wasn't going to show up at the house. She'd been chasing around some pretty interesting guys lately.

That meant the sort that Dad and Ma hated.

Which meant that maybe Mitchell ought to be trying harder to get Golden Girl to that movie theater. Anything that got Amy in trouble was worth the effort, especially when he could conveniently get himself off the hook at the same time.

There wasn't much a thirteen-year-old kid could do to help out, though, and before Mitchell could come up with even a bad plan, Beth was coming out of the girls' bedroom and talking softly to Ma.

"I'll be right there with her, Mom. Nothing will happen. I'll… I'll take Pipsqueak and we'll sit in the back row and keep an eye on them."

Mitchell covered his face with his baseball glove. The last thing he wanted to do was sit through some movie Amy was sure to have picked. She went for that sappy romantic shit.

"Maybe letting her get stood up by this boy isn't such a bad idea," Ma said thoughtfully.

Mitchell tossed his baseball and wondered why.

An hour later, he and Beth were standing near the popcorn counter, watching Amy talk to her guy. Mitchell recognized him, sort of. He was in Mitchell's grade, but that didn't mean much. So were five hundred other kids.

This kid stood out, though, because he wore a jean jacket all the time, and had long brown hair. Like… below his shoulders long. Mitchell, who'd recently convinced Dad to let him grow out the brush cut he hated, couldn't see letting his own get like that. He wasn't going to start skipping classes, either.

Beth leaned over to him. "Looks like Perfect Amy's doing some rebelling," she said.

Mitchell shrugged.

"This could be fun," Beth continued in a taunting voice, like she was challenging Mitchell to something. He wasn't sure what, though, and again, he shrugged. Ma always said it was rude to not answer at all and that even a gesture was enough, so Mitchell spent a lot of time shrugging and not a lot of time actually speaking. No one seemed to mind.

"Beth, Pi-- Mitchell, this is Trevor," Amy said, leading him inside.

The other kid stared at Mitchell. "I know you." He nodded like it all made sense. "You saved my ass that one time at lunch."

Mitchell shrugged. So he'd seen Asshole Jerry sticking his foot out, ready to trip Trevor and send him flying. It hadn't been hard to ruin Asshole Jerry's plans with a quick gesture at Trevor. After all, that had to be the oldest trick in the book, the one that everyone was on to. Mitchell couldn't respect someone who took that route.

"Thanks for that," Trevor said, giving Mitchell a companionable chuck to the shoulder. "I'd have probably gotten expelled again if he'd dumped me."

Mitchell looked over his shoulder, frowning. The guy had touched him.

"That didn't hurt, you wuss," Amy said to him. She fidgeted some more, wringing her hands. Trevor made a point of separating them and holding onto one.

"Do you guys really have to watch the movie, too?" Amy asked, biting back a smile as she stared at her hand in Trevor's.

"Well, here's the thing," Trevor said, a smile playing at his lips. "If you think I'm gonna sit through some lovey shit like I said I would, you've got another thing coming. No, babe, we're gonna see the thriller. See if we can throw popcorn at the bad guys." He nodded like it was all settled.

"But…" Amy said.

"But nothing," Trevor said with a definitive nod. "We can make that sappy shit happen ourselves. But how often do you get to take on the bad guys and save the world?"

Mitchell nodded. He liked the way this guy thought. Well, other than being romantic with Amy. That thought made his skin crawl.

Beth was grinning. "So you mean," she drawled and tossed her long whitish-blonde hair over her shoulder, "you're teaching our little Amy that it's okay to fib a bit to our parents?"

Trevor looked her over for a long minute. Mitchell half-expected Beth to fidget like Amy was, but she didn't. "Got a problem with that?" he asked, sticking his tongue into his cheek. Mitchell wondered if he was trying to challenge Beth -- and if he had any idea how fast she'd put him in his place if he tried.

"Only that it took her this long to find you," Beth said, her voice warming like she liked this guy. Mitchell knew he did; he wondered what it would take for Trevor to dump Amy and be his friend instead.

"Stick with me," Trevor said, nodding firmly. "I've got lots to teach the three of you."

Mitchell shrugged and hoped that he'd get to learn some of it.

Labels: Amy, creative writing, fiction, Mitchell, outtake, Trevor

Patterson had called to say he was due home sooner than originally expected, so Sonya was absorbed in getting dinner together when it all began. She felt rushed; she'd spent the day helping a friend try to make sense of a temporary bookkeeper's disaster, and Sonya and her friend had quit for the day still wondering if they were seeing the numbers correctly. She had brought some of the paperwork home for Patterson to look over; while he wasn't a figures sort of man, he was sure to know some at the office who were.

With all of that on her mind, it wasn't surprising that she barely paid attention when Mitchell and Trevor slunk through the kitchen, an unfamiliar girl between them. And she was too focused on defrosting the ground beef to dwell on the fact that Trevor was alone when he returned to the kitchen and asked, with his fake innocent air, if he could help.

Sonya handed Trevor a knife and the onion she'd been trying to chop while she rummaged in the vegetable bin for the broccoli. The boy went to work without complaining, but again, she was too wrapped up in the idea of dinner to think much about that anomaly, either. It was just a relief to have the extra set of willing hands.

When Amy screeched, she jumped three feet, taking the skillet with her. Mostly defrosted ground beef and unevenly chopped onion splattered her arms; Sonya banged the pan back on its burner. "Amy Christina, this had better be life-or-death!"

"Mom! You have got to see what Mitchell's doing now!" Amy rushed into the kitchen, her face as pale as her hair. She chewed worriedly on her lower lip and gestured over her shoulder with an unusual urgency.

Trevor's snicker stuck in Sonya's brain and she turned to him, considering.

"Let me go see," she said calmly, reaching for a kitchen towel to wipe her hands and arms off with. "You tend the meat," she told Amy and crossed the family room and up the three stairs to the sleeping wing of the house, her daughter's protests about cooking falling on uncaring ears.

Carefully, quietly, she opened the door to the boys' room, and peeked inside. Mitchell and the girl were wrapped around each other, mostly covered by the bedsheets, his hair hiding both their faces.

She cleared her throat.

Mitchell's head jerked around, his eyes wide and scared, his mouth open in surprise. The girl bit back a guilty and panicked sound as Mitchell said, "Ma!" He started to scrabble at the sheets, pulling them up closer around himself and his girl, trying to soothe her at the same time.

Sonya couldn't stop the smile at the sight of her son's swollen lips -- and devotion to someone he'd probably never met before, knowing Trevor. "If your friend would like to stay for dinner, just let me know and I'll set an extra place," she said and closed the door again.

She didn't need to press her ear to the door to hear their sighs of relief. But she did need a minute to lean against the wall and laugh. That little scene was something she knew Trevor had been working on for a few weeks now and while she supposed that as a mother, she ought to be yelling at her youngest for having sex under her roof, she and Patterson were liberal enough to know their home was the best choice. Lord only knew the sort of places Trevor would drag Mitchell to next time if she made a fuss now.

Trevor, on the other hand… Amy, too.

Sonya pushed herself away from the wall beside Mitchell's door, gritting her teeth. Trevor had set Amy up for that intrusion; of that, she had no doubt. It was probably the only reason why Trevor had brought Mitchell and his friend back to the house.

Regardless of whether or not she'd been set up, Amy knew better than to go into the boys' room without knocking first. A closed door meant something in the Voss household, regardless of what lies Trevor had told her. Just as other families had inviolable rules about who did what chore on what day, the Voss family had rules about what a closed door meant.

Amy and Trevor were arguing in the kitchen, probably about what had just transpired. And something was starting to smell overcooked.

That needed to be dealt with before Patterson got home. Time was running short and now Sonya wasn't exactly certain how many she'd be cooking for. While she doubted the girl would stay, Mitchell could very well want some time to himself. A boy didn't lose his virginity every day, and a boy as sensitive as Mitchell was bound to need the time to make sense of what he'd just done.

Amy and Trevor, on the other hand… Yes, Sonya told herself as she straightened the hem of her shirt. Something was starting to smell overcooked in that kitchen of hers, all right.

Labels: Amy, creative writing, fiction, Mitchell, outtake, Sonya, Trevor