“Hey, Quin. You all done?” Teagan asks.
I throw my arms around her and pull her into a hug, knowing she’d never do it if I left it up to her. “Yes. All done.” I draw back and hand her the papers. “It’s all in here, with a report and list of stuff all laid out. It should be really easy for him to see what’s going on. Then he can pay an expert to do it the official way.”
I look over at Mick. “Hey,” I say, all nonchalant, like I have hot guys driving up in front of my house every day. No big.
“Hey,” he says, a lazy smile coming over his face. “What’s up?”
I shrug. “Nothing much.” Turning my attention back to Teagan, I smile again. “So, you off to your appointment?” I can ignore hot guys like they’re not there. Invisible hot guys. I can’t see you, Mick. I’m too cool for that.
“Yeah. You want to come?”
“Can’t. I gotta watch Jersey.”
Teagan nods her understanding, but Mick laughs. “You watch that show?”
“What show?” I’m momentarily confused, knowing I’m somehow being mocked but now sure how or why.
Mick is about to answer, but then he’s suddenly distracted. His mouth freezes halfway open and his gaze shifts to focus on something behind me.
Jersey’s voice comes over my shoulders. “Put it on … lick it off …”
I roll my eyes as Teagan smiles.
“Yo, Jersey, how’s it hangin’?” she asks.
I look over at Mick, suddenly nervous about what he’ll think. I hate that I’m feeling this way, so it instantly pisses me off. Mostly at him but also at myself. I’ve been dealing with reactions to my brother for more years than I care to think about, and it never gets any easier. If anything, it’s tougher. I hate that the world is so judgmental, because there is no one on this planet with a bigger, squishier heart than my Jersey boy.
Jersey stops at my side, staring at Teagan. “Hi, Tea-Tea. I have chapstick.”
“I can see that,” she says, battling to keep the smile from turning into a laugh. “Looks good on you, buddy.”
“I have to put it on and lick it off. I can’t bite it. Sister says only assholes eat chapstick.”
Mick snorts and Teagan turns around, suddenly interested in the neighbor’s lawn across the street.
I grit my teeth to keep calm. “Go back in the house, Jersey.”
“You can’t see me,” he says, staring at Mick.
“I can’t?” Mick looks at me. “Is he talking to me?”
“Don’t make fun of him,” I say, my anger hitting level-ten in an instant.
Mick frowns. “I’m not.”
“You can’t see me. I’m invisible,” says Jersey, stepping towards Mick.
I grab Jersey by the arm. “In the house, turd basket, or I’m telling Mom.”
“Mom’s a damn liar,” he says.
Teagan is chuckling but she does a great job of keeping most of it controlled. I’m torn between laughing and crying, knowing Mick is standing there judging me and my brother and finding us lacking. I hate Mick for that.
“I’ve gotta go,” I say, defeat and disappointment lacing my voice. “Come on, Jersey,” I say, taking him by the hand.
“I want to talk to him,” he says, pointing to Mick.
“He doesn’t want to talk to you, though, so come on.” I tug on his arm, but he’s stuck to the ground like a statue.
“Hey, I never said that.” Mick steps forward, like he’s going to follow us.
I lean towards him and drop my voice so Jersey won’t hear. “Hey, no offense, but fuck off, okay?”
Mick leans away, his expression going dark. “No offense? Kind of hard to not take offense to that, don’t you think?”
I close my eyes to get a grip on my anger.
Jersey pulls his hand out of mine and walks over to Mick, taking his instead. “Come on. I’ll show you how to be invisible. You can use my chapstick if you don’t bite it.”
Mick actually takes a few steps with Jersey before I intervene. “Hey! That’s enough, okay?”
“Mick, I’m leaving,” says Teagan, giving me a hopeless look. “My appointment’s downtown at four-thirty.”
“Go ahead without me. Rebel’s meeting you there.” Mick continues on towards my house.
“What the fuck?” I say, looking from Teagan to Mick’s back. He’s getting closer and closer to my front steps.
“I guess he’s going to hang with Jersey for a little while.” Teagan leans in and gives me a quick hug, which is enough to shock me into silence. She never ever does that.
“I have to go. I’ll swing by in about an hour and pick him up if he’s still here.”
“But … but … he can’t be here.”
“Why not? Jersey invited him in to play. He’s going to show him the whole put-it-on-lick-it-off thing.” Teagan’s smiling again.
“Would you quit that!” I finally yell.
“Quit what?” she says, getting into her car.
“Quit smiling and hugging me and shit! That’s not … normal! Not for you!”
She starts up her car and pulls away from the curb. “Have fun!” she shouts as she disappears down the road.
I stand out on my front walk, trying to decide what to do. It’s not like I have much choice, really, but it feels like I’ve just entered another dimension or something. A place where bad boys come over and have play dates with developmentally challenged little brothers … little brothers who have to go to the doctor.
“Oh, fuck me sideways. I forgot his appointment.” I run into the house, yelling for Jersey to get his cape off so we can get to the doctor’s office and hopefully talk our way into being seen, even though we’re two hours late for the appointment.
CHAPTER FOUR
WE’RE SITTING IN THE WAITING room, the three of us: Jersey, Mick, and I. Any other doctor would probably punish us for being so late and either turn us away or make us wait until the last person left the place, but not this guy. Doc Harper is the most righteously awesome medical person I’ve ever met. He’s been treating Jersey since he was born and I hope he never retires. I’ll probably just show up at his house if he tries.
Mick is sitting across the room from me, taking the chapstick from Jersey over and over and pretending to put it on and lick it off right along with him. I want to keep hating him for being nice and sexy at the same time, but that makes no sense. I’m not so confused that I don’t realize that. I also want to be mad about him being here, but he’s made that impossible. I’m starting to seriously doubt that he was mocking us earlier. What kind of guy bonds with a kid like Jersey and then goes to the doctor with him off the cuff like that? I pray he’s not a pervert, because damn. He is too hot for LA, if that’s even possible. I will kill him with my bare hands if he’s playing me or my brother, though. No amount of hotness is going to save him from that.
“Tastes good, huh?” Jersey asks.
“Yep. Tastes good.” Mick hands him the chapstick and glances at me before going back to looking at my brother.
I think I scared him earlier with my bitch attack. He hasn’t talked to me since we were on the front lawn of my house. I sigh heavily, thinking how much I hate having to apologize for my mouth. It’s not the first time this kind of thing has happened, with me jumping to the wrong conclusion where my brother is concerned. But no one who’s lived a year in my shoes would blame me. Jersey’s been bullied, harassed, and even physically hurt by guys who don’t get him or his issues, so I’m hypersensitive to it now. It’s the main reason I give him so much shit myself. I guess it’s my way of helping to toughen him up for the real world.
My mom has this irrational need to get Jersey self-sufficient and supporting himself by the time he’s twenty-one. She’s convinced she’s going to die young and leave her poor baby alone in the world to fend for himself, and no assurances on my part will sway her from thinking otherwise. It might have something to do with the fact that I threaten to put him in a home on a fairly regular basis
, but she knows I’m kidding. I’d cut off my right arm for Jersey, that’s a fact.
“Doctor Harper Harper Harper,” Jersey says, getting off the ground and standing up to meet the main man.
“Jersey, Jersey, Jersey … how are you doing today?”
“I got chapstick.”
“I can see that. What flavor is it?” Doc Harper gestures for us to follow him into one of the exam rooms. He knows better than to have us wait in there. Jersey is pure hell to keep out of the tongue depressors and cotton balls; the waiting room is safer for everyone until the doctor is ready to see him.
“Grape. It’s very grapey. Come on, Mickey Mouse, come with us.” Jersey holds out his hand for Mick.
Mick hesitates, looking from the doctor to me to Jersey.
“You’re welcome to join us if you’d like,” Doc Harper says, giving me a knowing smile.
“He’s not with me,” I say, holding up my hands at my chest and waving them back and forth. “He’s Jersey’s new BFF.”
The doctor stops and frowns at all of us.
“Nah, man, I know her,” says Mick, his face going a little red. “It’s not like that. I’m with her too.” He glares at me.
“What?” I say, mystified as to why I’m on the shit list now.
“That’s fine,” says the doctor, walking again. “If Jersey wants one of his sister’s friends to join us, I’m okay with it.”
“I can wait out here, that’s fine,” Mick says, backing up towards his chair.
“No! Come on, Mickey Mouse.” Jersey leans over and takes his hand, pulling on it really hard.
Mick stops his retreat.
I thank the stars that he knows enough not to fight Jersey on this. When the little turd gets something in his head, there’s not a whole lot that will get it out until he’s good and ready. There are times when we put our foot down and tell him no and then deal with the fallout, but the doctor’s office is not one of those places.
I mouth the words, Thank you, at Mick as he walks by, but he doesn’t acknowledge me at all. I grit my teeth together to keep from following up my gratitude with a little F-U action. How dare he not be under my spell, forgiving me for everything I do wrong with just a bat of my long black eyelashes. What’s up with that?
Once we’re all in the room with Jersey on the exam table, Mick standing in the corner of the room, and me in the chair, the doctor begins his examination.
“So, Jersey, what’s new?” He feels Jersey’s skull through his hair. I have no idea why he always does that. Maybe he’s checking for bumps. The kid is pretty klutzy.
“I got a chapstick and I’m not an asshole so I don’t eat it. See?” He holds it out in front of him, waiting to make sure the doctor is giving him his full attention. “I put it on …” He smears it all around his mouth. “….And then I lick it off.” His tongue comes out and gives the lower half of his face a bath.
The doctor is used to Jersey’s b.s., so he doesn’t even crack a smile. “Interesting. Can I see that chapstick?”
“Yes. And you can use it too.” Jersey hands it over.
The doctor squints as he reads the label. “I’m not sure using too much of this chapstick will be a good idea for you, Jersey. Do you want to know why?” He hands the chapstick back.
“Yes. I want to know why. I always want to know why.”
“Because it has a lot of ingredients in it that might eventually irritate the skin on your face. And when you put it on your lips, it gets on your face too. Do you understand?”
Jersey sits there silently, and I tense up when I see the mutinous expression begin to appear on his face.
“Oh, man, that’s not good,” says Mick. “I got a rash from a chapstick once. I stayed awake all night scratching it. When I woke up the next day, I looked like a clown with a big red mouth.”
Jersey whips his head sideways to look at Mick, his expression now closer to terror. “I hate clowns.”
Mick nods. “Yeah, man. Me too. They freak me out.”
“Clowns freak me out,” says Jersey, turning back to the doctor. “Here. You take it.” He gives him the chapstick.
Doctor Harper puts it in his pocket. “I’m going to give you a special chapstick that you can use one time after each meal, okay? Three times a day. That’s all. If you only use it three times a day, there will be no rash.”
“Does it taste good?”
“Not really,” the doctor says, frowning. “Is that a problem?”
Jersey sighs. “No, I guess not. I like to lick things that don’t taste that good sometimes.”
“Is that so?” asks the doctor, looking in Jersey’s ears and then checking his eyes. “Like what?”
“I licked cat food once.”
Mick looks at the ceiling, visibly controlling his laughter. I roll my eyes, knowing we’re about to get a list of all the times Jersey was left unsupervised. My mom leaves cat food out on the back porch for a couple strays. I wonder how many of these taste-tests happened while I was supposed to be watching him.
“Cat food’s okay. I wouldn’t recommend you eat it very often, but it won’t hurt you.” The doctor turns on his little flashlight and shows it to Jersey. “Open wide.”
Jersey opens his mouth and waits about two seconds before revealing more awful stuff. “I licked the floor in the kitchen. Mom said Sister has to make it so clean you can eat off it, so I did.”
I drop my head into my left hand, knowing he had to have licked some seriously gross crap that day since I never clean as well as my mom wants me to. Time to up my game in the floor-cleaning department, I guess.
“I don’t recommend any more floor-licking. Lots of germs on the floor being tracked in by dirty shoes,” says the doctor, banging Jersey’s knees with the little rubber hammer.
“My turn!” Jersey yells, startling all of us. He holds out his hand for the mallet.
“Just one time.” Doc Harper hands it over and waits. We all wait. Mick even stands still, not knowing what’s about to happen but obviously interested in finding out.
Jersey holds up the tiny hammer in front of his face and turns slowly around the room. “Who needs their flexes checked?”
“Reflexes,” I say. “It’s reflexes, not flexes.”
“Mickey Mouse!” He slides off the table and walks over to where Mick is standing. With one fell swoop, he leans down and hammers the shit out of the poor guy’s knee.
“Holy shii….” Mick says, leaning down and putting his hand on his leg.
“Ha! Your flexes are working!” Jersey yells, smiling as he returns to his former spot. He puts the hammer in the doctor’s waiting hand and gets back up on the exam table.
“We all good?” Doc Harper asks.
“Yeah. Mickey Mouse is very healthy.”
I cannot look at Mick. My stomach is burning with the pain of not laughing at him. He totally asked for it, offering to come to the doctor and lick chapstick all day. This’ll teach him to think before he acts all nice next time.
“Okay, now it’s time for the questions,” says the doctor, taking a clipboard in hand. “You ready?”
“I’m ready.” Jersey nods and focuses on the floor. “Go, team, go.”
“What day is it today?”
“It’s the day after Wednesday and the day before Friday which is Thursday. It’s Thursday all day long until midnight.”
“Very good. Who are the people in this room with you today?”
“Sister, Doc Harper Harper Harper, and Mickey Mouse.”
“Is Mickey Mouse a person or a cartoon?”
“Mickey Mouse is a cartoon in Disney and he’s a man over there in the corner and he likes my sister. I saw him looking at her with sparkling eyes.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper. I stare at the floor, knowing there’s no way I can stop this freight train. When Jersey gets on a roll, no one can stop him. No one who doesn’t want a giant tantrum on their hands can, anyway.
I can hear the doctor’s smile in his voice. “Spa
rkling, huh? Sounds serious. Tell me how old you are.”
“I’m twelve. I’m in the sixth grade. I’m very smart in a special way. I’m different, not less. Sister says I have half a brain.”
My face flames red. I have the slight urge to explain but I don’t bother. This will just go down in the records as me being a questionable influence, once again. I’m used to it.
“Uhhh … okay. And what are your plans for tomorrow?”
“I don’t know for sure about anything except for one thing.”
“What’s that?” the doctor asks.
“I’m not going to lick that chapstick or that floor anymore. I don’t want a rash.”
“Good idea.”
“What about other things?” Jersey asks.
I look up, not sure where this is going. Jersey has the doctor’s full attention too.
“What other things?” the doctor asks. “What do you mean?”
“If someone told me to lick something else, is that okay?”
My heart stops beating and my throat goes instantly dry. I stand without thinking, reaching out for my brother. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mick straighten up.
The doctor tucks his clipboard under his arm, his voice revealing none of the panic that I’m feeling. “Well, that would depend on what it was, I guess. You can lick pretty much any food item, but that might be the limit as far as I’m concerned.”
Jersey looks off to the side, staring at the wall for his next question. “What about a cat poo? Would that be okay to lick?”
The doctor clears his throat. “Um, no. That would definitely not be okay to lick. There are lots of bacteria in cat poo.”
“Good,” says Jersey, getting down off the exam table, breathing a sigh of relief. “Cuz they taste pretty bad. I’m not going to do that ever again, either.” He holds out his hand. “I’m done now, Doctor Harper Harper Harper. Have a nice day.” After shaking the doctor’s hand, he leaves the room. The door remains open behind him.