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If I had been honest with him, I would have told him that I wasn't all that impressed by a miniature dinosaur-looking creature with a green bulb-like thing on its back, but I liked him. So, I nodded and replied, "Totally."
14 year-old Kyle entered the room moments later and asked us to leave so he could play Call of Duty with his friends.
"You have a TV in your room," I said as I kept my eyes trained on Ash's cartoon face.
"I told you guys I needed the TV this afternoon," Kyle argued. "Remember? Yesterday? When you were hogging the living room, then, too?"
Matt sat up straighter and whined, "But we just started the movie."
Kyle crossed his arms over his chest. "Doesn't Jenny have a living room? With a TV?"
"Yeah, but her parents have one of those lame, old, square ones. It doesn't work for our wide-screen viewing pleasure," he retorted.
Kyle walked over to the TV and gave us both an icy glare. "It's my turn. Get out."
"Seriously," I groaned, "you have a flat screen in your room. Go play there."
"No," Kyle challenged me. "You don't live here so go home."
I stood from my spot on the couch. "Make me."
His eyes darted between Matt and me. "Fine."
I watched, in horror, as he ripped the black cord from the wall, then from the back of the DVD player before striding out of the room. Matt stood up the moment the TV screen went black.
"Come on, Kyle!" he yelled as we looked at each other.
We both chased after him and found him rummaging around in the kitchen, looking for something. When Kyle produced a pair of scissors, I lost it.
"Don't you dare!" I hissed as he held the cord up for us both to see.
Kyle winked at me before cutting the cord in half.
I wanted to strangle him with my bare hands.
Matt slapped the kitchen counter in frustration, but all I could see was red. Blinding rays of crimson and scarlet and ruby.
I had never been violent with anyone before. Mom had always told me we solve our problems with our words, not our fists. Tommy got into a lot of physical fights when he was in middle school. Don't ask me why. Probably had something to do with that smart mouth of his. But Mom was adamant there was no hitting, punching or kicking in our home. Or anywhere else for that matter.
So, when I pulled my fist back before flinging it forward, straight into Kyle's chest, I knew I would be in the biggest trouble of my life.
"Jenny Kearns!" I heard Diane shout. "What is going on in here?"
Needless to say, I was sent home and had to write an apology letter to Kyle. Mom gave me her most disappointed look and said, "I raised you better than this, Jenny. You know how I feel about hitting."
I rolled my eyes as I returned to my apology letter. It went a little something like this:
Dear Kyle,
I'm sorry you didn't get to play COD with your stupid friends. I'm also sorry you're a big-headed jerk who can't figure out how to use the TV in his room. If I knew I would get in trouble, I would have hit you harder.
Sincerely,
Jenny M. Kearns
Mom asked to read the letter, but I told her I had already sealed it in an envelope and its contents were very personal. For some reason, she wasn't smart enough to read it before she sent me over to hand deliver it. I had angrily knocked on his bedroom door. When he opened it, I didn't say anything, I just shoved the letter into his hands and tried to make a beeline for the stairs.
But he stopped me.
