Gerard rolled his eyes. “I’ll be spending some time with Lindsey before she goes on tour. So I found you a babysitter.” Seeing that I was trying to make the connections between a babysitter and what it had to do with the lead singer of Cobra Starship dressed up like a kitchen maid, he motioned towards Gabe and then to me. “Babysitter? Yeah? You feel?”
“Oh.” I said. “Oh. No. Oh, no, no, no.”

“Dad? Can’t I go with you? Please?” I begged. Gabe looked offended that I didn’t want to spend time with him. I didn’t. Being shoved into a babysitting situation with a dude that you and your friend [read: only you] had fangirled over when you were 13 [and still continue to, even though you are 15 and very mature] was totally not cool.
“I’m afraid not, Helena.” Gerard sighed with a straight face. “Not after you brightly informed your grandfather over dinner that if the octopus he was eating was, in fact, male, then one of its legs would be its-” He shook his head. “Never mind. Point remains; you are not coming with us. You will be staying with this lovely young man and your little sister and do your homework. Maybe Gabe can help you with your French homework.”
“Gabe speaks Spanish,” I said.
“I speak Spanish,” Gabe said at the same time.
Gerard flung his arms open and made a swirly gesture as if to indicate that we were already best friends. Lindsey giggled and pecked Bandit on the cheek before giving me a hug as my father instructed Gabe on how I was not to go anywhere near the toaster without supervision, how I was not to touch the red cordial, and how no one was allowed to go into the living room without shoes on because Bandit had spilled her Legos on the ground earlier in the day and the evil plastic pieces had a life of their own.
Before I knew it, the happy couple had swooped out of the house. The slamming of the door echoed through the hallway and I stared balefully at Gabe. He stared balefully back at me. Bandit sat down in the middle of the floor and began doodling with a bright orange crayon that she had produced from some unknown pocket of her many pocketed jacket.
“So, uh.” I moved in the vague direction of the kitchen, but found myself blocked by over 6 feet of Uruguayan musician.
“Oh no you don’t,” he yelled, waving a spatula threateningly as he tried to stop my advances towards the temple of the Mighty Refrigerator and the Microwave of Justice. “You’re not going anywhere near that toaster!”
“But I need coffee,” I whined, dropping my schoolbag with a loud thud and redoubling my efforts. Everywhere I moved, there seemed to be an arm, or a leg, or a kitchen appliance defending the doorway where the caffeine resided. I wanted coffee. I craved coffee. I needed coffee, and gods forbid that Gabriel Eduardo Saporta stood in the way between me and my one true love.
Taking a deep breath, I charged forwards. I had almost, just almost reached my goal before a hand gripped the back of my shirt and hauled me back.
“You,” growled Gabe, “Are not burning the place down within ten minutes of your father leaving.” I flailed my arms and let out an inhuman howl as I launched myself at the coffee machine. My babysitter grimaced at the sound. “Well, if there was any doubt that you were a Way…”
Admitting defeat, I mumbled, “If I can’t go near the kitchen, then you’ve got to make me coffee. Or I will probably pass out. I spent my afternoon sweeping up chewed fingernails, bits of paper, and regurgitated pumpkin.”
“How the hell did you manage to do that?” Gabe sounded impressed.
“I may or may not have accidentally stared at a girl for about half of French class and pissed off her ex-boyfriend. And the teacher.” I hid my face in my hands and groaned. “I hate zoning out and then realising that I was creepily smiling at someone. For like, half an hour. It’s mortifying.”
I heard him laugh before moving towards the coffee machine and filling it up. “How do you take your coffee?”
*
“Finally!” I made grabby hands as Gabe stirred in the last teaspoon of sugar. “Coffee. Coooofffeee. Oh, sweet caffeinated drinks. Wait. Hang on a second.” I sniffed the air. “Gabe, do you smell that?”
There was a second set of loud sniffs. “Yeah, I do. It’s like something’s-”
My heart sank. If my life was a movie, the instruments in the backing track would have soared and my turn would have been in slow motion.
“Burning,” I finished as we stared in defeat at one of the pots on the stove. There were a few moments of silence before a flurry of activity.
“Shit! Shit! Collie, get the fire blanket!”
“How do you know half my middle name? And don’t swear when Bandit’s in the house!” I dodged a flying leg as Gabe ducked away from a column of flame. “Fucking hell mate! Watch where your fucking foot’s going!” [Since when did I morph into Ryan?]
Gabe brandished a saucepan lid at the fiery inferno that was supposed to be our dinner, as if waving it around in a threatening manner would somehow cow the flames into submission. “Oh shit!” He dropped my coffee.
“NOOO!” I howled as I watched my beverage [and any dreams and hopes for the future left in my dark little soul after the bus incident] hit the floor. I dropped to my knees and wondered how many germs were on the kitchen tiles and if it would be unsanitary to try to ingest it.
“You,” shouted Gabe as he prodded the pan, “Are completely useless.”
“You dropped my coffee!”
“If it wasn’t for your fucking coffee, our dinner would not have combusted!”
“Arrggghhh!”
*
Gabe stared mournfully at the remains of the stew. Bandit wrinkled her nose at the sour, burnt tang that lingered in the kitchen air. I prodded at the thick layer of black…stuff. “So, uh, what are we going to eat now?”
“I want apple pie,” announced Bandit from the table.
“I’m not sure that constitutes as dinner,” Gabe frowned.
“Apple pie!” insisted Bandit, tugging on his sleeve. Gabe looked at me. I looked back at him and shrugged. “There’s a McDonald’s down the road. I guess we can go there for dinner.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, Gabe seemed to go into some sort of super-parent mode that I had only seen happen to my mother once before when I told her I wanted to go to Soundwave. He ducked out of the kitchen, firing off a text to someone [possibly my father?] and grabbing a black bundle that he threw at me.
“What the fur-?” I started, shaking out what looked like a shirt. “Holy shitake mushrooms. Is this what I think it possibly is?” A wise nod was my response as I squinted at the white text on the ‘PLEASE CALL GABE SAPORTA’ shirt.
“Well, if you get lost, they know who to call.”
“For goodness’ sakes, Gabe, I’m 15! I’m practically an adult. What about Bandit? Shouldn’t you be more worried about if she wanders off?”
A world wearing sigh and an eye roll was my response, which I returned with equal sarcasm. “Collie, Bandit’s 4. If anyone sees her on her own, alarm bells will go off in their head. You, however, are much more dangerous. You are older. You can walk around without adult supervision and not be detected. You must be watched.”
“You make me sound like a computer virus,” I grumbled before tugging the shirt over my uniform as Gabe herded me and Bandit towards the front door.
*
The McDonald’s down the road was mostly empty, the only patrons being an elderly couple sipping lattes and a group of teenage boys down the back. Bandit rushed up to the counter and began rattling off her order to the amused looking lady, before adding in ‘a cheeseburger’ for ‘that one’ [she pointed to me] and ‘a very big cheeseburger’ for ‘the other one’ [she pointed to Gabe].
“Oh, no,” I said for what was probably the sixteenth time that day. “Gabe, hide me.”
The person in question looked up, and mumbled something unintelligible and vaguely questioning through a mouthful of burger. Bandit continued happily pulling apart her fries.
“Remember that asswipe I told you about earlier today? The one I got into a fight with?” A quick nod was my response. “Yeah. Uh. He and his buddies seem to be residing in the back corner. And. Uh. I think he’s noticed us.”
Gabe hastily threw his [bright purple and very noticeable] hoodie over me and shoved me towards the ground, parking Bandit’s chair in front of me for good measure. Unfortunately, it was too late and Ryan’s feet stopped a few centimetres from my nose.
“Oi, new girl, is that you?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and hugged the fabric closer, adopting the Ostrich Method [if you can’t see it, it can’t see you and will therefore leave you alone]. A few more moments and it was obvious that he wasn’t leaving. Time for Plan B: denial.
“Uh…no…”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not. Gabe, back me up here.” I lifted the hem of the jacket and sat up.
My babysitter jerked a thumb towards the tables behind him. “I’m backing her up. Get lost, kid.”
Ryan regarded him through eyes covered by greasy hair. I tried to avoid the odour of a full can of Lynx that was flowing off him, but to no avail. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Who the fuck am I not?” snarked Gabe, reiterating his points with a fangs up symbol and then pointing towards the back. “Go away. You stink. Like, literally.”
A pair of beady little eyes were narrowed. Prehistoric teeth were gnashed. Neanderthal muscles were flexed. Oh no.
With all the grace of a decomposing zombie, I stuck my foot out as Ryan charged, grabbed an umbrella out of my bag [thank Tori, she was always telling me that if I bet against Mother Nature, I was sure to lose], and detonated it in his face.
The enemy bounced off my hastily constructed shield of water-resistant fabric. Bandit, catching on to the situation, smeared a chubby hand full of squashed potato into the already oil filled face of my now certain nemesis, who ran off, spluttering and swearing.
“Uh,” Bandit said, tugging on my sleeve and pointing backwards. I turned around to meet the stern eyes of the restaurant manager.
“Oh, no.”
*
We were sitting in the car. “Now what?” Gabe asked.
“Now what? Now what? Gabe, you just got us kicked out of McDonald’s! For, like, life! This is all your fault! What am I going to do in the future when I need cheap, crappy, artery clogging food?”
“Uh…go to IKEA?”
“Arrggghhh!”
Bandit pointed down the road as I thumped my head on a nearby cardboard box. “Starbucks? Daddy likes Starbucks.” Gabe looked thoughtful. I looked confused as to why there were boxes full of Cobra merch just sitting there.
“Alrighty then, Lady B, let’s go to Starbucks.”
I held up a hand and a pair of surprisingly nice hotpants. “Woah. Woah. Hold your horses, Saporta. We just got kicked out of McDonalds. I don’t think it’s a good idea letting you loose in yet another food facility. I can’t be banned from Starbucks, man. Their pumpkin spice lattes keep me alive in the later months."
There was a loud and indignant huff. “Fine then.” Gabe crossed his arms and leaned back to glower at me. “Fine. I will bet you that we will not get kicked out of Starbucks.”
I crossed my own arms in response. "Yeah? Fine then. Name your stakes."

Notes

So I hoped that you guys enjoyed this chapter. [Please don't hate me]
Uh...comment and rate please?
Hopefully there will be more updates soon!

~Coke/Mikey