23. Calling Forces

                                    

                                          
Alex was the first one to greet me when I poofed back to the studio. "Welcome back, sis."
                          
I pulled off my olive sweater, leaving me on my white Sunset Curve t-shirt. "Hey, guys."
                          
Reggie didn't lift his eyes from his bass. "Where'd you run off to?"
                          
"Oh, y'know, Luke stuff. He needed closure with his family." I grunted as I kicked my boots towards the couch. They look amazing on and off stage, but the right sole is broken. Mom just had to give me Alex's hand me downs.
                          
"Closure? Yeah, right. You wanted to spend time with him. Writing a secret song, maybe? Or sneaking off to eat pizza?" He poked my ribs as a threat.
                          
I rolled my eyes. "We can't eat pizza... or regular food, for that matter..."
                          
Alex flew his hand into his mouth, then he flashed a grin. "Oh my god. Is... is the Reginald Peter jealous? And of Luke of all people! What is going on?" I just stayed silent, hoping they wouldn't notice my blushing. Why does he keep embarassing me?
                          
Reggie jumped from the couch, face redder than a tomato. "W-what? No, no, no! You're imagining things. I, uh, you're crazy, people."
                          
"M'kayyyy. Very awkward moment. Let's just pretend nothing happened and change the subject," I nervously interrupted. I don't wanna talk about our awkward relationship when we're caressing death.
                          
"Agreed," Reg snapped his fingers. 
                          
"Let's see... Oh! What did Carlos have to say about us?" I sat on the available chair. Before I left, he was talking about a discovery related to his haunted house. What was running in that little kid's mind?
                          
My brother responded: "He thinks we're a chef looking for revenge on our original French dip recipe."
                          
"A chef?" I scoffed. "Given your almost-burning-our-house record, I'm glad it's not true."
                          
"Hey!" His head almost snapped by how fast he turned. "That was one time, okay? Stop bringing it up!"
                          
"Nuh-uh. If we count the accidents in Bobby's house, that'd be, like..." I mentally counted, taking my sweet time, "another three." How they managed to almost burn kitchens and survive is astounding. FYI: assigning the boys the cake portion of birthdays is the worst idea I've had. And I did that twice... because one time wasn't enough for me to learn. My fourteenth birthday cake replaced the cooking charcoal.
                          
Reggie shrugged. "I like Carlos' theory more than what we actually are. I love French dip."
                          
Then, a jolt attacked the three of us. I don't know how they continue to hurt deeper and last longer. For instance, this time, I dropped to my knees.
                          
I grabbed the table for support and so that I could stand up. "We're doomed."
                          
Alex sighed. "The faster we admit our inevitable demise, the less it will hurt."
                          
"Speak for yourself, I'm re-dying over here!" the bassist grunted.
                          
¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫
                          
After Luke joined us, things went pretty quiet. He had told Jules about our ghost club situation, so, in the minimum, we wouldn't have to lie or disappear without trace.
                          
I rested my head on his arm while I did a horrible sketch of Alex balancing a drumstick on his nose. Reggie, on the other hand, stared into nothing, plucking and clutching his shiny red instrument.
                          
Suddenly, Julie opened the garage door. We didn't notice her until she screamed: "Snap out of it!"
                          
A drumstick landed on my head, but the sound of my brother landing on the floor made me forgive the incident. "Jeez, I think you broke Alex."