Ryan plans weddings! Just not gay weddings. Ok, maybe just this once.*
When Pete shows up Sunday, mid-afternoon, for ten days of house sitting and “Keeping a general eye on things, Patrick, we know you’re too old for a babysitter, but we worry,” he looks exactly the same, except for a stupid haircut that makes him look like someone cut it when he was too drunk to look in a mirror, or something. “Hey, kid,” he says, first thing, lugging a huge, shiny brown duffle behind him. It’s slippery, nylon or something, and it keeps rubbing against Pete’s jeans, making some sort of whispery zipper sound that sets Patrick’s teeth on edge. “I’m here for Patricksitting. I assume you’re the Patrick?”*
Patrick turns seventeen on the usual day and in the usual way: he oversleeps, cuts himself shaving, folds his birthday waffle in half (it has extra chocolate chips and a whipped cream smiley face with hearts for eyes that turns into a good-intentioned mess when the sides press together), and eats it on the way to school.*
Sometimes your suddenly sentient action figures need to teach you valuable life lessons. Just saying.*
Some people are really good liars. Some people can lie like breathing, they can look you straight in the face and sell you on a green sky and a moon made of cheese and send you away happy.*
Frank can deal with being a loser in high school, but he’d kind of like to stop being a loser who’s in love with his best friend, thanks.*