Basses, Mafia, and Gray Eyes

Previous installment: Plotting a Quest
First installment: Man Voice and the Water Heater

A few weeks passed, and life continued. Having been very unhappy in her relationship for some time, Lia was a mixture of relieved and emotionally worn out when she and Jared mutually broke it off. Still, life continued, and Lia had homework to do. 

Her roommates were very sweet, and did plenty of things to try and cheer her up. Janet went out and got her a giant helping of frozen yogurt heaped with fruits and gummies and nuts, a favorite treat of Lia’s. Rachel tried to help introduce her to some other people in the apartment complex, since Lia was practically a stranger to most. But frozen yogurt gets consumed, and meeting people requires time that was needed for reading ridiculously oversized assignments from tyrannical teachers. Mostly, Lia just wanted to go home for Thanksgiving break.

Lia’s friend Amber came over to talk to her to keep her company. Amber wanted to chat with Lia to prevent loneliness to the now single girl. Lia appreciated the sentiment. She liked Amber. She should spend that time on her homework, but it’s good to take breaks. Unfortunately, Amber had a new crush, and apparently, he was wonderful. Lia figured that  Amber was a cute brunette, complete with freckles across her nose, so soon this dream boy would ask her out, and then she and Amber could talk about something else.

Ally was the one to find a way to break Lia’s All I Have to Do Is Homework and I Might Self Destruct Soon mode. Ally was part of the activities committee for the apartment complex. She was in charge of putting together the Christmas Party.

“Hey, Lia, can I talk to you for a minute?” asked Ally. She noticed the huge stacks of books that surrounded Lia, nearly all of them open. “Or maybe I can ask you later.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Lia said, snapping books closed with a look of desperation. “Now is perfectly fine. I’d love to talk now!”

“Are you sure?” Ally asked slowly.

Lia laughed. “I know that I look slightly like a deranged clown with my smudged makeup,” she said looking down, “and this horridly put together pink and fuschia pajama set, but I assure you that I would love to take a break from reading Chaucer and talk to you.”

“Great. So, I was wondering if you would- wait, you like singing, right?”

“Does too much fresh pineapple leave acid burns on your tongue?”

“I’ll take that as a yes, since I’m pretty aware that you have a nice voice,” said Ally.

Lia figured that her response had made more sense that Ally was letting on, since fresh pineapple really was very acidic.  But perhaps only in the quantity in which Lia consumed it, when she got the chance. “Yes, that’s a yes.”  

“I was wondering if you would put together a small group to sing a song at the Christmas party we’re putting together.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Lia jumped up. “I would love to! Thank you!”

“No, thank you. Do you have any music?”

“Actually, yes, yes I do! And I have a song that would be great for an octet,” Lia said with a large smile on her face. It really was a lovely song. She had sung the solo in it a year or two previously in one of her choirs.

“Perfect! I’ll let you pick the people, then,” Ally said. She was smiling too.

Ally left, and Lia went back to reading, though in a much happier, and much less focused, manner. She mentally scanned through names of girls that she knew could sing. She would ask Janet to be her fellow soprano. Lindsey would make a great alto. Here her thoughts paused. Lia would need to ask Janet if she could think of another alto.

“Oh, curried french fries!” Lia said exasperatedly to herself. “I don’t know any guys!”

----

Lia was very aware that the time to ask people to join her octet was getting very slim, and she still didn’t have any men in her group. Sunday evening came, and so did Lia’s resolve. It was time to find some men. The search was on.

She checked her appearance in the mirror before leaving- neat hair, magenta nails, pink dress- and left her apartment satisfied with her appearance. Lia felt that she had an air of sophistication that would help people to take her approach and request seriously. About halfway down the walkway to the Man Section of the building, Lia became a little nervous, but as it was still Sunday evening, she was still resolved.

The first door appeared before her. With a deep breath to steel herself, Lia brought her prepared speech to her mind and rapped her knuckles on the door. And waited. Lia looked at her knuckles. Apparently her knuckles weren’t as enrapturing as she may have hoped. They couldn’t rap on the door and garner any attention from the tenants within. No attention at all, let alone rapt attention. Maybe she would have to do some door rapping practices to strengthen her-

The door opened while Lia was still staring at her knuckles. Lia looked up from her knuckles to see a boy looking from her hand to her face and back again. So her knuckles were enrapturing. She felt a satisfied smile quirk her lips upwards before she realized that the dark haired boy was still standing at the door looking at her and her knuckles. Waiting for her speech that he didn’t know was coming. And which she attempted to deliver with the aplomb that had graced her mirror audience.  

“Erm. Hello, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you either, but I was wondering if you or anyone that you knew enjoyed singing. And if you would be willing to sing in an octet. For the Christmas party.” Lia realized that she sounded like a car with a bad transmission with her shortening sentences, and mentally slapped her enrapturing knuckles.

“Um, I don’t sing so great,” the guy said, and then stopped to think. “But you might ask Brandon in apartment 9. And Garrett in 12. I think they’re music people.”

“Oh, thank you!” Lia said, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Have a lovely evening!”

“You too,” he responded.

Lia was turning to walk off when she heard him add, “Oh, and I like your slippers,” before he flashed her a smile and shut the door. She looked down. Indeed, Lia was wearing her pink plaid slippers, complete with the pink bows on top. So much for sophistication.

Upon her arrival at apartment 9, Lia resolved to not think of her knuckles or slippers, but to stay focused on the task at hand. She knocked.

The door was answered by a very dark haired, dark eyed, and impressively mustachioed man. In his white button up shirt he looked like an Italian chef. Maybe with a dark suit he could be a mafia man.

“Hi,” Lia started immediately, “you don’t know me, and I don’t know you, and frankly, I’m wondering why I thought knocking on random doors was a good plan, but I was also wondering if Brandon lives here.”

The man wasn’t even fazed. “Yeah, I’m Brandon. Come on in!” he said in a deep, booming voice, and a  with a grandiose fling up his arm both opened the door and welcomed her in.

Lia stepped inside and Brandon shut the door.

“What can I do you for?” Brandon said with a curious eyebrow.

“I’m looking for some basses and tenors,” Lia replied out loud while she was alternating between chef and mafia man in her head.

“Well, I’m a bass,” Brandon said.

“Would you be willing to sing in an octet for the Christmas party?” Chef or mafia? Chef or mafia?

“Ah, man, no can do. I’m working that night.”

“Oh. Well, that’s too bad.” Working instead of Christmas party? Definitely mafia. “Do you know any singers that will be going to the party?” Singers that actually enjoy Christmas instead of terrorizing people.

“Yeah, Joey, my roommate, should be going,” said Brandon. “At least, I think he is.”

“May I speak with him?” Lia asked.

“He’s not here right now, but he should be back in a bit,” Brandon replied. There was a pause as Brandon gave Lia a look. “You’re not happy, are you.”

Lia was taken aback at this statement. “I’m not? Well, if clothing were considered an expression of identity and emotion, I’d say that I’m tickled pink and that you’re an Italian chef.”

Brandon burst forth into laughter. It was a round, full laugh. A belly laugh. A jolly laugh. Mafia? This man could play Santa’s laugh in an animated Christmas special! Lia was sure that it could be heard throughout the entire Man Section.

“I’ve been making pizzas for five years! You know Heaps down the street?”

Her mouth began to water at the thought of those wonderful pizzas. It was one of her favorite eateries. “Really?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Oh, I’m so glad that you’re not actually in the mafia. Now we can be friends.”

“Mafia? What?”

Brandon and Lia sat down and talked for the next hour. If she were asked to repeat any of the topics of conversation, she would have failed. She would be able to tell the inquirer that Brandon was hilarious, sweet, jolly, and very loud. And quite possibly her new best friend.

Lia looked at her watch and saw that it was getting late. “Brandon, it’s been fun meeting you. Thank you for not chucking me out.” They stood and walked towards the door. “Would you mind asking Joey about the Christmas party for me? I’ll stop by again later to speak with him.”

As she was reaching for the doorknob, the door opened itself. Brandon bellowed, “Speaking of the devil, here he is now! Joey!”

Joey took Brandon in stride, and loudly replied, “Brandon!”

“She’s got a question for ya!” Brandon said while pushing Lia forward.

Joey was tall, but not enough to make Lia feel like a hobbit. She was able to speak with him without hurting her neck. He had brown hair that looked like it would curl if it were allowed to grow. And he had very big eyes. Not bulging big, but assertive big. Nice big. And he was looking at her because she wasn’t speaking yet. Scorched cheese!

“Are you going to the Christmas party?” Lia asked and Joey moved further into the room, and further out of the shadows by the door.

“Yeah, I’m planning on it,” Joey replied with a slight halt in his sentence. He slipped off his jacket and looked at her.

Brown eyes. Too bad. And his eyes had such potential. Why did they have to be brown?, she asked in her mind while her mouth said, “Is there a chance you might not be able to go?”

“I’m hoping to be able to go. It depends on the homework load. May I ask why?”

“I am putting together an octet to sing at the party, and I’m in search for basses and tenors,” answered Lia, wondering if she could find a man with eyes like his, only gray.

“And guess who’s a bass?” asked Brandon pointedly.

Joey shrugged. “I’m not a true bass, I’m more of a baritone. Do you have a copy of the music that I could look over?”

“Not right now, but I have a link to an audio clip of the song if you’d like to listen to it.”

“That will work,” Joey said.

Lia looked at her watch again. “Can we do this another time, though? I have an early class tomorrow.”

Joey smiled understandingly. “So do I.”

“Great. That means you can come back tomorrow!” Brandon bellowed jovially.

“So it does,” Lia agreed. Only it is too bad that his eyes aren’t gray.

Next Installment: An Unsuccessful Escape

RAMSAR and the Robot Uprising

Question: When you folks comment on my blog, does it ask you to enter in a security code to prove that you're not a robot? Really. I want to know. I'll end that tyranny.

I was reading a friend's blog post about the insensitivity of technology in the modern day, and I was totally in agreement with her. I also think that she did not go quite far enough with her admonition towards this great brute. Not only is technology insensitive, it also has a VERY SHORT MEMORY! Seriously. Short. Shorter than I am. And it doesn't like me, which shows an obvious breech in good character judgement. If you want proof of the enmity between myself and technology, feel free to ask just about anyone who has seen me with anything more sophisticated than Microsoft Paint.

Hear this, good friends! Hear this outrage that was performed against me!

After I read the blog post mentioned and linked to above, I desired to leave a comment for Christine. I scrolled down and put my cursor into the comment box. I typed some words, and strung those words together to make sentences. I read over my comment, decided to clarify my identity so that I wouldn't sound like a random creeper, and concluded that my comment was good. I pushed "COMMENT." Do you know what happened?

I do admit that I feel sad that there is such severe inter-species discrimination- and by other technology, too! Jerks. I mean WALL-E is adorable! How could you ever reject him? However, accepting the need to prove myself to be a distinct and separate entity wholly unconnected to an artificial intelligence, I complied with the request.

I went to another friend's blog, and read her beautiful story of finding Christ and true joy. I wanted to thank her for sharing her journey, her faith, and her testimony so sincerely. I typed up a comment, and pushed "COMMENT." And what happens?

I acquiesced to this request yet again, feeling the sting of cruel insults. Robot indeed! After I had proved once more that I was in fact a living creature, I realized that I had forgotten to add part of my thought to the comment that had just posted. And there is no "Edit" button to push. Argh. So I pushed "Reply" to my own comment to add the rest of my thought. I pushed the "Make These Words Appear" button. And guess what happens.

Argh and ighs! By this time I was just downright peeved. PEEVED! I am not a robot! I'm a girl! A living girl! A living, breathing, technologically handicapped GIRL! I angrily attempted to prove ONCE MORE that I was not a robot, but I failed the first time because I couldn't read the convoluted letters and numbers.

Another word and number combination popped up. RAMSAR 2000! I could read that! Wait. RAMSAR 2000?! That's a ROBOT name! This was all because of a robot hating robot! And I was an innocent victim in the crossfire! I just about lost it. I grabbed my nearest notebook (I believe it was the blue one), and angrily scrawled out:

RAMSAR- I AM NOT A ROBOT!

And then proceeded to bash my notebook against the front of my computer so that he could see. Then I realized that my laptop doesn't have a webcam built in, so RAMSAR wouldn't be able to see my response. I grabbed Andrew's computer and proceeded to bash my statement of identity with full fury onto his webcam while bellowing loudly the same words:

That's when Andrew started laughing. Maybe it was the fact that I was yelling at an inanimate object? No, that's far too common around our place. Maybe it was that I was afraid of the robot uprising which would undoubtedly be led by RAMSAR 2000, and while engineer Andrew has no fear of technology? Nope. That idea didn't even occur to him, strangely enough. Why was he laughing?

Because I had written down my words on a piece of paper to show the computer.

Note from Andrew:  When she wanted to shout at the computer, she yelled at it, waved her hand, and then when she wanted to do something REALLY decisive, she instinctively grabbed her pen and notebook that were by her side and wrote in HUGE letters some insult to RAMSAR... as if it were a deaf person or something....  I sometimes wonder about her.

Apparently that is not how one is supposed to communicate with technology. Do you know what I say to that? I say that I prefer old fashioned good manners to this newfangled modern hoopla. I say that technology should know its place and not try to give me an identity crisis. I say that RAMSAR 2000 needs to learn his place and stop trying to take over the world.

I could tell that RAMSAR 2000 was a robot. I knew that he had an evil plot. He wasn't discriminating against other robots after all! He was really discerning between his followers and minions, and we unsuspecting humans to see if he he could transmit the Super Secret Plan For Total World (Including All Inhabitants) Domination!

Andrew's response while laughing really sums up the whole situation, though, and it's a quote that I'd read to him from Christine's blog:

Technology really is insensitive.

White Chocolate Cheesecake- A Crisis and A Recipe

Did any of you know that I love to bake? Tis a truth. A very veritable truth. I love to bake. There is something very stupendous, soothing, and scrumptiously satisfying about it. Especially when I can change a recipe to make it more my own, make it even tastier, make it a signature of mine. You know what I mean?

A friend or two of mine also enjoy baking (huzzah for commonalities!), and are interested in a recipe that I have: WHITE CHOCOLATE CHEESECAKE! Doesn't it just sound perfectly lovely? Yes. Yes it does. And that's because it is. Instead of sharing JUST the recipe, I decided to share the story behind it. Which involves more than one crisis, and a few pictures.

My friend Shari (name has been changed, partially because I can't spell it, and partially because the restaurant called Shari's makes really good pie) asked me to make a dessert for the Young Women's New Beginnings activity. She loves chocolate (like all righteous women), and asked if I could make White Chocolate Cheesecake for 60 people. I told her I didn't have a recipe, but that I'd be happy to help her out. I immediately got a hold of my friend Karen. Karen is GREAT at cheesecakes. She is great at a lot of things, but she is a bit of a cheesecake queen. She sent me the recipe that she likes. Karen is a good woman with good tastes. She did not fail me.

I got the ingredients needed for a trial run of the recipe. It involves a whole lot of cream cheese, a whole lot of eggs, a whole lot of white chocolate, and a whole lot of time. Most of the time involves waiting, which can be VERY difficult. Like, 10 hours of waiting. Seriously.

The trial batch went PERFECTLY. I was having lots of tastings from the bowl, just to make sure it was all going according to plan. And it was.

A few days later on Monday, I got a call from Shari, asking me if I was on schedule to have everything done in time for Wednesday evening. This was a bit of a shock to me, since I had somehow understood the date to be in about a month, not in a few days. I panicked, and threw myself into the work. But first, I had to go shopping. And have interesting conversations with unsuspecting grocery clerks.

And then I spent all Tuesday afternoon separating eggs (which I actually like doing- maybe because it's involved in some of my favorite recipes), whipping cream cheese, dumping sugar, melting and folding in white chocolate, and making a glorious mess of my tiny kitchen.

Comment by Andrew: Note the white-chocolate induced delirium about her eyes.  It was about this point I began worrying.

And isn't my pink mixer adorable? I think so. And that apparently unattractive apron is actually my Ghirardelli Chocolate Factory apron that I wear whenever I'm baking something that involves chocolate. It's practically stained from all of the flour and chocolate. It's a worthy companion in the kitchen.

What had started as just tasting for fun and quality control became much less exciting the more that was forced to sample. It became very unpleasant.

Part of the chaos of this all was that I was also doing some full time child care for another friend of mine. Three adorable little blonde girls under the age of six. Yup. Busy times.

By about 6:45 on Wednesday, the time that I was supposed to have all the cheesecakes prepped, cut, and ready to serve at the church kitchen, I felt very differently about the recipe than I had at the beginning. When I had first made it, it was like the heavens had opened, and all of choirs of baker heaven were singing hallelujahs! But now things had changed very drastically. Instead of the cheesecake being the sun rising above the horizon, sending its shining rays upon me, I saw it was in actuality a giant UFO.

Instead of a 10 inch springform pan, a spaceship with blinking lights. Instead of heavenly rays, an alien tractor beam. Instead of basking in cheesecake light and happy, I was being pulled up by the fierce aliens (which apparently are the same ones that I offended during my French presentation when I declared my status as a pizza in front of my class, and they were still very offended by me- and yes, that's an actual link). I was completely and totally disillusioned. Especially when I took a "check piece" from a cake before it had cooled long enough- don't eat cheesecake warm, folks! Don't do it!

Andrew's comment again:  I'm not sure what the aliens have to do with anything.  When traumatic experiences happen, however, they usually get involved at some point.  Even if only in the pictures afterwards.

Despite all the madness, Andrew managed to scoop me and the cheesecakes up and deliver us on time at the church building. It was a miracle. I served the cheesecakes onto festively colored plates, sprinkled them with shaved chocolate, and distributed forks. And then it was over.

NOT.

Because I had been supplied with pie tins with pre-made graham cracker crusts (not as good as the recipe crust, just so you know), there were some miscalculations. The pie tins were much smaller than the called for 10 inch springform pan (although you can use a regular pie pan, just make sure it's big enough). So each batch made TWO small cheesecakes instead of one big one. I made enough batches to make six large cheesecakes, but I wound up with way more cheesecake. Try ten cheesecakes. TEN!

I gave out all I could, but people didn't want all of them. So I sent them to a place from whence no goodies ever return. I sent them to... Andrew's work. Yup. Goodies go quickly there. Seriously.

Comment by Andrew:  My department has roughly 150 nerds all less than two years out of college.  Needless to say, any such goodies taken there might as well be tossed into a black hole.

Comment by Tashya: In fact, that's where some banana bread is going this week!

Now that it's been a good while since I've had any White Chocolate Cheesecake, I like it again. And I'm more than willing to pass on the goodness of this recipe.

Also by Andrew: Did it really happen that fast?  I'm not so sure.  She hasn't actually met any cheesecake lately in person, so I'm hoping it is true.  At least she can think on it fondly - I couldn't mention it without her gagging for several weeks.

And now, the recipe. With commentary and tips. Anything in pink is my addition, and you don't have to follow it if you have your own way of doing things.

SCRUMDIDILYUMPTIOUS WHITE CHOCOLATE CHEESECAKE (You can change the name if you're making it for a more elegant affair. Maybe something more like Black and White Chocolate Formal Cheesecake- and then add some crushed Oreos on the top for the black part.)

Graham Cracker Crust:
7 cinnamon graham crackers, crushed
1/4 cup sugar
1/3 cup butter, melted

For graham crackers, I just use all eight that come in a pack. To crush them, I put them in a large ziplock bag, and then roll a can over them a bunch. Or, if I'm bored, I put them in a bowl and use a can for some mortar and pestle action.

Combine crackers, butter and sugar. Press into bottom and 1 inch up the side of a 10 inch springform pan. (You can also use a regular pie plate, just make sure it's large enough. And this crust tastes better than the pre-made one.)

Filling:
4 packages (8 oz each) cream cheese, softened (don't stick a package in the microwave)
1/2 cups plus 2 Tbs sugar
1 Tbs flour
1 tsp vanilla
4 eggs, lightly beaten
2 egg yolks, lightly beaten (yes, you'll have leftover egg whites- make an omelette for breakfast tomorrow!)
8 oz white baking chocolate, melted and cooled

Separating eggs- if you don't have one of those eggs separator gadgets (which I don't), you can use the two halves of the egg shell (be careful not to pop the yolk), or just use your hands.

To melt the chocolate, follow the instructions on the package. For one ounce of Baker's white chocolate, microwave for 30 seconds, stir, then another 30 seconds, or until chocolate is almost melted. Add 10 seconds for each additional ounce (yes, some math required- feel free to phone a friend if necessary). The squares generally hold their shape. Stir it until it is smooth. If your chocolate seizes (gets grainy and hard) due to moisture coming in contact with chocolate while melting, you can fix it! Use a wire whisk to stir in a liquid (like warm water or milk, melted butter, vegetable oil or shortening) 1 Tbs at a time until it's smooth again.

In a large bowl, beat cream cheese, sugar, flour, and vanilla until well blended. Add egg and yolks; beat on low until just combined. Gently stir in white chocolate. (Make sure it's not hot, you want it to be cooled. I used a rubber spatula to fold it in.) Pour over the crust, and then place your pan on a baking sheet. (Place a pan of water on the rack beneath the cheesecake. This will help keep it from drying out.) Bake at 350* or until the center is just set. (To check, touch the top lightly or gently shake the pan. If a small area in the middle jiggles or seems soft, it's done.) Cool on a wire rack for 10 minutes, then run a knife around the edges. Cool one hour longer, then refrigerate over night (or about 10 hours).

You can serve this cheesecake plain, or with any type of topping that suits your fancy. I might suggest a strawberry or raspberry topping. Let me know if you find anything remarkably tasty. I want to try it!

Plotting a Quest

This is the second installment- it begins with Man Voice and the Water Heater .

Alright, thought Lia, I have some problems. I’m in love with Man Voice, but I don’t know his name. Or what he looks like. Oh, and I have a boyfriend.

Nevertheless, Lia decided that she should know her mysterious Knight in Shining Armor. Man Voice had saved her from the cold, that demon of all demons! She was the beautiful damsel in distress, her long brown hair flowing in the same sharp, freezing wind that brought tears to her dazzling green-blue-hazel eyes. And blew her pointy cone-shaped princess hat off her head. Horrid freezing wind.

“Janet, he saved us all from death!” Lia exclaimed at her roommate the next day while the girls were both home in the mid afternoon. They were sitting in the living room on the matching tan couches, feet and books propped on the coffee table in the middle. “Really, I almost died from just one shower.”

Janet absently mumbled something along the lines of, “It makes me cold just thinking about it,” as she shifted the heavy book on her lap. Spanish textbooks were both expensive and uncomfortable. 

“Or at the very least from being ostracized from society. It would have turned into a very bizarre game of chicken. It would have been me against the people sitting around me in class. How long could I have gone without taking another shower before they had moved seats, or switched partners?”

“Or Ally would have moved into my room?” Janet pushed her auburn hair behind her ear and glared at her book. Spanish books were also very confusing.

“That wonderful miracle worker probably just saved my grade in my Humanities class,” Lia went on.

“Which one?”

“I’m only taking one this semester. But my group might have refused to let me work with them anymore.”

“You don’t like group work anyway.” 

“But that group work is my final.”

“That does make a difference.”

There was silence for a few minutes as Janet puzzled over her Spanish, and Lia worked on her French. The cute purple clock on the wall ticked loudly as the weak sunshine came in the window, lighting up Janet’s stack of marketing and mathematics textbooks. Janet  was trying to get into the Marketing major on campus. With Ally studying physics, and Rachel in accounting, Lia was the odd one out in her English and Humanities classes. She had the most textbooks, however, so she felt that helped her to look the smartest of them all.

“But how to go about it?”

“I think that it has to do with the past participle being close to the direct object,” said Janet.

“No, not your Spanish grammar. Finding him. You didn’t see who he was last night?” Lia asked.

Janet sighed and closed her big brown eyes. “I already told you. I got picked up first, and I wasn’t by any kind of magical man at the pumpkin carving tables or at the donut stand or anything else.”

More silence.

“It’s like a reverse Cinderella,” Lia said as she puzzled. “The man is missing, and the lady wants to find him. But he didn’t leave his shoe or anything. And I didn’t see his face.”

“You could just go door to door and talk to all the guys. See if you recognize his voice.”

“What if I don’t recognize it, though?”

Janet paused and gave Lia a significant look. “If you were the prince in Cinderella, she wouldn’t have been found.”

“Well, it’s not like I can rip out the water heater and carry that from door to door, asking all the guys, ‘Do you recognize this water heater?’ I mean, really. What if one of them just said yes because it looks like the one in his apartment?”

“Maybe you should ask for a demonstration. Cinderella had to prove the shoe fit.”

“You’re right. I should ask them to fix it.”

“Especially since you’d ripped it out and left us with no hot water again.”

Lia winced. No more cold water. “Maybe I could take just the pilot light with me?”

“Do you even know what that is?”

“Nope. But HE does.”

The girls looked at each other. 

“We have really strange conversations,” said Janet. “Most of them are started by you.”

“I have been a rather good influence in your life, haven’t I?” Lia grinned at her.

“Why don’t you just ask Ally? She went to the party with him.” Rachel had finally looked up from her accounting homework and taken part of the conversation. The others hadn’t even noticed the petite (and very quiet) brunette there in the corner.

“Rachel, you are a genius. Really.”

Lia and Janet laughed.

Next Installment: Basses, Mafia, and Gray Eyes