Date: Wed, 13 Oct 1999 17:36:25 PDT
From: Benj Thall <benj_thall@hotmail.com>
Subject: A Thorned Rose, Part 1

A Thorned Rose

Disclaimer: The following story details homosexual relationships between
two males. If you aren't into "that sort of thing", just don't read it.
Since the following is, more or less, quite clean of graphic descriptions
of sex between two males, it's up to those below the age of 18 as to
whether to read or not. Furthermore, there is no implication -- incidental
or otherwise -- as to the sexuality of JC Chasez or Justin Timberlake from
the pop group N'Sync, though, I do feel that sexuality per se is a misnomer
. . . but I'm getting sidetracked. Also, all opinions stated by the main
character in this story are not intended as political statements. They're
just opinions -- you don't even have to accept them as such. I do not
intend in any way to coerce you into accepting my opinions as the truth.
Other than that, please enjoy. Comments, either pleasant or otherwise
(meaning criticisms and not foul language of any sort) are always welcome
at Benj_thall@hotmail.com


Chapter 1: Two Strangers

	The interior of the church was the same as it always was --
slightly dusty, and dim even with the sun streaming through the stained
glass. The candles before the Virgin Mary and the baby Jesus flickered as a
breeze sighed through the carved portals in the ceiling, causing the flames
to dance wildly, blurring my vision. I blinked. My eyes ached from the
slight tinge of beeswax that clung to the air and I rubbed at them. Not
much improvement. Old Ross was still on his stool before the collection
desk where he performed the task of collecting alms for the poor and where
he sold the candles that the people of the Stilts loved to buy. His
frazzled white hair, the smudged clothes he always wore, and his habit of
dozing off occasionally at the desk, always got him into trouble with
Father Kiegan. As I glanced back at Ross, I sighed. He was napping
again. As I turned to wake him up before Father Henry returned, I felt
someone approaching and a low, soft voice asked, "Excuse me, could you help
me?"
	I turned around, not really vexed but perhaps a bit disgruntled, at
prevented from helping Ross. It was a young man, taller than my 5'9" figure
by an inch or two, dark-haired and deep blue-green eyes, holding a candle
that he tossed from one hand to another. I tried to be courteous and smiled
at him before replying, "Yes?" That was polite, I thought, but something
crept into my voice, something strange. I felt slightly uneasy when I
looked at him, a feeling that I had the reason to believe that he
reciprocated.
	He flushed under the dim light, and managed to mutter, "It's these
candles. What do I do with them?" I almost sighed. Obviously, he was new
here, and that meant I had to help him as much as I could. No one who lived
in the Stilts could be ignorant about the prayer candles. I turned towards
the altar and beckoned him to follow.
	As always, I couldn't help admiring the altar where the crucifix
stood, gleaming in the sun, surrounded by the many flowers that women had
brought in earlier. There were roses, of all colors, as well as the
pure-white lilies, the lavender flowers which names I could never quite
recall, carnations, orchids and much more. All in all, they made for quite
a heady barrage of scent. I guess I was lax in warning the guy with me
because he seemed to stagger under the almost-oppressive aroma of all the
blossoms.
	I glanced apologetically at him. "Sorry, should have warned you
about that." He nodded, to say he was fine I suppose, though he did look a
little green. Seeing as there was nothing better to do, I thought why not
talk to him.
	"Is this you first time here?" I looked at him from the corner of
my eye, trying not to really let him see that I was looking, but he caught
me. "Yeah. My church is actually in the city but I thought it would be nice
to just say a prayer in a church before lunch." He gave me a quizzical
smile as if to say "What?" and I noticed the little cross he wore around
his neck. "By the way, the name's JC Chasez." He paused, as if waiting for
some response. I blinked for a while and then realized that I should
introduce myself as well.
	"Oh, I'm Allie, Allie Taberner. How do you do?" I said and stuck
out my hand. JC gave me a curious look and just shook my hand. His hand was
callused but only slightly -- the hands of a musician, I thought to
myself. Seeing as he got the ball rolling, I may as well send it back his
way. "Are you staying for the afternoon service? Father Kiegan will be back
pretty soon. As you can see, the church is already filling up and if you're
staying, you should get a good seat." Indeed, the church was doing that,
and I was glad to see that Ross was awake to take contributions and sell
the candles.
	"Good seat? For what?" He looked around the church, studying every
inch, it seemed. I noticed him glancing at a pretty blond girl who stopped
to grin at him. He returned it and I was surprised to find myself very
annoyed. At least, he could pay attention.
	"The choir, of course. The choir's in almost everyday." He turned
to look at me and it seemed that he finally took in my long white robes,
stitched with gold at the seams and emblazoned with a red cross just above
my heart. JC's eyes widened. "You're in the choir?"
	I nodded. I turned to look for the candelabra and realized that we
were standing in front of it. "Hand me your candle," I told him which he
proceeded to do. I examined the long white candle, with the delicate paint
job all over its length. In this case, it depicted the angels descending
from heaven. I pointed it out to JC who seemed not to have seen it.
	"It's beautiful," he said. "I've never seen anything quite like it
before. What do you do with it?" he glanced at me again.
	"Light it, of course."
	"But, that would just ruin it!"
	I sighed loudly. "These are prayer candles, JC. You light them as a
tribute to God, a more earthly way of worship." He was quiet as I lit the
candle and placed it in the stand. I stood there for a moment, taking in
the beauty. So many candles, burning together, making the very air before
the crucifix shimmer. The colors of the stained glass was eerily distorted
by that shimmer, seeming as if the color was running off the glass and
flowing into the air. I felt a hand on my shoulder and a quiet voice
asking, "Are you all right, Allie?"
	I turned to look a JC, standing beside me, and then gestured at the
altar. "Isn't it just beautiful?" I smiled, and he smiled in return, and,
suddenly, it felt as if the most important thing was for him to stay for
the service. "Are you staying?" He hesitated for a moment and then
nodded. "I guess I could spare some time." I smiled happily, and then, the
bell rang. It was the signal for choristers to enter the pews. I guided him
to a seat and then had to run as the it chimed for a second time. It
wouldn't do for the soloist to be late.

	JC settled down onto the bench, gazing around him. He had been more
than half surprised when Allie hadn't recognized him. At his fame, most
people invariably did. Fame! He snorted to himself. You're getting a
swollen head, JC, he told himself wryly, and simply watched as the young
boy dashed to a small door, entered, and shut if firmly behind him. He
raised his eyes and watched the blond youth settle into place before all
the choristers. Allie adjusted his white robes, running his hand through
the shoulder-length golden hair, and JC began to study him more closely.
	The youth couldn't be more than eighteen with that angelic face and
that lustrous golden hair. JC rather liked him -- it was strange. He had
barely met the boy yet they had clicked so well together. He remembered the
way Allie had sighed -- rather dramatically, he thought -- and rolled those
violet eyes of his. Rare indeed; not many people these days had violet
eyes. They merely supported the fact that Allie was just a child, hardly
old enough to be called an adult. But, he seemed so mature in his way, so
serious. JC sighed. Oh well, another mystery for another time. For now, he
would just enjoy the hymns. It promised to be quite enjoyable. From what he
knew, the church choir was always comprised of the most talented singers in
the region; thus, they would be virtuoso vocalists. Then, JC was struck
with the idea. If most choristers in the church were good singers, perhaps
it would be suitable ground for some star-spotting. He played with these
thoughts for a while -- thoughts that scattered when the choir began
singing.
	It was a group effort, beginning with a hymn that JC only knew
vaguely. The men in the choir were the bass while the women served as the
tenors, blending voices in such an intricate manner that JC was more than
surprised at the skill they showed. It was only after a while that he
noticed that Allie was silent, eyes closed, hands clasped before him, lips
together rather than open wide in tribute to God. His body half-turned
towards his right where the choir stood in their pews, JC was slightly
puzzled. He's in the choir but he doesn't sing? That's weird. Yet, the very
effect of Allie standing out before the choir -- almost the apex of a small
triangle -- seemed to accentuate his purity, as if he was just a choirboy
who was praying to God, pale rose lips now slightly parted, breathing in a
bit more deeply . . . .
	And then, Allie sang. His voice was clear and true, high enough to
reach the high notes without being too high-pitched to seem unnatural
coming from a youth of eighteen. His voice rose above the soft murmurs of
the choir, weaving an intricate pattern of melody and rhythm, harmonics and
pitch, of beauty and grace. It was unbelievable -- a child! A child with
such an exceptional voice! And somehow, JC knew that the boy had never
received any formal training as such. It was just so hard to actually
believe!
	Halfway, in JC's mind, a plan began to form. Obviously, here his
talent would only be wasted on a small population but if, somehow, Allie
could be introduced to the world . . .  Perhaps if he simply intervened
. . . . JC was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he sat through most of
the other pieces, inattentive, and only came to when the preacher began his
sermon.

	I leaned forward over the little railing before me to Marie's
horrified, "Allie!", hissed out but quietly. I ignored her. What was her
problem? Just leaning a bit forward, I tried to look for JC and saw him
close to the back benches of the church. He seemed to be listening to
Father Kiegan -- something I wasn't doing, and felt guilty about -- but my
theory was disproved when JC began gazing around. On one of his rounds, his
eyes caught mine and he smiled, quirking his eyebrows up. I couldn't
resist: I stuck out my tongue at him. His eyebrows shot more upwards and he
crossed his eyes at me, something that almost made me laugh . . .  until I
realized where I was.
	I glanced guiltily towards Father Kiegan and was mortified when I
caught him staring at me, eyes severe, still addressing his congregation.
Damn! It was that look of his that always warned me when I was in the midst
of severe trouble. One more step and I would be in hot water. I kept my
gaze at him, eyes cast down somewhat submissively, and he -- to my great
relief -- turned that piecing glare elsewhere. Whew! Saved!  I glanced back
at JC who had a smirk on his face. I wrinkled my nose at him and just stuck
my tongue out before turning away.
	The rest of that sermon was just a blur to me. I didn't pay
attention at all to Father Kiegan, something that I would normally never
do. Instead, I found myself staring quite often at JC. He seemed quite a
nice enough person, someone whom I would normally like in any other
circumstance but there was something about him that I just couldn't put my
finger on. Something that told me that he was so different from the average
Stilts-stalker as the sun was from a firefly. Not that he was any better
than we were but he had something going on for him and he knew it. All in
all, I was just confused about him. He had a secret that he thought I
should know but was surprised -- and relieved! -- to know that I didn't. JC
didn't look at me throughout the sermon except for an occasional face or
two. Sighing, I looked at him sitting there, and as I leaned forward, my
hear just fell all around my face; I reached up to brush it back behind one
ear, and as if it was a signal, Father Kiegan finished his sermon with an
"Amen" that was gratefully echoed by the others. Normally, the choir would
finish each sermon with another song but since this was the noon service,
all of us just moved down, most of them talking to one another. I was left
out, of course, but it had more to do with age than anything else. I was
the youngest among all of them, by not being quite eighteen yet, with the
next youngest being Sara who was 23 years of age. As a result, I was often
babied when singing and left alone during other times. Oh well, can't
complain. I never really put in much effort myself to get to know them
better. I think the reason was because I simply didn't have the time.
	As we filed out of the little antechamber that connected to the
main hall of the church, a few of the others said bye before waving and
leaving. I replied but a little half-heartedly because I had just caught a
glimpse of JC talking to Father Kiegan. Now, I really like Father
Kiegan. He's old, in his late fifties, I guess, balding and with the
kindest face I've ever seen. His eyes are a deep blue and his voice always
gentle, but when he was angry with you, all he would have to do was to fix
that stare on me, and I would feel like I was eight again. So, it was with
some trepidation that I made my way towards JC and Father Kiegan. JC was
talking animatedly, hand gesturing, those eyes of his open wide, lips
forming words that I couldn't hear. In contrast, Father Kiegan was quiet,
nodding once in a while but with that look on his face. It was the look
that seemed to say, "I'm just so disappointed that you couldn't live up to
my standards." It always shamed me and I would apologize humbly for
whatever I did. It was that same look now.
	Father Kiegan saw me coming, and he said something to JC which
caused him to fall silent; they both turned towards me, Father Kiegan
walking up, arms open, a smile on his face. He hugged me, and I returned
it, somewhat warily. I was ready for a lecture on attentiveness in the
church but all he said was, "Beautiful, Allie, you did beautifully today."
	I blushed. This was quite embarrassing. "Thank you, Father. I was
only trying to fulfill your expectations," I managed. He smiled, as if
sensing my embarrassment. From the corner of my eyes, I caught JC grinning
away and I shot him a warning look as Father Kiegan released me from his
embrace. "You did well, my boy. Just keep up the good work." Then, he
gestured at JC. "I do believe you've met JC? Well, JC's new here -- that
is, in the Stilts -- and I thought you could show him around." He looked at
me, still smiling, trying to say -- at least, that was what I thought --
that if I didn't, it would be extremely churlish of me. What could I do? I
acquiesced with a nod of my head and a murmured, "Sure, Father." Father
Kiegan nodded in satisfaction, muttered, "See you then again, JC," and
wandered off to look for Mrs. Graham. I watched him for a while,
half-confused. Sometimes, I wondered if Father Kiegan actually lived in
another world.
	"Hey, Allie, where did you sing like that?" I looked back at
JC. For a moment there, I had forgotten that he was there. He looked at me
straight in the eyes and, once again, I had that nagging feeling of unease.
	I realized that I was just staring and tried to remember what he
had said. "Sing? Sing like what?"
	He smiled again. "The way you sang earlier. It was remarkable!"
	I blushed again. This was way weird! Too many compliments in one
day. Yet, I had to admit that I was somewhat proud and flattered. "I picked
it up myself, I guess. I've always sang that way." I paused. Why was he so
interested. "Why? Why do you wanna know?"
	He shook his head, as if in exasperation. "Don't you realize how
good you are? And, you're untrained! If you had formal training, I couldn't
imagine how good you would sound! I'm surprised no talent scout's ever
discovered you!"
	I turned away, surprised at the bitterness that welled inside me at
those words. I walked towards the antechamber where I kept my bag, and I
could hear JC following. While walking, I tried to keep the bitterness out
of my voice when I spoke. I think I only half-succeeded. "JC, in the
Stilts, there are NO talent scouts. Especially not for any singers. All of
us are just too busy trying to live out our lives." I paused, relieved that
the bitterness had subsided. I'm usually not a bitter person and I was more
happy this way. I turned to look at JC, who was quiet. "Why are you so
interested?" I pulled at my robes, unlacing the ties and pulling it over my
head. As the material came off, I shook my hair gratefully, pulling out a
brush to brush it back properly. I adjusted my shirt to make sure there
weren't any creases, only half-aware that JC was watching me.
	"Just curious, I guess. It's a shame that that never happened."
	I shrugged, folded the robe and kept it inside my bag. As I turned
to walk away, I beckoned to JC to follow. I guess I could show him
around. He settled into step beside me and I was grateful that he didn't
say anymore. Instead, I looked upwards, breathing in the fresh air. It was
a beautiful day in Orlando today. Cool without being cold; windy without
being too gusty; and just sunny enough without being warm, or too
bright. It was good day to be alive. Just to walk in the Stilts was fun.
	For those of you who don't know, the Stilts is just this little
place on the outskirts of the city. Somehow, the Stilts developed this
reputation for seafood -- maybe 'cos it's quite close to Daytona Beach, I
guess, which is about an hour or less away. It used to be just a small
settlement that grew into the place it is today. That's why most people
don't have a name for it. Instead, everyone who know about it just call it
the Stilts. No one knows why but that doesn't really matter. The people who
live here aren't exactly poor or struggling but everyone is just trying to
make a living here. We live to survive, and it's quite rare for residents
to actually to be really wealthy. By the time you get rich, you're just so
sick of this place that you move into the city proper where you stay with
all the rich folks. I'm not sick of the place yet but if I could move, I
probably would. That isn't to say it's bad but sometimes, you feel as if
it's not quite the right place to be in if you want to stay hopeful or
happy. Everyone here just tends to be practical and pragmatic -- sometimes,
so practical and pragmatic that it makes you wanna scream. But, all in all,
it isn't that bad a place.
	I pointed out to JC the places where the kids hung around. The
arcade, the local park that we had, the little trail that led into the
forest, the road that led to the pools that lay all over the area, and
more. There isn't any school here so the kids have to take a bus to the
city school and one back. Luckily, you don't have to pay much for the
ride. I pointed out the "Wharf" to him and mentioned that it was where I
worked. He just looked at me and smiled. Seriously, it wasn't bad being
with him. He wasn't pushy and he was content to be silent most of the
times, so I quite enjoyed just looking at the buildings, mostly one-story
to three-stories buildings. In fact, I kinda forgot the time until I asked
JC for it. When he told me, I flew into a panic. I was late! I apologized
profusely and just ran off, leaving him standing there, confused and all.
	They would be back soon, and I haven't even prepared lunch yet. As
a last resort, I popped over to the "High Road" where I worked sometimes,
bought a few burgers and fries, milkshakes for everyone, and rushed
home. It was a good thing that the apartment was only one floor up. I got
my keys out, opened the door, ran in and opened out the food for
everyone. I was just about to sit when the door opened and Chris's voice
rang out. "Hey, Allie! You didn't lock the door." He ran in with Zach, Chad
following with Jared rounding out the little group.
	I got up and hugged Chris. "You don't have to shout! I'm here!".
Zach gave me a quick hug before going for the food. "Hello, Buttons," I
said to Chad who just jumped on me. We always called him Buttons 'cos it
was what Dad used to do. And, of course, Jared last of all. He hung back,
brushing back his black-brown hair that he wore long, his green eyes
blinking rapidly. He was always the shyest of all my brothers and I had to
initiate the hug. He was stiff, just responding a bit before backing off.
"Hello, Jer." I said gently. "How was school?" He looked at me then
mumbled, "Fine," before going for the food. He grabbed a burger, some
fries, a milkshake before retreating to his room, shutting it quietly after
him and locking the door. I sighed. At fifteen, Jer was just a little hard
to cope with.
	I looked back at the table where Chris and Zach sat, wolfing down
the food. Chad was -- as usual -- picking at his food, nibbling at his
burger then the fires, before sipping at his shake. I moved towards them.
"Hey, you two, don't hurry. You'll choke one of these days." They only
waved away my comments. Typical. I moved behind Buttons, playing with his
blond hair. His hair was like mine except that it was dark at the roots,
and his hair was always trimmed short. "Buttons, wanna cut your hair soon?"
	"Yeah, sure. When?" He continued with his fries, offering me one. I
used my teeth to pull it away before chewing it. "How about tomorrow? I can
take you after lunch, I guess. That way, you have more free time to do what
you want." I continued playing with that silky hair. "I guess." I shook my
head.
	It was strange to think that we were brothers. I had inherited
mom's blond hair, and from some distant ancestor, I got my violet eyes.
Very striking, I suppose but it was totally different from everyone else.
Chris and Zach, the twins, as well as Buttons had blond hair but the twins
had inherited dad's blue eyes, and Buttons had mom's green eyes. Just like
Jer. Only Jer had dad's hair color. Speaking of Jer . . .
	"Hey, you two! What's with Jer today? Did you upset him again?" The
twins raised identical face, identical crooked grins, identical everything
to look at me. It would have been hard to know who was who if Chris wasn't
wearing glasses. Zach often teased him about that -- he said that Chris
shouldn't try reading his Playboy in the dark. A joke that had led me to
search the whole place from top to bottom for those rumored magazines. I
was relieved when my search turned up nothing. The two sixteen-year-olds
really made me wish that I wasn't the older brother.
	"Well, I don't really know," Chris said. "He was already like this
on the bus," continued Zach. I rolled my eyes. "Did you try asking? Your
his older brothers, you know!" The two of them just shrugged and continued
eating. "I think it had something to do with his art class," Buttons
suddenly piped up. I glanced at him. "What happened?" He shrugged. "Don't
know. Something about some painting or other. He wouldn't tell me more." I
sighed. At least, he was more help. Only twelve but already so practical. I
ruffled his hair, making him squeal in protest. "Once you're done, clean
up, take a shower and do your homework, OK?"
	There was a chorus of "OK" and I was content to leave them alone. I
walked up to Jer's room, hesitantly. Jer had always been my favorite
brother but since he turned 13 two years ago, he was always more quiet and
withdrawn. I paused. His fifteenth birthday was coming up soon in a month's
time. Could that be it? Probably not. Jer wouldn't get upset over something
like that. I knocked on the door. "Jer, can I come in?" There was silence
for a while then I heard him unlock the door and open it. He looked at me
with those tearful green eyes, his hair pulled back. "Yeah?" he asked
quietly.
	"How about we go inside and talk?" He hesitated for a moment then
nodded. I followed him inside and closed the door behind me. His room came
as a shock. The twins' room was always messy and even Buttons had a hard
time keeping his tidy. Jer's room -- in contrast -- was absolutely,
spotlessly clean. Posters covered the walls of his room, from posters of
some group called N'Sync that I quickly glanced over and forgot, to
pictures of some lady called Shania Twain to other weird things like the
hovering UFO with the words "I want to believe". Still, at least, that
showed that he was a teenager. I sat down on his bed, and patted the space
beside me, asking him to sit. Jer just sat beside me, not quite close but
not really apart. I glanced at him, then wrapped one arm around his
shoulder, bringing him close towards me. He struggled for a moment then was
still, head on my shoulder, my chin pressed against his silky-soft hair.
	"What's wrong, Jer? You can tell me," I murmured to him, as gently
as I could. I brushed an errant lock of hair from his eyes. "Nothing," he
whispered softly, his eyes not really looking at mine. How could I help
him? I just wish that I had the talent to reach across and touch him just
gently. For a moment, I grew disheartened. Despite how close we were
physically, a chasm lay between us that I couldn't bridge. "Please, Jer," I
pleaded, "tell me what's wrong. I can't help you if you won't tell me what
the problem is."
	He was silent, his only response to tighten his arms around me. I
sighed. He wouldn't talk and I guess I couldn't make him. I just wished he
knew how much I cared. I had to try just ONE more time. "Jer, if there's
anything -- ANYTHING -- wrong, you know you can come to me, right?" Jer
nodded but he still refused to look me in the eyes. I kissed him gently on
his forehead, his eyes raising to meet mine. "I just want you to know that
ALL of us are here for you, OK? When you're unhappy, we're unhappy, too."
He turned away at that and I cursed inwardly. What did I do wrong this
time? "OK, Jer, just stop brooding in here, OK? Take a shower and do your
homework, OK?" He nodded once more and I left him there, closing his door
softly behind me. I just wished, at that very moment, that I knew more
about how to handle this. I just wasn't capable enough -- not to fill in
three roles on my own! No one can do that! Half-despairing, I came to the
conclusion that I just had to leave Jer to himself. Some things you just
have to do on your own.
	The twins were already gone from the table and Buttons was
scribbling away at his homework, his hair still damp from his bath. he
looked so young sitting there, a frown of concentration on his face that I
felt my heart lighten for a moment. True, this job might suck at times, but
the reward was that I had my brothers -- no matter how irritated I felt! On
impulse, I pressed my lips to his forehead, smelling the fresh scent of his
skin and the smell of the shampoo he used in his hair. He looked at me in
surprise. "What was that for?" I ruffled his hair, eliciting another squeal
of outrage. "Just do your homework, sport." He wrinkled his little snub
nose at me before turning back to his math. I helped him where I could,
restraining myself from doing his work for him. The twins came back,
clearly having finished their shower, complaining about some teacher of
theirs. They could do their own homework, I guess, and they were old enough
for me not to have to worry about them. At least, not to worry THAT much. I
was relieved when Jer came back, his arms filled with his assignments. He
still wouldn't look at me except for an almost furtive glance, and a small,
reassuring smile when he caught me looking at him. Oh well.
	The next two hours seemed to fly by so quickly. Once they were done
with all their homework, I let them entertain themselves . . . though that
spawned problems on their own. Buttons wanted to watch the cartoon network
while Zach, a wildlife enthusiast, wanted to watch the Discovery
channel. Jer and Chris got into an argument over which CD to play on the
hi-fi -- something we had won on a radio contest. I was glad, at least,
that Jer was acting pretty normal but I was fast becoming
irritated. "Allie, Zach won't let me watch my show," Buttons whined,
pulling at my sleeve. I sighed. "Zach, let Buttons watch his show, OK?
Don't let him go on whining."
	"But, he got to watch it yesterday! I'm doing research on the rain
forests of Asia and that's what they're featuring on Discovery," Zach
protested. In the background, I could hear Chris's vehement, "No way! I
don't want to hear that stupid boy band of yours!"
	"Buttons, let Zach watch his show, OK? You can always watch yours
tomorrow. Or, if you want, you can always tape it up and watch it
later. The two of you work it out, OK? One of you will have to compromise
as to who watches now and who tapes it up." It was as final a decision I
was going to make.
	"They're not stupid! For your information, Boyzone are a cool
group! At least, they're better than your dumb Celine Dion!"
	"Why you little brat! One more word and I'll break your CD and
stuff it up your --"
	That was going too far! "CHRIS! Watch your language, please! One
more word from the two of you and I'll put in the Carpenters!" I yelled,
trying to read my novel. Jeffrey Archer, if you want to know. Not exactly
conducive to good reading when you have teens yelling at one another. At
least, my threat worked. They were silent except for a muttered, "He
started it first . . ." and a quiet mumble between the two. Zach seemed to
have won his argument, and he was jotting down notes on a piece of paper
while Buttons scuffed the floor sullenly, eyes lowered. When he raised
those green eyes of his, I shot him a warning look. He looked rebellious
for one moment and then settled on the floor next to Zach, on his belly,
poking his brother to make space. Some woman began wailing at the top of
her voice. Which caused Zach to glare back and yell, "Pipe down! I'm trying
to get notes here, you dummy!"
	"Hey, I have the right to do what I want, OK?'
	"Yeah, if you don't disturb anyone else!"
	"See! I told you we should have played Boyzone!" That from Jer.
	"Uh uh, no way, I'm not going to play any of that crap --"
	"Hey, didn't I tell you to lower the volume --"
	"Does that mean I can watch X-Men now?"
	"NO!"
	"What do you mean, CRAP?? I thought they were much better than
what's-her-name that you're listening to --"
	"I'm not your servant, Zach! You want to lower the volume, you do
it yourself!"
	"Yeah? Well, you turned it up!"
	"Are you even listening --"
	"I wanna watch my show!"
	"Allie! Chris won't let me turn down --"
	"Allie! Will you stop Zach from messing around with the --"
	"Allie! Can I watch my show?"
	"Allie!"
	"ALLIE!!"
	I groaned. I hated moments like this. I covered my face with my
book and tried to pretend that I had already fallen asleep. Hopefully, they
would quickly settle this among themselves and I wouldn't have to get
involved. Even better, hopefully, they would just keep quiet if they
thought I was really asleep. Yeah. Hopefully. I sighed.