Maybe Someday (Maybe #1)(21)

Warren laughs at his own comment, but I don’t crack a smile. I don’t think he realizes he signed and spoke that last sentence. Before I can tell him, a biscuit comes hurtling past my head and smacks him in the face. He jumps back in shock and looks at Sydney. She’s walking to the table with a Don’t mess with me look on her face. She hands me a plate of food, then sets her own plate down in front of her and takes a seat.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Warren asks. I nod. He looks at Sydney, and she’s still glaring at him. “At least I was complimenting you,” he says with a shrug.

She laughs and nods once, as if he just made a good point. She picks up her phone and begins to text. She glances at me briefly, giving her head a slight shake when my phone vibrates in my pocket. She texted me something but apparently doesn’t want me to make it obvious. I casually slide my hand into my pocket and pull my phone out, then read her text under the table.

Sydney: Don’t eat the eggs.

I look at her and arch an eyebrow, wondering what the hell is wrong with the eggs. She casually sends another text while she holds a conversation with Warren.

Sydney: I poured dish soap and baby powder in them. It’ll teach him not to write on my forehead again.

Me: WTH? When are you going to tell him?

Sydney: I’m not.

Warren: What are you and Sydney texting about?

I look up to see Warren holding his phone, staring at me. He picks up his fork and takes another bite of the eggs, and the sight makes me laugh. He lunges across the table and grabs my phone out of my hands, then begins scrolling through the texts. I try to grab it back from him, but he pulls his arm out of my reach. He pauses for a few seconds as he reads, then immediately spits his mouthful back onto his plate. He tosses me back my phone and reaches for his glass. He calmly takes a drink, sets it back down on the table, then pushes his chair back and stands up.

He points to Sydney. “You just messed up, little girl,” he says. “This means war.”

Sydney is smirking at him with a challenging gleam in her eye. Once Warren walks back to his bedroom and shuts his door, she loses the confident smirk and turns to me, wide-eyed.

Sydney: Help me! I need ideas. I suck at pranks!

Me: Yeah, you do. Dish soap and baby powder? You need serious help. Good thing you have the master on your side.

She grins, then begins eating her breakfast.

I don’t even get my first bite down before Bridgette walks out of her room, sans smile. She walks straight to the kitchen and proceeds to make herself a plate of food. Warren returns from his room and sits back down at the table.

“I walked away for dramatic effect,” he says. “I wasn’t finished eating yet.”

Bridgette sits, takes a bite of bacon, then looks over at Sydney. “DID . . . YOU . . . MAKE . . . THIS?” she says, pointing at the food dramatically. I cock my head, because she’s talking to Sydney the same way she talks to me. As if she’s deaf.

I look over at Sydney, who nods a response to Bridgette. I look back at Bridgette, and she says, “THANK . . . YOU!” She takes a bite of the eggs.

And she spits them right back out onto her plate.

She coughs and rushes to take a drink, then pushes away from the table. She looks back at Sydney. “I . . . CAN’T . . . EAT . . . THIS . . . SHIT!” She walks back to the kitchen, drops her food in the trash, and heads back to her bedroom.

The three of us break out into laughter after her door closes. When the laughter subsides, I turn to Warren.

“Why does Bridgette think Sydney is deaf?”

Warren laughs. “We don’t know,” he says. “But we don’t feel like correcting her just yet.”

I laugh on the outside, but inside I’m a little confused. I don’t know when Warren began referring to himself and Sydney as we, but I’m not sure I like it.

? ? ?

My bedroom light flicks on and off, so I close my laptop and walk to the door. I open it, and Sydney is standing in the hallway, holding her laptop. She hands me a piece of paper.

I already finished my homework for the rest of the week. I even cleaned the entire apartment, excluding Bridgette’s room, of course. Warren won’t let me watch TV because it’s not my night, whatever that means. So I was hoping I could hang out with you for a little while? I have to keep my mind busy, or I’ll start thinking about Hunter again, and then I’ll start feeling sorry for myself, and then I’ll want Pine-Sol, and I really don’t want to have any Pine-Sol, because I don’t want to become a raging alcoholic like you.

I smile, step aside, and motion her into my bedroom. She looks around. The only place to sit is my bed, so I point to it, then take a seat and pull my laptop onto my lap. She sits on the other side of the bed and does the same.

“Thanks,” she says with a smile. She opens her laptop and drops her eyes to the screen.

I tried not to take Warren’s advice this morning about admiring the dress she had on today, but it was hard not to look, especially when he so blatantly pointed it out. I’m not sure what kind of weird thing he and Bridgette have going on, but it rubs me the wrong way that he and Sydney seem to have hit it off so well.

And it really rubs me the wrong way that it rubs me the wrong way. I don’t look at her like that, so I don’t understand why I’m sitting here thinking about it. And if she were standing next to Maggie, there wouldn’t be a doubt in my mind that Maggie is more physically my type. Maggie is petite, with dark eyes and straight black hair. Sydney is the complete opposite. She’s taller than Maggie—pretty average height—but her body is a lot more defined and curvy than Maggie’s. Sydney definitely fills out the dress well, which is why Warren liked it. At least she changed into shorts before showing up at my bedroom door. That helps a little. The tops she wears are usually way too big for her, and they hang off her shoulders, which makes me think she took a lot of Hunter’s T-shirts with her when she packed her bags.