"Bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than any other." --Abraham Lincoln
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Roselle's old room and Michelle's old room were next to each other, which meant that the sisters and the boys would be sleeping adjacent to each other. The girls waited for everyone to greet them good night before they went inside.
"Good night," Dylan greeted, nodding his head and entering the room.
"Peace," Eliot said, throwing a v-sign, heading inside.
"Good night," signed Dan in American Sign language.
James strolled up in velvet pajamas. "Dream about me, peasant." He winked.
"See you tomorrow," said Armani.
Finally, all the boys were in the room and the sisters could call it a day.
* * *
Toss. Turn. Toss. Turn. Roselle was having difficulty getting comfortable.
"You can't sleep either?" asked Michelle.
She sighed. "Nope. I keep wondering if the guys are okay."
"Yeah. I know you were just trying to convince them earlier, but you were unironically right. That literally IS the greatest slumber party in history."
"Yup. Weird stuff has been happening to us lately."
Michelle narrowed her eyes at the wall that separated the sisters from the boys. "Aren't you wondering what they're talking about?"
"What could they possibly be talking about?"
She shrugged. "I don't know, tag-teaming some other country later?"
Roselle's eyes visited the back of her head. "Maybe they're not talking at all. They're probably asleep."
Michelle grabbed a stethoscope hanging from the wall and put it on, aiming the bell at the wall. "Oh, interesting."
"Give me that," she snapped, taking it away. "That's so rude."
"They were talking about you."
"Okay, screw it." Without any hesitation, Roselle put on the stethoscope and listened into the boys' room.
"If anyone is to kiss the lovely Roselle on the midnight of New Years, it is I," James proclaimed. "Ah, to share a kiss as the minute hand turns at the most pivotal point of the year . . . There'll be fireworks, and not just the dazzling gems in the sky; I speak of the pure and raw energy that Roselle and I accumulate."
She cringed hearing that speech.
"You think you're all that just because you're a king, bro?" challenged Eliot. "Ro doesn't care about all that. She cares about what's inside. She'd never kiss a guy like you!"
James chuckled.
"Wha--what's so funny?"
"The irony."
"What irony?"
"Alas, I don't kiss and tell."
"Why you--"
"Chill," Armani said. "Everyone just calm down. Why does Ro even have to kiss anyone at midnight?"
"I think I should do it," said Dylan.
"You already had your turn, fam!" Eliot exclaimed.
"Maybe she's good for me. Maybe we ended things too quickly . . . I want to give it another shot."
"Oh boy." Armani sighed.
"Is Mr. President pestered in our interest in his old flame?" asked James.
"What? It's not like that."
The room was silent for a moment.
Armani sighed. "I'm engaged to Lily, alright? I've made a commitment to her."
"But do you love her?" asked Dylan.
They were silent yet again.
"I feel so out of place in this conversation," said Dan.
"Who do you think is the best fit for the little rose?" asked James.
"Uh . . ."
"Don't hold back. You may be honest."
"I think I'm going to go to bed now."
They all groaned.
"Team Armani all the way though, just saying," Dan added.
Now, they were all shouting and arguing.
"La la la, can't hear you. Hearing aids aren't on."
"Anyway, I challenge you all to a duel," James said. "The one who gets Roselle to kiss him by midnight wins."
"You're on, pal," said Eliot.
"I never got to kiss Ro yet, but you can count me in," said Dylan.
"Is this really necessary?" Armani asked.
There were loud, fast-paced footsteps. The door swung open. "The hell are you guys yelling about?" It was Mr. Reyes' voice. "I want to sleep, dammit."
Roselle stopped listening right there and yanked the stethoscope out of her ears. "Well THAT was . . . Something."
Michelle, who was pressing her ear on the wall, plucked herself off it. "Oh my gosh. You got four hot guys fighting over you. I'm jelly."
"You have Dan!" She sighed. "I have three hot guys fighting over me, technically. Armani isn't in the race, but he's the only guy who . . ." she trailed off.
"Who what?"
'Who I want to be with,' was what Roselle would have said, but didn't. She snapped out of it. "Forget it."
"So, who are you going to kiss at midnight on New Years?"
"No one."
"Aww, come on. You might not have Armani, but why wait for him when you've got other options? You're high in demand, girl. Act like it."
* * *
The next morning, Roselle woke up to a knock at the door.
"Ro?" asked Eliot. He knocked again.
Michelle groaned. "Ugh, what does he want at six in the morning?"
Roselle opened the door, still half-asleep. Her hair was in complete disarray, throwing her waves every which way. "What do you want?" she asked.
"Uh . . ." He looked around a bit. "Quick! There's a fire in the kitchen!"
"WHAT?!" Her sleepy demeanor left her body, and she was fueled by panic and pure adrenaline. She sprinted down the stairs with Eliot, tripping and tumbling down, but she ignored her fall and kept running. She grabbed the fire extinguisher and got to the kitchen, trying to locate the fire. "WHERE IS IT?"
"Surprise!" Eliot cheered. "I was just kidding. There is no fire."
Roselle threw the fire extinguisher on the ground, leaving a dent in some of the tiles. "AH! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?" She held her hand over her own heart, beating at stallion speed. She plopped on the floor. "I can't breathe. Wew."
Mr. Reyes walked into the kitchen too, crossing his arms. "Boy, didn't I have a discussion with you last night about being loud when people are sleeping?"
Eliot pouted. "Sorry."
He pointed his finger and opened his mouth probably ready to lecture him, more but then he spotted the kitchen table. "Ooo, french toast." He grabbed a plate and walked off into the living room.
Roselle finally stood up, glaring at the future vice president.
"I made breakfast for you," he said. "There's pancakes, and waffles, and cupcakes, and brownies, and bacon, and eggs, and there was french toast, but your dad took it."
She sighed. "Okay, let's get the rest of the fam."
He wore his soft, child-like, puppy eyes. "But . . . I made it especially for you. Can we eat together please?"
"I don't think we can finish all this by ourselves."
"We can give them whatever is left. Pleeeease?" He clasped his hands together.
"Fine. Okay."
"Yay!"
"But no more screaming fire when there's no fire. If you do anything like that again, I'll be really mad. Got it?"
"Got it!"
* * *
Roselle and Eliot sat at the table together, chatting and having breakfast. As much of a dummy Eliot was, he was an AMAZING chef. She gnawed at all the food, eating it at such a fast pace. Okay, it was official. He was heaven in the kitchen.
Soon, all the food was gone, and she was completely full.
Eliot gave a wily smile. "I thought you couldn't eat all that food by yourself. Did you like it?"
She sat in the chair in sugary, yummilicious bliss. "Yeah . . . That was a nice meal."
He took her by the hand. "If you want, I can make yummy foods for you all the time!"
"Yeah . . ." She realized what he was doing, and took an intermission from being high off the food. "Wait a minute." She snatched her hand back. "You're trying to manipulate me with food!"
"Uh, duh."
James and Eliot stepped into the kitchen together.
"Well, well, well," James said, slow-clapping. "The early bird does get the worm, doesn't he? Tell me, Eliot, have you whipped up a meal for the rest of us, or are your culinary skills reserved for enhancing your womanizing skills?"
Eliot jumped up, balling his hand into a fist. "Shut it, king-boy! You want breakfast? I'll pour a box of cereal on your head!"
"Ro, what happened to your arm?" Dylan asked, walking up to check on it.
She rolled her arm over, and found a few bleeding scratches. "Oh, I think this is from when I fell down the stairs earlier."
"Come with me to the bathroom. I'll clean it with some rubbing alcohol and put a bandaid on it."
"Oh, you don't need to do that."
"It could get infected."
"What, are you a doctor now?" asked Eliot.
Dylan scratched his head. "Well, not exactly, but I don't mean to brag or anything when I say this: I'm a registered nurse."
His cousin's face went blank. "Oh yeah."
"Imbecile," said James.
"You want to say that again?!"
"Yes. Imbecile."
James and Eliot went at it again, arguing and name-calling one another.
This was going to be a long day, wasn't it?