Page 64 of Exes and O's

Scott squints at Trevor’s creation, tilting his head as if a different perspective will help its cause. “Looks like a sad, mangled giraffe, man.”

“It kind of does.” I nod in agreement. “Maybe next time, thicken the neck a bit?”

“I still don’t get why we got stuck with craft duty.” Disgruntled, Trevor tosses the cardboard figure into the growing trash pile.

“Because grown men who wear Crocs can’t be trusted to make good decisions at a party store,” I retort, shooting daggers at their feet. Ever since I called him out for the army-green atrocity, Trevor has been wearing them around the apartment and at work like a second, terror-inducing skin.

Turns out, Scott recently purchased his own pair. Wearing Crocs is this bizarre joke that all the crew at the firehouse have adopted like a badge of honor during their off time. I’m currently developing a plot to steal them in the cloak of darkness (Grinch-style) and burn them at the stake. I’ll drop them into the fire, one by one, using barbecue tongs to avoid direct contact. They’ll emit witchy squeals and maybe even refuse to burn as I douse the flames with gasoline.

Scott stretches his bright-blue Crocs toward me, giving me a gentle kick. He’s not even my official brother-in-law yet and he’s already finding ways to antagonize me. “I’ll never take them off. You’ll have to bury me in them.”

“Not in the Chen family plot.” I snort, my gaze falling over Trevor, who apparently can’t be bothered to take the task at hand seriously. He’s too distracted admiring his hideous footwear. I launch a pencil at his chest. “Stop wasting cardboard. You need to outline it before you start cutting at random.”

“Sorry. It’s this music. How am I supposed to work under these conditions?” Trevor casts a troubled look at my phone, which is blasting a bomb Disney playlist.

“Oh, come on, you’re practically itching to break out into song and dance,” I tease, nodding at Scott, who’s tapping his Croc merrily toHercules’s “I Won’t Say (I’m in Love).”

Trevor rewards me with a dead-eyed stare. “Don’t compare me tothat.”

“You can’t tell me you never watched these movies as a kid?” Scott chucks a balled-up wad of construction paper at his head.

Trevor catches the ball of paper before it hits him, like he’s some genetically modified super soldier. He tosses it into his personal trash pile, neatly stacked next to him. “Not by choice. The real question is, why didyou?”

“I grew up with two sisters, man.”

I swing a warning glare at Trevor. “You better learn some of these tunes if you’re gonna be a half-decent prince at the party. All the good princes sing and dance.”

Trevor scoffs. “For the hundredth time, I’m not dressing up.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

Scott snickers. “I would pay money to see this. Good money.”

I scrutinize Scott up and down. “Oh, you’ll be there too. You’re going to be Prince Charming.”

Scott ponders that for a moment. “Works for me.”

“See? Scott’s gonna do it,” I goad.

Trevor glowers at him like he’s just broken sacred bro-code. “Because he’s a sucker. And he likes attention—”

“Hey, fuck off.” Scott chucks another wad of paper at him. This one hits him clean on the forehead, bouncing onto the floor.

Trevor continues on valiantly, like he didn’t just get smoked in the head. “And even if I were going to dress up, which I’m not—”

“You are—” I interject.

“Nope.”

I level him with a poisonous stare. “Do you realize how happy Angie would be if you dressed up? Besides, I already promised her you would. You can’t back out now. She’ll be heartbroken.” Truthfully, I never made such a promise to Angie. But he doesn’t need to know that.

His eyes meet mine, softening instantly. Bingo. I’ve pierced him straight through the heart with my arrow of guilt. He slumps his shoulders in grumpy resignation. “Okay. Fine. But no pictures. And why does Scotty get to be Prince Charming?”

“Because he’scharming,” I explain, to Scott’s delight. Normally, I have no interest in feeding my brother-in-law’s already inflated ego, but I’m willing to take one for the team if it means grinding Trevor’s gears.

Trevor places a hand over his chest, offended. “And I’m not?”

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