Would Ya?

March ’17 – Story C

It was pretty last minute (okay, so I wrote it yesterday…) but I am pretty happy with how “Would Ya?” turned out. Let me know what you think in the comments! Any suggestions? Prompts you’d like me to write for? Please drop a comment! Thanks guys! ~Panda

“But really, would you take a bullet for me?” We were twelve, and he wouldn’t give it up.

“I don’t KNOW, okay? …it depends on how much dessert you had left.” Smirking, I turned my back on him, picking up the pace. The pecan hit me square in the small of the back, and I doubled over, rolling back to my feet to face him. Why’d you have to convince Mark to teach him how to pitch?

“I’ll bet ya dessert I could get inside first, and lock you out.” He smirked, the sun sifting through the trees providing a halo for his angel smile. Little brothers.

We weren’t that far, and my legs were longer, not too risky. “…I accept the bet.”

“AND, I know for a fact Mom’s making apple pie.”

“Oh?” It was all I got out before we were both running, his feet pounding, mine skimming the ground. He may be better at most sports, but I had my specialties, too.

Watching him pass me, I spun, heading for the front door. It would take him approximately three seconds to get across the yard, four more to get through the door, then five to get through the house to lock the front door.  That gave me a dozen seconds to get from the back of the yard and in the front door. I should be able to do it in seven, thereby meaning I got his slice of pie.

 

“Love you.” His words were a whisper, our caps scraping as he held my arm for pictures,

“You KNOW I love you, man.” Knocking his cap off, his hat hair shows majorly, and we both smile. Graduation was a big day, and it was all I could do not to cry.

“…but would you take a bullet for me, sis?”

“I’d be the one behind the gun, and you know it.” He shoves me, and I shove back before mom steps in, fussing over our clothes as she always had.

After we had greeted all the relatives, he turned to me, the familiar competitive gleam in his eyes. “Bet ya dessert that…”

“No bet. I need dessert today.”

“Need it, eh? You’re gonna get chubby if you keep that up.”

“It’d be a shame if we both were, now wouldn’t it?”

At that, he perks up- it was a common sentence to pass between us, and we both know what’s coming next.

“Bet ya an avocado you wouldn’t eat it.”

“Bet ya tuna salad you’d cry.”

“Aw cmon. That’s just cruel. I thought you said you loved me?” He pouted.

“I do… But not as much as dessert.”

“Bet ya dessert I make it home first.”

“Inside, at the table.”

“To the table, then.”

“…I accept.”

Seven seconds and I was inside. Five more, and I was seated. He sighed, and I smirk. “Bet off.”

“Sore winner, eh?”

“No, just wouldn’t want to be as chubby as you.”

We share a laugh as Mom comes in, shaking her head as she sees the heels sitting beside the couch, where I dropped them and the state of my hair. Dad followed her, sighing. “Will you two ever grow up?”

“Not likely.” The words rolled off our tongues in perfect unison.

 

It had been five years. He was married and had a daughter, Ann. His wife had laughed when I brought a toy gun to her third birthday party. We were going to Mom and Dad’s for our annual family dinner, and he picked me up in his usual fashion, his southern raising coming out in his speech and his mannerisms.

“Let’s forget the chit-chat… Would you take a bullet for me?”

“Maybe… if it was from the gun, I gave Ann.”

“I thought you loved me?”

“You asked.”

“Bet ya dessert we pass some rioters.”

My face exploded into a smile before I could stop it, my head shaking. “I’m not the fat one, I need that dessert.”

“Well fine then, I was just gonna say…”

We were in the rougher part of town when I saw the flame in my peripheral vision, twisting in my seat to get a better view. “Fire.” The car screeched to a halt, both of us knowing what we had to do. He ran towards the fire, and I followed, catching him within seconds.

“Rioters have been out a good bit, stay behind me.” His words were anything but comforting, and I shook my head, pulling my knife from its sheath- I may be a girl, but there’s no way I was helpless.

“Not on your life. We go in together, or I go alone.”

He shook his head, but let me be as we continued towards the flames, the frequency of gunfire growing as we neared.

As we got to the scene, I saw the lookout on the corner swivel – my brother still hadn’t learned how to run quietly – and saw him take aim, noting the knife in my hand.

Without a second thought, I slid between him and my brother, stopping short, my brother falling over me. The slug hit. My screams mingled with the sound of gunfire, my brother slipping his own gun from his pocket, two bullets going straight through the man’s head before he turned back to me. Perks of being a police officer.

“You can have my dessert,” I muttered through clenched teeth, trying not to give in to the pain.

“I’ll need it.” He gave a slight grimace, lifting me up and carrying me to the car. I heard his voice through a haze, then slipped away from consciousness.

 

Waking up, I glance around. Everything is white, clean, and stiff. As I turn my head, the pain hits, and so do the memories. Hearing a gasp, I turn the other way, seeing his worried face.

“You owe me dessert.”

“I’m sure they have a pudding cup somewhere.”

He laughed, and I saw Mom walking down the hall. “by the way… Did that answer your question?”