Knowing Jude

Wednesday afternoon, I'm in the living room, sprawled on one of the couches. I'm watching some sitcom on the TV and laughing much more times than the background laughter that's on. Most of the time, people give me looks whenever I burst into laughter in situations they can't find anything to laugh about, but all I can do is pray that they get a little sense of humour dropped onto them.

Anyway, I'm busy trying to hold my laughter back because my stomach is starting to ache when the doorbell rings. I sit upright and switch off the TV, knowing that's Jude and I don't want him to get another thing to taunt me about in the name of the shows I watch. I mean, I can watch anything so long as it's entertaining? Isn't that the point of sitting in front of a screen for hours? To get entertained? Why am I even thinking about this?

I walk to the door and pull it wide open to see Jude, who's standing there with a smile on his face. It falls off his face once he sees me. He rolls his eyes. "You."

"Were you expecting someone else?"

"Yeah, I was hoping to meet a more interesting member of this family."

"Poor you, out of luck," I say, stepping aside for him when a voice emerges from behind me.

"Jude Walker?"

Apparently, there are some fangirls around, but where are the cameras? Jude looks over my shoulder with that cursed smirk of his that's reserved for his admirers. I almost gag. "Hey."

"What are you doing here?" Maria asks, moving in front of me and practically shoving me into the background.

"I said I'd have a friend over to study, remember?" I say, a bit annoyed and embarrassed at her behaviour.

She twists around to face me. "You're not friends with Jude Walker."

She says that in an 'oh please' kind of way as if the idea of it is absolutely absurd. Then she keeps saying Jude Walker like he is a fucking celebrity. He's probably getting a high out of all the adoration she's directing his way. I roll my eyes. "Well then, I'm having an enemy over to study. Believable?"

I don't wait for her response as I snatch Jude's hand and practically drag him to the kitchen, leaving her behind.

"Woah," he mutters, chuckling under his breath. "That's your sister?"

I would expect him to know that, but given he didn't know my name a few days ago, I guess that's too much to hope for.

I drop his hand as we get to the kitchen. "Maria, my younger sister."

I see his eyes go wide. "Younger?"

A lot of people actually ask that whenever I say she's my younger sister because she's taller and more uh, developed than me.

"Yes, Jude. You understand English, don't you?"

He rolls his eyes and looks around. "Are we doing it here?"

"Nope," I say, heading to the fridge. "What will you drink?"

"Where are we doing it, in your room?" he asks, and I look back at him to find him raising a suggestive eyebrow at me. I only huff at his stupid double meaning and wait for him to say what he'll have. "Give me whatever you're having because if I ask for alcohol, you won't give me that, will you?"

I roll my eyes and grab a carton of pineapple juice and move to the counter. I hear footsteps and look up to find Trey walking into the kitchen. He has just arrived from school, his school bag and gym bag slung over his shoulder. His eyes shift from Jude to me, from me to Jude.

He licks his lips. "Hey, Jude."

Jude nods at him. "Trey."

My eyes bulge. Finally, ladies and gentlemen, someone that Jude actually can identify by name. "You guys know each other?" I ask, my gaze shifting between the two.

Jude shrugs. "Yeah, he and my "

"Yeah, we are on the football team together, remember?" Trey rushes out, interrupting whatever Jude was going to say.

"Uh, yeah," I nod in realization.

Trey licks his lips again-a nervous habit of his-gives Jude another look, then walks out of the kitchen without even getting to the fridge. I pour the juice into glasses, wondering what's up with him. "He might actually make captain next year," Jude mutters.

"Who, Trey? That lunatic?"

"He's quite a good team player and one of our best," Jude adds.

It's actually great to hear this about my brother. He has been passionate about the game since he could practically walk, and I'm glad he's doing good at it.

We are heading through the house to the library with me carrying the glasses when we hear rapid footsteps coming down the staircase, then Trey's voice shouts out. "Hey Jo, can I have your Arsenal shirt?"

"So long as I have it back clean," I yell back, and seconds later, he pushes past us, rushing into my room.

"You have an Arsenal shirt?" Jude asks.

"Yeah."

"Do you play?"

"No. I'm just a fan."

He laughs. "You?"

"Most of my family is obsessed with football," I reply. Excluding Maria, whose only interaction with the game is checking out the hot players and swooning over them. He chortles. "Even your Mum?"

I nod. "Solid Chelsea fan."

I open the first door to the left of the hallway and wait for him to step in, then I go after him and close the door. I lead the way past blocks of bookshelves to the other side of the room, and I hear him making appreciative noises.

"I don't think I fully understood how much of a bookworm you are until this moment," he says, and I can hear the sound of his fingers thumping against the spines of the books.

"Whoever said I'm a bookworm?" I ask, placing the glasses on a table beside a large window opening to part of the backyard. "If anything, you are the bookworm. Have you seen your transcript?"

He drops his school bag on the table and scoffs, moving to the window. "I'm not a bookworm."

I clap. "Well, then it's agreed that none of us is a bookworm."

"Maybe we're just geniuses."

I roll my eyes. "Let me go get my books."

When I get back, he is standing at one of the bookshelves, thumbing through one impossibly thick leather-bound book.

"Take a seat, non-bookworm," I say sarcastically, going past him.

I take a seat and he takes one too, but then he just grabs a pen and leans back in his chair. "So, about football, are you just a fan, or can you play?"

"Not play play," I say, waiting for him to open up his books.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"That I've never played it competitively or something like that."

"Can you kick a ball?"

I scoff.

"Of course, I can kick a ball," I reply incredulously.

He gives me a look of disbelief. "You are not even in any games at school."

"And you call me the stalker?" I pick up his bag and throw it at him. "How about we find that out some time?"

"What, that you can kick?"

"Yeah, that I can kick a stupid ball."

"What's that you're wearing?" Maria asks me the next morning, her lip turning up in a scornful sneer.

I look down at my shorts and sports vest get up. It's a pretty cool get up for a hot day...right? I sigh and look at her. "Are the clothes yours?"

Her head rears back. "No."

"Are they on your body?" I ask.

Her gaze changes into a glare, finally getting my point.

"What were you saying, again?" I walk past her towards the breakfast-laden table. I don't give a hoot about what she wears, so why can't she leave me and my clothes alone?

I've just grabbed a sandwich when the sound of wheezing comes from the kitchen door and I turn to find Trey leaning against the doorjamb, holding onto his stomach in suppressed laughter. I'm not ganging up my brother against our sister. It's just that we have all grown tired of her rude remarks and any shade thrown her way makes everyone else generally happy.

"Whatever, I'm not the one looking like a hobo. No wonder Jude has no interest in you," she sneers and walks out of the kitchen, her heels clicking against the floor. I don't say anything about her mini skirt because I don't care, but she had better hope Dad doesn't see her.

Wait.

Jude?

I gape at Trey, my sandwich suspended mid-air. "Did she say Jude?"

Finally getting over his laughter, Trey walks forward, placing his backpack and gym bag on one of the seats at the island. "Yeah, what's that about?"

"I have no idea." Jude has no interest in me? Well, thank heavens, I think that's a good thing because it means I'm not like one of those airheads that he is always using at school, right? And that, in my opinion, is a very good thing. Trey takes a seat after pouring in a cup of tea. "Can I have that vest someday? I like it."

I laugh. "You can't keep wearing my clothes, Trey."

"You're always wearing my shoes," he replies.

Well, that's true, but I don't think I can do that for much longer since his feet seem to be growing ten feet each passing day.

"Maria Elisabeth! Get back here!"

I almost scald my tongue with hot tea at Dad's sudden outburst, and I crane my neck to look into the living room. I see Maria trudge back into the room, nose turned up. "What, now?"

Dad thrusts a finger out towards the stairs. "Now go back up there and put on some clothes you can actually go to school in."

Trey hops off his seat and leans over to watch because he is as snoopy as me.

"But-" Maria starts but then shuts up, likely silenced by a stern look.

"Look at your sister. Can't you be decent like her?"

Uh oh. Please no. Don't do that, Dad.

But he already has, and now Maria sends a glare my way as if I'm the cause of all her troubles. Trey simply chuckles and gets back to his seat. Maria swerves around and stomps up the stairs.

Sam comes bouncing into the kitchen, hopping with his bag already on his back. Trey tousles his hair, and Sam slaps his hand away, making a pouty face. "Stop, Trey!"

Trey chuckles and digs into a doughnut.

I pour Sam a glass of pineapple juice because he detests hot beverages, and at the moment, he is lucky Mum is not here to force it on him.

"Can you get me one like that?" he asks, pointing at my vest.

I nod. "If you behave." I pause. "Oh wait, you have one like it." I remember him hounding me for one the moment I got mine, and I got him a smaller size.

His nose scrunches up in thought. Let's just say I have a close wardrobe relationship with my brothers.

Mum walks into the kitchen then, all ready to leave for work. She immediately frowns at the drink in Sam's hand. She gives me a disapproving look. "No juice for Sam in the morning, remember?" I give Trey a frantic look, but all he does is stick his tongue out at me.

"There's tea right there. What if he gets a sore throat?" Mum continues. Sam, like me, happens to have an affinity for sore throats in the face of sugary things.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Sam gulping down his juice, as if afraid it's going to be snatched away any moment.

"He can have a hot chocolate on his way to school," I suggest, Jude and his weird obsession coming to mind. Something is wrong with me if I'm turning to Jude for reference.

Sam jumps down from his seat and throws a grin in Mum's way. "I'm done. Can we go now?"

"No, wait a bit for that cup of hot chocolate." She gives me an expectant look. "Jo?"

Jude had better not have been kidding with me.