Page 35 of Tuesday

“Do you think we should tell them?” Lovely whispers, eyeing the men. Shit, if sheltered Lovely can recognise the pose, then anybody can. Apart from the two men at the front of the room.

“Miss Jasmine, can the man in front lean forward? There’s a glare on his big forehead and I can’t draw it,” a cute little redheaded girl whines.

Pops takes his cue and leans forward at the waist. A guffaw bursts out, my head snapping around to find Dex with his hand slapped over his mouth. Fuck, even Sniper, the most stoic brother we have, has his lips rolled between his teeth. Switch, being a ginger, has turned dangerously red from holding in his laughter and Rider is silently rolling on the floor, a wheeze escaping him periodically. Fuck. Do I tell them? Not if I want to live. I catch Marx’s eye and widen mine at him, then dart them to the men at the front of the room. My brother frowns, mouthing “What?” at me, so I tip my head in the direction of the old couple at the front.

Marx moves from his position near the kitchen hatch, closer to where I’m standing and I see the exact moment he sees it. His head snaps in my direction, eyes huge as he mouths “What. The. Fuck?” I shrug, trying hard not to laugh at the look on his face. I know he probably wants to piss himself too, but he’s the Pres so at least one of us has to pull themselves together.

“Ah, Jazz?” he coughs, clearing his throat. “Can I have a word?”

Jazz quickly surveys the kids before moving quietly beside Marx. He leans down, murmuring to her. Her dark head turns to look at the scene, then she spins toward Marx, her hands over her mouth. She’s not devastated or embarrassed. No, judging by her shoulders shaking she’s laughing.

“Um, Dog man, can you please get lower?” A woman who came in with a deaf little girl asks, nodding at the girl as her hands fly, making shapes in the air.

Dad squats down a little lower, but because of the positioning he looks even more mid- thrust than he did before. “Like this?”

The woman looks down at the dark haired girl who grins and puts two thumbs up, before picking up her pencil and getting back to work. I turn back to the car crash happening in front of me just in time to see Pops shove his ass back, unsteadying Mad Dog.

“Stop gripping me so fu-reaking tight,” Pops growls.

“Shut it, Pops. This pose is killing me!”

“Pussy!” Pops hisses.

“Where? I love pussies!” One of the kids shouts out, then gets up, moving around the room yelling “Pussy! Puuuuuuussssssyyy!”

Rider lets out an even higher pitched wheeze from his place on the floor. Fuck, even the Ol Ladies are doubled over on the couch. Mira has her face buried in a cushion, Ana is snorting like a pig, Remy’s shoulders are shaking violently even though no noise is coming out and there, in the chaos sits my Ol Lady, looking perplexed.

Mad Dog’s legs start dangerously shaking and I know that he can’t hold that pose all day. But looking at Pops, he’s not doing much better. He’s on one leg, bent forward, ass out.

“Ugh, I can’t draw the old man’s camel toe!” some kid whines before tossing their pencils with such flair that it’s almost impressive.

“Dwayne! You clean up your mess right now!” Jazz says in a firm voice, trying everything to not look at the scene in front of her.

“TIIIMBER!” That orange kid Rodney yells just as Pops and Mad Dog topple in a heap on the ground.

“Ow! Your goddamn belt buckle is digging into me!” Pops grumbles, wriggling around on the floor.

“It’s not my belt buckle,” Mad Dog grits out.

Pops freezes, wide eyed before turning and trying to punch my Dad. There are gasps from the children before Rodney yells “Fight!” then it’s all on. The kids start chanting “Fight, fight, fight!” while banging on the table. There are howls of laughter as the brothers and Ol Ladies finally let it all out, and Marx stands pinching his brow.

“There! Finished!” A cute little blonde girl with Downs Syndrome says, holding up her picture.

“Holy shi-rt,” Rider catches quickly, “That’s really good sweetheart.”

She picks it up and skips over to Pops and Mad Dog who are still tussling on the floor. “Excuse me Mr Old Man and Mr Dog Man, but do you like my drawing of you?”

They both stop rolling around so they can sit up and look at her picture. The soft smiles on their faces freeze in place as their eyes widen.

“Oh, um, is that us?” Mad Dog asks, trying to keep his reaction in check.

She nods enthusiastically and both Pops and Mad Dog shower her with compliments until she races off to show it to her teacher.

“Holy fuck,” Pops whispers. “We’re going to have to make Jazz burn those.”

“Fuck yes,” Mad Dog agrees.

Pops nods vigorously, not stopping, I think he’s in shock. “Look, I think everybody has a right to love who they want to love. In saying that, I will destroy every picture in existence of you posing like you’re bumming me.”

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