Page 114 of Lighting the Lamp
I try and fail to hide my smile, letting the scene play out like I’m watching a ‘90s romcom. Honestly, it’s hard not to wonder if Michele and Kyle ever dated. They met in college, probably both too naïve with hearts in their eyes, and as the story goes, became inseparable basically overnight. I remember asking Michele offhandedly once if there had ever been anything between them, but they both shut it down so fast you’d think I accused them of being siblings. But I have eyes, and there’s something about the way they move around each other. It makes it hard to believe there was never a party hookup or a what-if moment between midterms and late-night Taco Bell. The person who hates the idea most is Cole.
He inches closer to Michele now, just enough to slide between them with that signature Hendrix-brand casual intensity that screams“I’m fine”while absolutely not being fine. His jaw ticks, eyes locked on Kyle like he’s debating whether socking his brother and getting on Auntie Mel’s bad side before the game even starts is worth it. Kyle, of course, notices and leans in even closer. He is living for this shit. If there is one thing a Hendrix loves more than hockey, it’s pushing their brothers’ buttons.
“You are not charming.” Michele bursts out laughing, nearly dropping her phone as she doubles over. The sound is loud andunfiltered, the kind that fills a room and makes you want to join in, even if you missed the joke.
“I’m delightful,” Kyle insists, puffing out his chest like he’s auditioning for a rom-com. “Ask literallyanyone.”
He scans the group as if he’s looking for volunteers, then points dramatically at me. “Alise, my new favorite now-familiar female. Tell them I’m charming.”
I calmly take a sip from my cup, completely immune to his theatrics. “You’re exhausting.”
Kyle reels back as if he’s been personally attacked, clutching his chest with mock offense.
“She didn’t even blink,” Ramona whispers to Michele, who’s too busy trying not to cry from laughing.
“Did you hear that?” Kyle turns to Darius for backup like he’s about to be vindicated. “You heard her disrespect me, right?”
“Loud and clear,” Darius says, sliding in beside Ramona like he’s been waiting for his cue. “And honestly? She’s not wrong. I was trying to find a nice way to say it, too.”
“Wait—hold on. Who even are you?” Kyle blinks like his brain blue-screened.
“That’s Darius.”
“You’reDarius?”
“In the flesh.” Darius gives a casual two-finger salute, not even flinching.
“You’re way taller than I thought. Also, way more real.” Kyle stares at him like he’s seeing a glitch in the matrix.
“I get that a lot.”
“You sound shorter through the headset,” Kyle says, narrowing his eyes. “Like someone who wouldn’t destroy me at FIFA every damn time.”
“I let you win.”
“You absolutely did not.”
“Sure, Grandpa.” Darius shrugs, completely unfazed.
“Grandpa? I’m twenty-two!” Kyle recoils as if someone stabbed him.
“That’s basically a few years from retirement in pro athlete years.”
“You think I need to carry a cane?” Kyle clutches his chest. “Do I look like I should go buy a pair of orthopedic sneakers?”
“I heard you groan when you got out of the car.” Ramona hums, her eyes light with mischief.
“I’d been stuck in the middle seat for over an hour with my knees practically in my throat.”
“The youngest always sits bitch; them’s the breaks, kiddo,” Cole chimes in without missing a beat. “Next thing we know, he’s going to blame the weather.”
“I have complex joints!”
Darius leans forward, stage-whispering behind his hand but loud enough for the whole box to hear. “It’s giving old-man energy. Should we get him a Life Alert?”
Ramona snorts into her drink, and Michele tries to smother a laugh behind her hand, failing miserably.
“I’m not that old!” Kyle groans, throwing his head back. “Besides, you are literally fourteen. Your brain’s not even done cooking yet.”
