Free Spur of the Moment by Theresa Alan

I don’t!”
    â€œYou do! You do!” the others chanted. They swarmed in on her and ended up in a group tickle fight, the usual conclusion to their “interventions.”
    They laughed until their stomachs hurt and they were so tired they could barely peel themselves off the floor. And so they went home to bed, ideas for the show tumbling through their minds like pebbles in an ocean.

8
    Quality Family Time
    A na thought that if she and her four roommates had been around in Renaissance times, Marin would have been the lovely, charming, fabulously wealthy queen, universally loved by all. Scott would have been, of course, the court jester. Jason would have been the king and queen’s children’s tutor, a simple but respectable role. Ramiro would have been the king’s advisor, able to come up with brilliant war-winning, destiny-changing strategies over pints of mead. Ana herself would be a scullery maid, working tirelessly for starvation rations and the first one to die off in a bout of bubonic plague.
    Still, she loved her friends, though it wasn’t always easy. Living with Marin, Scott, and Ramiro meant that no matter how hard Ana tried, the house was in a perpetual state of chaos. It was like living with the kid from the Sixth Sense. You know when the Mom leaves the room for like a second and then comes back to find all the drawers and cabinet doors open? That was what Ana faced every day of her life. With the exception of Jason, her roommates were absolutely incapable of closing a drawer or door. Ana would dutifully close all the cabinets, and then in the span of time it took to blink, the kitchen would become a minefield of bruises and concussions waiting to happen—one quick turn into an outstretched cabinet door and you’d be flat on your back with a bump the size of shot glass on your forehead. Her roommates had never once replaced an empty roll of toilet paper with a full one, and they certainly never did their dishes. In the beginning, Ana had yelled and cried and cajoled, but it was useless. It was easier just to clean up after them.
    She and Jason had become the de facto Mom and Dad of this family. Jason loved to garden, and that’s what he spent all his weekend days doing in the growing season. He took care of mowing the lawn, and he was the only person in the house who ever cooked. He would cook enormous vats of ratatouille or pasta primavera and salads with fresh vegetables from his garden.
    Ana did all of the cleaning. If she left it up to the others, their bathtub would resemble a swamp and the rest of the house would look like it had been ransacked by Russian mafia members looking for the microchip that could destroy the world or what have you. But while Ana was bitter and resentful every moment she spent cleaning up after her roommates, she also loved them, and the good things outweighed the many bad sides of living with them.
    Take this morning for instance. Ana made coffee, poured herself a milky, sugary cup and made one for Scott too, then padded barefooted along the hardwood floors to Scott’s room.
    She noiselessly pushed the door open. He opened his eyes and looked at her.
    â€œYou awake?” she asked.
    â€œYeah, I’m just laying here until I work up the energy to get up.”
    â€œI brought you some coffee. That should help.”
    Ana brought him the cup. “Scooch,” she commanded. He scooched. She put her coffee on the bedside table and lay next to him, so their arms touched. Scott, being the giant he was, had the largest bed in the house, and it had become the informal meeting place for the family.
    â€œThanks, but it’s too hot for coffee. It’s too hot for anything.” Between the sound of the fan in the window and the mini-swamp cooler on the floor, it was hard to hear him.
    â€œYou’re from Texas. You should be used to the heat.”
    â€œYeah, but in Texas they wouldn’t have even considered building a