Dan Versus Nature Read Free Page B

didn’t give up years ago. If I were her and my taste in guys was so bad, I’d probably try being a lesbian.
    But that’s just the way Mom is, eternally optimistic.
    Me, I conceded defeat on the surrogate dad front a
looong
time ago. And honestly, it hasn’t been such a big loss. All that father/son crap — learning how to shave, tying a tie, dribbling a basketball — you can pick up off the Internet, no prob.
    It’d be nice, though, if Mom found someone she could rely on before I leave for college. A real partner. Like you see in the movies or on TV.
    Unfortunately, this Hank character is
not
that guy. I can just tell. It’s the “too perfect” angle. It’s a dead giveaway.
    But clearly he’s got Mom totally snowed.
    I sigh and press my graphite-stained palms into my tired eyes. I pull my hands away from my face and look at my sketch pad.
    I blink at the picture I’ve drawn. What the —? The Night Goblin has a tuxedo on! And Princess Erilin is wearing a wedding dress and is clutching a bouquet of flowers!
    And they’re holding hands!
    No. No way. I snatch my eraser and scrub out both their faces. I start redrawing the heads. We’re not at Temple Araxia anymore. Nope. We’re in another part of the city completely, a church miles away where Sir Stan’s mother, naive physiotherapist Sarah Stalwart, is about to wed the evil Lord . . . Fang Plaqueston.
    And now Sir Stan is faced with a dilemma: go help Princess Erilin battle the Night Goblin and save all humanity, or race to the church in order to thwart this unholy union which threatens to destroy his entire family. . . .
    “I think you’re going to like wild boar, Dan,” Hank says, placing two more platters of food on the table. He’s wearing Mom’s pink cowgirl apron and somehow is able to make it look macho. “It’s what pork used to taste like before pigs were domesticated.”
    “Everything smells delicious. You’ve outdone yourself, Boogabear,” Mom says.
    Ugh. Cue the string of sickeningly sweet pet names I’ll now have to endure. The last loser was “Crumpkin” and Mom was “Taffy,” whatever the hell
that’s
supposed to mean.
    Mom’s broken out her favorite multicolored Fiestaware for the occasion. She takes generous servings of everything: boar chops, stuffed mushrooms, green beans amandine, homemade coleslaw. “My mouth is watering!” she says.
    “Yeah,” I say. “It all looks so . . . hot.” I spear the smallest of the boar chops with my fork. I add a single mushroom cap, three green beans, and a tiny lump of coleslaw to my blue plate.
    “Not hungry, Dan?” Hank asks, reaching for the largest chop.
    I shake my head. “Charlie and I hit the deli after school, and we had chips and stuff.”
    Mom laughs. “Dan’s not the most adventurous of eaters. His comfort zone is more spaghetti and meatballs than haute cuisine.”
    “That’s not true,” I say, my face prickling with heat. “I eat lots of other things. It’s just that tonight I’m not feeling so well.”
    “Hey, listen,” Hank says. “Don’t sweat it. I’m honored that you’re even trying it. When I was fifteen, I wouldn’t touch anything that didn’t have ‘burger’ or ‘McNugget’ in the title.”
    Wow, patronizing much?
    Mom raises her water glass. “To new beginnings,” she says. “And to togetherness and family.”
    Hank grabs his glass and clinks Mom’s. “Cheers to that.”
    They hold their glasses out toward mine, which remains on the table. “Sorry,” I say with an apologetic smile. “It’s bad luck to toast with water.”
    “Oh.” Hank looks at me, then at Mom. “I didn’t know that.”
    “Yeah,” I say. “It’s from Greek mythology. They thought the dead left their physical bodies behind after drinking from the rivers of the underworld. So a toast with water is basically a toast to death.”
    “Huh. Interesting. Well.” Hank laughs. “Uncheers, then.” He does a little reverse motion with his water glass.
    “Uncheers,”