

Self-Help 101 or:

How I Learned to Take Over the World Through Tolerating My Family

By L.G. Keltner

Self-Help 101 or: How I Learned to Take Over the World Through Tolerating My Family

Copyright 2015 by L.G. Keltner

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by L.G. Keltner. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover Art by L.G. Keltner

This book is dedicated to all the awkward teenagers of the world, and also to all the awkward adults who are still trying to make sense of life. May you all learn to conquer the world in your own unique way.

Table of Contents

Disclaimer

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Afterword

About the Author
**Disclaimer:**

It should be noted that the wisdom I obtained through observing my own family has not produced a definitive guide on how to take over the world. For best results, you should observe your own family to learn what you can from them and combine the results of your research with the advice offered in this book. If you don't have any family, a group of crazy friends should also suffice.

Any misfortune that befalls you in your quest for world domination is not the fault of the author.

Seriously, don't even think about blaming me. My bank account has nothing to offer you.

Chapter 1

In which you, the reader, come to me for advice and I do nothing but show you how I struggled to start writing this book in the first place.

If you're reading this book, I can assume you either want to take over the world and are looking for some pointers, or you simply want to be entertained. I hope that you're able to get what you want from the experience of reading this, but there's no guarantee. No refunds, either. You may walk away from this scratching your head and wondering what in the world is wrong with me, and I won't lie. That would be an understandable response.

Now that I've probably scared at least half of you off, I'll start by saying that my name is Dani, and as I write this, I am seventeen years old. When I first sat down to write this book an entire two months ago, holidays could bite the big one as far as I was concerned. Sure, the gifts were nice (unless they came in the form of a hideous sweater from Great Aunt Ruth Ann), and the food was good (again, as long as it had been nowhere near Great Aunt Ruth Ann), but none of that made up for the fact that I was expected to co-exist in a house with ten assorted family members for nearly three days.

Not that all of them are that bad, but the sheer lack of elbow room would make it difficult to get any work done. I just knew I was doomed. Yeah, most people my age weren't bound to be all that concerned with producing their magnum opus during Christmas break, but I'm not most people, and the prospect of listening to my cousin Corey's far-fetched tales of personal greatness and dodging Grandma Pearl's suggestions for "how to be a proper lady" made me shudder.

Sitting at my desk, alone, in the quiet of my bedroom, I took a long sip of my Earl Grey tea. I had less than two hours before the house erupted in glad tidings and familial discord, and I planned to make the most of that precious time.

After setting my mug down beside my brand new notebook with "Keep Calm and Plot Your Revenge" written on the cover, I picked up the book that came in the mail the day before. The front image featured a coiffed man with a gameshow-host smile and top-dollar suit. I realized this cover art could inspire two possible reactions in anyone who saw it. It could inspire absolute belief that this man had the answers to all the questions that plagued humanity, or it could inspire absolute certainty that this man had ripped off anyone dumb enough to purchase this lame attempt to make a quick buck.

Yes, on some level I felt dirty for even having forked out a portion of my babysitting money to buy the thing. The cover almost dissuaded me from doing it, but the title ultimately won me over. _Self-Help 101: How to Write a Self-Help Book Regardless of Your Level of Expertise_. It seemed like just the thing I needed to help me get my book-writing project started. Worst case scenario, if it didn't prove to be helpful at all, I planned to display it on my bookshelf and claim that I bought it ironically. The fact that the author's name was listed as Richard "Moneymaker" Johnson certainly would have lent credence to that claim.

Prying back the aesthetically offensive cover, I glanced briefly at the lengthy introductory section. It appeared at first glance to be filled with the usual self-aggrandizing pep-talky drivel, so I felt confident as I skipped it entirely.

I paused as I reached the page that declared **Chapter 1: A Brief Summary of What You'll Learn From This Book**. This made me shake my head. "Or you could just start by teaching me what I want to know," I grumbled. "But sure, I'll keep reading. Why not?"

Step 1: Select a Topic

I smiled. "Well, I already managed that. Do I get a prize or something?" Even though I was apparently ahead of the game, I continued reading the paragraphs that followed. Though I might not have missed anything crucial if I'd decided to skip it, I might have missed an opportunity for entertainment. Considering how much the book cost, I wasn't about to let that happen.

This step might sound simple, but it isn't. The topic you choose to write about will play a large role in determining your success. Let's face it. There are self-help books everywhere. Any idiot can write one.

I snorted. "You, Mr. Johnson, are snarky."

Even though everyone can write a book like this, not everyone can do it well. The first step in doing it well is choosing a topic you feel a lot of people want to learn about. It helps, of course, if you have some kind of expertise in that area. If you're an expert on something that is both interesting to a large demographic and hasn't been written about exhaustively, then by all means, go with that.

For most of us, this won't be the case. Many people are stuck in boring jobs that no one wants to know about and even a monkey could learn to do.

Unfortunately, I'd just taken another drink of tea, and reading that last line at that moment turned me into a fountain. The resulting spray left the cover of my notebook damp, but nothing else was in the line of fire. The sleeve of my gray hoodie served as a convenient means of mopping up the mess.

Looking back to the book in my hand, I shook my head. "Be careful, Richard 'Moneymaker' Johnson. If you keep this up, I may start to like you, and I don't think either of us would be prepared for that."

So, what are the rest of us to do? Should we give up on our dreams of getting our foot in the door of the booming self-help market? No. Never give up on that dream. Anyone who's willing to put in the effort can find the self-help book that already lives inside of them.

This time when I laughed, I didn't have a mouthful of anything. Thinking it was best to avoid temptation altogether, I shoved my mug out of the way.

With a little research and a dash of linguistic skill, you can convince your readers to trust in your expertise. Even in the era of the internet, people won't doubt you enough to investigate your credentials if you sell them on what you have to say. Remember, it's less about what you have to say than it is about how you say it.

"Spoken like someone who's full of crap," I mused, trying not to focus too much on how bizarre it was to be having a one-sided conversation with a book written by a man whose name was nothing but a euphemism for male anatomical attributes. "I might be able to learn a lot from you after all."

Flipping the page, I was greeted by another bold heading.

Step 2: Come Up With a Title

"There's an innovative suggestion," I mumbled. I was starting to suspect that a book like this one proved that I could indeed pull off writing the book I planned to write with minimal difficulty.

This may sound like a no-brainer, but a title does a lot of important work for you. A good title will capture the attention of prospective customers who are scanning the bookshelves, both physical and virtual, and entice them to learn more about what you have to offer. However, a title also does a lot for you before you even finish writing.

By choosing a clear and captivating title, you're setting a goalpost for yourself. You're declaring what you want your book to be. Don't underestimate the power of this. Even if it's only a working title that ends up being changed later, it sets the tone for everything you do from the moment you put it on the page. It's a crucial motivator.

I put the book down and picked up a pen. "Okay, Mr. Johnson, I'll play along." I positioned the pen over the first blank page of my new notebook. I was ready. By making the first marks, I was setting off on a new path. I had every intention of writing a book that would end up selling hundreds of thousands of copies, and in order to make that possible, I intended to devise the most amazing title ever.

Intentions are funny things, aren't they? You can have them all you want, but they don't guarantee a darn thing.

Several long minutes passed, and the page remained annoyingly pristine. Biting my lip and tapping the pen against the paper with a satisfying _thwack! thwack! thwack!_ didn't help much either.

"Maybe I'm putting too much pressure on myself," I conceded at last. "A working title doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to set a goal. Make a simple statement." I shuddered as I realized I was in danger of taking Mr. Johnson's book a wee bit too seriously.

I was also in danger of crossing the line into insanity, because talking to myself this much really couldn't be a good sign.

Shaking my head, I began to scrawl across the page. _How to Take Over the World in _____ Easy Steps._

Okay, this wasn't even a complete title. With how many steps could one reasonably expect to take over the world, anyway? I was supposed to be the expert here, and I certainly didn't have a clue. Even so, seeing the blue ink staining the page gave me some small sense of accomplishment. The rest would come in time. At least I hoped it would.

"Good enough for now." I dropped the pen and picked up the book.

Step 3: Make a List

I grinned. "How appropriate. I can be like Santa." In spite of myself, I started softly singing "Santa Claus is Coming to Town." I certainly never would have done that if anyone were there to hear me. In the spirit of world domination, I started toying with the lyrics a little, but I startled myself when one line came out as "Gonna decide who lives and who dies." I stopped singing and sagged in my chair for a moment. "Woah. Talk about a morbid turn. Way to sound creepy, Dani."

The thought made sense, though. Not everyone would survive a worldwide takeover. Could they? I thought maybe I could write a companion guide to go with this one. _How to Be a Benevolent Dictator_. That thought brought my smile back, as did the thought that, whatever I was trying to do here, there was no way your average person could possibly read anything I wrote and use it to conquer the world, meaning that any destruction that might occur would, therefore, not be my fault.

That's it. I'm admitting it openly. There's no way you can become an expert on world domination just from reading this book. That does not, however, mean you can't get anything useful out of it. You already paid for it, so you might as well keep reading to see if I have anything to offer you or not.

Shoving the distasteful song from my mind, I continued reading.

This is a crucial step whether you're an expert on your chosen subject or not. Though not as detailed as an outline, making a list will help you gather and organize your ideas. It gets the creative juices flowing, so to speak. If you are not an expert on the subject you're writing about, you can view this step as a sort of brainstorming exercise. Try doing some preliminary research on your chosen topic and make a list of key points. I'll go into more detail on how to go about this process in Chapter 4.

This seemed as good a time as any to try making a list. I didn't have enough time left to do any lengthy reading, so the dubious wisdom contained in Chapter 4 had to wait, as did any in-depth research. Besides, what were my best options for research? Looking into the lives and strategies of past dictators? That might have been a solid plan, except for the nagging fact that I just didn't feel like doing it.

Besides, I'd garnered one nugget of wisdom from Mr. Johnson's book already. He seemed to be playing one big joke with it. He'd probably thought that writing a self-help book about how to write a self-help book was a satisfying bit of irony, and if it helped him achieve his goal of making gobs of money, then all the better. If he could pull it off, I figured I could too, and I didn't necessarily need to bury myself in historical records to do it.

Now, up to this point, I'd been fairly confident that this guy didn't care all that much about helping people, but the last lines summing up Step 3 confirmed it.

No matter how little you know about your chosen subject at the outset, if you do a good job on this part, your audience will never know. You are, after all, dealing with people who've resorted to a self-help guide for knowledge. They want easy answers, and even you, dear future bestselling author, are capable of providing them with those easy answers.

"Damn, buddy! How patronizing can you get? You just insulted me and everyone who reads your book." I nodded in approval. "You may be a jerk, but I respect your style."

I spent the next twenty minutes staring at a mostly-blank page, drawing an even more complete blank in my mind and contemplating the possible reasons behind my total brain malfunction. If even an abject idiot was supposed to be able to do this, then what did that say about me?

Please, don't answer that question.

My self-recrimination was interrupted by the sound of tires crunching down the driveway. It stopped, and the sounds of slamming car doors and chattering voices followed.

I glanced down at my desk, and the million-watt fake smile seemed to be mocking me. "It's the first arrival. Do you have any books about how to tolerate your family during the holidays?"

The only response came from my mother as she hollered from the bottom of the stairs. "Tyler! Dani! Get down here now and pretend to be sociable!"

"And so it begins," I said in a low voice as I went to meet my fate with the relatives.

Chapter 2

In which I manage to put my foot so far in my mouth I nearly choke on it, and while I become public enemy #1, it all results in a brilliant idea.

The entire downstairs portion of the house made it look like all of the North Pole's elves had stopped by after work, had a bit too much of my grandma's special egg nog, and subsequently became ill on every available surface. The bannister had been wrapped in green tinsel and red Christmas lights, and a miniature tree decked out in twinkle lights and baubles waited by the door, ready to blast the holiday spirit in the faces of all those who dared cross the threshold. And for those who couldn't get enough, a full size tree stood proudly in the living room. That tree was also fully visible from the front door.

The smell of hot apple cider and cinnamon wafted through the house. As much as many aspects of Christmas overwhelmed me with their intense over-the-top nature, like the crowded accommodations and the garish reindeer lawn ornaments that danced in time with overly cheery holiday music, that delicious odor always won me over. Not that I would have admitted it aloud. Except I just did it in this book, but that's beside the point.

My younger brother Tyler trudged down the stairs in front of me. At fourteen, the gangly brat should have known better than to put himself in such a vulnerable position. The fortress was about to be breached by people both grumpy and cheerful, and the cheek pinching and petty judgments always followed. Oh joy!

Dealing with these types of situations is like preparing for battle. Strategy and quick thinking are all that can save you. No matter the position I took, I knew I'd get my share of hugs and all that, but the first child inevitably got the first hug. The dreaded atomic hug, fueled by many months of absence, was the bone cruncher. Sure, absence may make the heart grow fonder, but it also makes the arms grow stronger. Trust me, I know from firsthand experience how uncomfortable it can be going through an entire Christmas celebration with aching ribs. I was more than happy to let Tyler have that honor.

The front door swung open, and Grandma Pearl was the first one through. Her gray hair was pinned up in a bun, and her emerald green pantsuit was both elegant and coordinated with the decorations. I never would have anticipated anything less from her.

As prim and proper as Grandma Pearl looked, her face broke into that grandmotherly come-over-here-so-I-can-hug-the-snot-out-of-you grin the moment she saw Tyler waiting.

Looking around, I noted that my mom was nowhere to be seen. She must have called us down just to retreat to the safety of the kitchen. Or the bathroom. In these circumstances, any room offering shelter would have sufficed. Sneaky. I know where I got my temperament from.

Dad walked in from the living room just as Tyler was devoured by industrial strength granny arms and smacking cheek kisses. "Oh my, you've gotten so big! You're going to be as tall as your daddy."

That much was true. Tyler already towered over her, his chin resting comfortably atop her impeccably styled head, and that made it all the funnier when he tried, and failed, to wiggle away from her grasp. He resembled a living worm that had been pinned to a dissection pad.

Maintaining a healthy distance, I let Dad go in for the next greeting. He probably only came in when he did because Tyler clearly needed rescuing, and given that he's the only son our father has, he's the one expected to pass on the Finklemeier name. Why anyone would want to keep that name alive is beyond me, but that's a consideration for another time.

As Grandma Pearl released her hold and moved forward to hug her son, Tyler scurried toward the door only to be met by Grandpa Phillip as he popped his head through. "Hey there, Ty! Are you volunteering to help carry in our luggage?"

Grandpa Phillip's modus operandi was dispensing advice and philosophical insights over a glass of whiskey. There wasn't much in the way of hugging with him, so Tyler must have seen that as a safe option. He nodded and slipped quickly outside. I considered my options, and it didn't take long to see that the menial job of hauling luggage was preferable to remaining indoors. Though I doubted it would work, it was worth a shot, so I made a beeline for the door.

I've got to give my grandmother some credit. She may be an older lady who embodies the definition of poise, but she's also lightning fast. That hand shot out and seized my elbow so quick I nearly toppled backwards from the recoil.

"Not so fast, Danica," Grandma said in her stern voice. It was the one she pulled out for lectures, and no good ever came from it. "A lady doesn't need to carry luggage. Why would you want to volunteer when the men are perfectly happy to do it?"

I blinked at her as I tried to decide where to start. Don't get me wrong, I love this woman, and I certainly respect her, but to say that we've always held different views about the world would be an understatement. And sure, I was quite happy to let other people do the work for me when facing a lengthy heart-to-heart chat with my relatives wasn't the only available alternative, but I wasn't about to tell her that.

"I prefer to be called Dani, Grandma." This perhaps wasn't the best of things to say given that it's an old argument, but I'm determined to eventually win this one. Futile as it might be, I see it as a matter of principle.

She waved it off with one hand. "Oh yes, dear, I remember, but I prefer to call you Danica. It is your name, after all. Calling you Dani makes it sound like I'm speaking to my grandson, not my granddaughter." Then she turned her attention to my dad, who looked like he was trying to shoot tranquilizer darts at me with his eyes.

Yeah, he might have asked me beforehand to play nice and not stir anything up. In my defense, he should have known that would've been impossible.

"What I can't believe is that you allow such nonsense, Andrew. I get that Beth has some odd notions about what's acceptable and what isn't, but as the man of the house, you need to put your foot down about certain things."

Uh oh. Dad's glare intensified, but that wasn't what concerned me most. Grandma Pearl had just dragged my mother into the mess and essentially blamed her for all my perceived shortcomings. When I heard someone clear their throat, I turned to see Mom standing in the wide entryway that led to the living room. Her arms were crossed, her lips were twisted in a snarl, and judging by the way her eyes nearly flashed when they locked on me, she could have incinerated me with her fury if such a thing were possible.

I know my grandma must have noticed my mom standing there, because seriously, nothing ever escapes her attention. Unfortunately, she was on a roll and stopping simply wasn't on the agenda. "If you let her go by a boy's name and dress in boy's clothes, what do you think is going to end up happening?"

I looked down to survey my hoodie and jeans. Perhaps gray wasn't the most festive of colors, and yes, those jeans had a hole worn through one of the knees. What can I say? Those clothes were the most comfortable things I owned, and given that ending up in the middle of a family fracas was inevitable, I felt I should at least be comfortable for it.

That's when the front door opened and Grandpa Phillip stepped through with an armload of gifts. He paused, clearly taking a moment to survey all the tense expressions, before wordlessly moving past us to deposit his cargo at the foot of the main Christmas tree. He was long accustomed to these sorts of scenes.

However, when Tyler came in next with two large suitcases in tow, his face contorted in apprehension. Given that Mom and Dad were still zeroed in on me, it was easy for him to get an idea of what must have happened. "Geez Dani, what did you do?"

I shrugged helplessly. Sometimes I honestly didn't have a clue how I got myself into these messes either.

* * *

After volunteering to help get my grandparents settled in the guest bedroom, I was regaled with tales of post-retirement vacations to half the continental United States. Most people reading this probably think I'm certifiably insane for voluntarily spending time with them after the disaster with my grandma. I had good reasons for doing it, not the least of which was earning my way back into her good graces for at least a couple of hours. The most pressing reason, though, was that it helped me avoid my parents for a while, as I was pretty sure they were out for my blood. The best way to do that was to spend time with the people they were currently doing all they could to avoid.

Oh, the sacrifices we make to keep people from wringing our necks.

Anyway, as long as Grandpa Phillip was there, I didn't foresee any issues. I've noticed over the years that something about his presence brings out the lighter side in her. She smiles more, and she seems to forget the issues that normally bother her about other people. Or maybe she simply catalogues them with the intent of bringing them up later. Either way, his easy charm and occasional antics have made him the only person I've ever seen make her laugh, and I imagine this dynamic was a large part of what made it possible for my dad to survive his childhood. He mellows her and she keeps his feet planted on the ground long enough to get the important things done. These are two people who bring out the best in each other.

As much as I hated to admit it to myself at the time, seeing my grandparents together tugged at my inner romantic side, which I kept buried as well as I could. I'd once told my best friend Seth that I kept it entombed six feet below the surface, and that was on a good day. On a bad day when people had been particularly annoying, that six-foot grave was covered by mountains of broken concrete slabs and the wilting bouquets of flowers that remained on the shelves after the post-Valentine's Day sale. Seth had laughed at me then, and with good reason too, because it was definitely a melodramatic statement.

My thoughts strayed to Seth while I was supposed to be listening to a story about a crazy college kid who tried to go car surfing atop their tour bus, and I realized that he'd currently have even more reason to laugh at my melodrama. Then I silently chastised myself for my errant thoughts. I'd have plenty of time to worry about the awkward circumstances surrounding our friendship later on.

The moment my grandparents were settled and decided to return to the main part of the house for the compulsory socialization, I beat a hasty retreat back to my bedroom. Anything that kept me off my parents' radar seemed like a spectacular idea.

I picked up my notebook, and looking at the words "Keep Calm and Plot Your Revenge" splashed across the front, I grinned. "I need to plot world domination first, but thanks for the suggestion."

Of course, my poorly behaved mind strayed from my project, touching on concerns like school, and Seth, and family, and Seth, and what I wanted to do with my future, and . . .

Damn if I wasn't in danger of becoming a walking, talking parody of a teenager. I wanted to smack myself upside the head. I feared that if I kept it up, my magnum opus would turn out to be my magnum flunkus instead. Yeah, yeah, a whole couple of hours of frustration and distraction, and my mind was already awash with scenarios of abject failure. Overdramatic much?

"If I keep this up, Grandma Pearl will have even more proof that I can't do anything right." I followed that up with a self-deprecating laugh as I imagined my grandmother successfully bullying entire nations into doing her bidding. She'd probably have been a better candidate to write this book than me.

That's when it hit me. Anything I needed to know about taking over the world could be gleaned from studying my family in action. Feeling almost giddy with excitement (I never do "giddy" so this was as close to it as I ever come), I opened my notebook and started to write just below the incomplete title.

Note #1

Demoralize any adversaries that stand in your way. Learn to recognize any flaw and consistently point it out to them in front of as many people as possible.

Note #2

Take every opportunity to turn events that might bring your adversaries joy into a time of stress.

Note #3

Decide what you want other people to call you and insist that everyone adhere to it. Labels are important, and the name you make for yourself will be an enduring part of your legacy.

Smiling, I set the notebook back down and looked over at Johnson's book. "You may think I'm a sucker, but I'm going to make use of your advice just to spite you."

Chapter 3

In which the dynamics of my family life prove to be annoyingly complicated.

The peace didn't last long. A sharp knock on my door interrupted my continued writing attempts, which of course consisted of surfing the internet on my laptop. If anyone had asked, I would have insisted I was doing research.

"It's unlocked!" I called. Spinning around in my computer chair, I was greeted by the sight of my frazzled mother entering the room. Though she still looked plenty angry, the bulk of it didn't seem to be directed at me.

"I wish I had the luxury of hiding away," she said wistfully.

"My door does have a lock, and I doubt anyone would come looking for you in here." Extending an olive branch might have been a pragmatic move on my part, but I also felt bad for her.

"That would be a rather immature response from someone my age, now wouldn't it?" Nevertheless, judging by the arch of her brow, she was seriously considering my offer.

I shrugged. "I'd say at your age you should be able to do whatever you want. Especially in your own house."

She snorted. "That would be nice. As it is, I spent the last fifteen minutes hearing about how I should be able to keep the house cleaner since I work from home. Pearl has the idea that I sit around all day doing nothing. If I knew I could still earn the same amount of money I do now by eating snacks and watching TV, I would have started doing that a long time ago."

This line of criticism had become something of a Finklemeier Christmas tradition. Right alongside the gifts and the food were the jabs, both subtle and overt, at my mom's level of tidiness. Honestly, I've never understood where people were looking to find these flaws. Despite the fact that my mom spends a metric buttload of hours each week working as a ghostwriter and that the rest of us suffer from a stunning inability to pitch in with household chores in any reliable way, she still keeps the house in reasonably good order. Granted, her office occasionally becomes hazardous, but she always straightens it up and keeps it that way in the weeks leading up to Christmas, in part because that room serves as my bedroom so my Great Aunt Ruth Ann can have a bed. The bed I had to look forward to that evening, in fact, was a sleeping bag on the floor. My needing to sleep in that room has probably never been the main reason for Mom's cleaning fervor, though. She's seen my own bedroom enough times to understand the general level of disarray in which I felt comfortable. I suspect she does it primarily because she knows my grandma will find some excuse to go in there as she has every single other year.

Honestly, if I was the one in my mother's position, I'd have given up trying a long time ago. If nothing's ever going to be good enough, why bother?

"Who wouldn't?" I asked. Then, after a moment of thought, I added, "Other than the insane people who're super motivated about everything." I know people like that, and I get tired just watching them sometimes.

Mom nodded. "Other than them, yes."

"So, are you looking for escape, or did you need something?"

"Eager to get rid of me, huh?" she joked. It was good to see her mood lighten, even if it was bound to be temporary. "I did come here for a reason, which is to talk to you about your clothes."

I sighed. "I know, I know. You want me to change into something nice."

"No. I came to tell you to wear whatever you want to wear to dinner. Grandma Pearl might get upset, but I really don't care. Let her get upset."

In other circumstances, I would have assumed she was being sarcastic, but nothing about her demeanor suggested that she was. That's when I realized she'd decided to heed the advice I never gave voice to. She'd gone from bending over backwards to keep the peace to deliberately acting out of spite. I couldn't guess how long this state of affairs would last, either. I kind of hoped this attitude would be permanent, if only because it promised to make each subsequent holiday gathering more interesting, but it seemed far more likely that it would only survive for the duration of this particular Christmas, if even that.

"Since when are you a rebel, Mom?" I playfully demanded. "I thought I was supposed to be the rebellious one here."

"Well, since you're going to be the one wearing the offending clothes, you are."

Touché.

Mom's shoulders slumped. "I need to get back to working on dinner. If something burns, I'll never hear the end of it."

Aha! Her rebellion didn't go as far as destroying dinner. I'd suspected as much, and I was glad she wasn't going to turn dinner into charcoal in protest. I had to eat it too. "See you at dinner, then."

After she left, I jotted down a couple more notes for my book.

Note #4

Know how to keep those around you on their toes. There's a lot of power to be found in keeping people off balance. If you can achieve this, you're well on your way to becoming a successful global ruler.

Note #5

Don't let other wannabe fascists cramp your style. Resist the urge to conform to someone else's standards in order to make life easier. You're trying to be the most powerful person in the world, dammit! Act like you already are, and it might happen!

I leaned back in my chair and let out a satisfied sigh. "Thank you, Mom and Grandma, for being a goldmine of inspiration."

There was another knock on my door. "Come in!" I called.

This time around, it was my dad. Unlike Mom, it didn't appear as though his anger had abated all that much. When he closed the door behind him, he flung his arms out wide and rapidly tapped his foot against my hardwood floor. I understood why he was so ticked off. No one wants to be in trouble with their mother, and it's even worse when you're old enough to have a child of your own approaching adulthood. Well, the age at which the law treats you like an adult, in any case. "Danica, we need to talk."

Uh oh. He'd always called me Dani. Grandma had invaded his brain. I envisioned an alien with undulating tentacles that snaked in through his ear canal to lay eggs. My grandma probably could have kept tentacles tucked away inside that impeccably-kept hair of hers.

I've largely grown used to having an overactive and rather vivid imagination, and most of the time it does more good than harm. That time, however, was not a good one for having such a ridiculous thought. Though the actual situation in no way called for it, I burst out laughing.

The gritted teeth disappeared behind an impressive scowl. "None of this is funny! We're supposed to be having a nice family Christmas, so you need to straighten up and play along. I won't have you going out of your way to ruin everything!"

"But I didn't go out of my way to ruin anything." Okay, I was starting to feel irritated, and my voice reflected that. "I said one thing. One little innocuous thing that wouldn't have been an issue for anyone else, and she made it into a big deal."

"Except you knew it was a big deal for her. This was far from being the first time it's come up, and you had to know she wouldn't let it go."

That deflated me a little. "Fine. You may be right about that, but it's a matter of principle, Dad. I prefer to be called Dani. I always have, and she doesn't respect that."

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. For the duration of her stay, you won't complain when she calls you Danica. In fact, she can call you anything she pleases, and you won't say a word about it. You'll wear clothes that are acceptable for the occasion, and you'll try to look happy about it. Is that clear?"

I made a mental note to add another item to my growing list.

Note #6

Censor those that pose a threat to your dictatorial dreams.

"So, what? Her feelings are the only ones that matter? Why?" Hearing this was a bit upsetting, but I wouldn't go so far as to say I was actually hurt. Of course not. I was unflappable.

"Because, as much as you try to play at being a brooding teenager, you're nowhere near as good at making people miserable as your grandmother is," my father growled.

As far as reasons go, that one was decent. I also wondered if the alien version of Grandma that I'd envisioned had super-sensitive hearing, and how she would've reacted if she heard him say that.

This time I successfully suppressed the resulting giggle so it looked more like a hiccup. It still intensified Dad's glare, but only slightly. This came as a relief since I didn't know how much more stressed he could get before the vein in his forehead burst. That wouldn't have been good for him or for me. After all, I'd have been the one stuck cleaning up the mess.

"Now, I have to get back downstairs. I'd insist you do the same, but I don't want to risk any more trouble."

I raised an eyebrow. "If Grandma is worse than me, why doesn't she get sent to her room instead?" This was meant to be funny. I certainly thought it was.

Dad's narrowed eyes demonstrated his disagreement. "Get changed for dinner," he snapped.

I shrunk back a little. "Mom was here before you, and she said I could dress however I wanted for dinner."

"Oh really? I'll have to have a talk with her about that. In the meantime, pick out something nice to wear, because you'll look presentable at dinner. That's final." Then he turned and marched out of the room, the door drifting shut behind him. No matter how angry he got, my father never resorted to slamming anything. He wasn't a fan of the damage that could result.

I hoped he would also consider the damage my mom could inflict on him before he went to talk to her about his so-called final decision. The fact that members of the extended family were in the house would've typically kept them from getting into a full-blown fight, but after seeing Mom's contrary mood, I couldn't be confident of anything. Whatever. If the fallout was too bad, it would've also been loud enough for me to avoid the worst of it.

Looking at the clock, I saw it would be at least an hour until dinner. I put on some low music and went back to work.

Note #7

Learn when to stay quiet. Even if you have something brilliant to say, timing is everything. Getting involved in petty squabbles will not help you achieve your goals.

Note #8

While you must learn how to make those closest to you fear your judgment, you must also be careful not to go too far. That will only guarantee their rebellion. Your subjects need to believe that pleasing you is far better for them in the long run than attempting to overthrow your regime.

While I was in the middle of this critical work, my phone buzzed in my pocket. A text message. Considering it was Christmas Eve, most of my friends were bound to be too busy wrangling their own families to take the time to chat. Unless they were cowering in a bathroom on the verge of a nervous breakdown and in desperate need of rescue. Such things were possible, and I feared I might end up in that position soon enough.

When I looked at the screen and saw the message was from Seth, my heart started to perform some bizarre dance number inside my chest. I opened the message, grateful no one was privy to the corresponding adrenaline rush that assaulted my veins.

-Family wants me 2 go Xmas caroling. Plz put me out of my misery.

That made the prospect of family dinner seem a bit more tolerable in comparison. I typed out a response with a smile on my face.

-I would, but I have my own brand of misery to contend with. Besides, I thought you liked singing.

A minute later, he replied.

-Not in the cold, not songs I've heard on repeat last 2 months.

He had a point. There were only so many times you could hear a song before it made even the sanest of people come unhinged.

Note #9

Gain control of the radio waves.

-Sorry. Wish I could make it better. I don't even have any cyanide on hand right now.

-If u didn't have plans, I'd drag u along so we could suffer 2gether.

That last one got my brain spinning. Seth and I had never been anything other than best friends, but the events following a drunken party a couple weeks before had left me unsure of where things stood between us.

Taking a deep breath, I typed out a response.

-I'd go as long as we ditched caroling and found something else to do.

As soon as I hit send, I wondered if I'd pushed things too far. My reply didn't say anything concrete, but there were definite implications there.

My phone buzzed less than thirty seconds later.

-Fine by me. :)

There was suddenly a swarm of butterflies in my stomach, and if they kept it up, I wouldn't be able to keep my food down come dinnertime, and I already had enough problems to worry about.

Chapter 4

In which I take the time to explain the issues surrounding what I think might be a developing romantic relationship between me and my best friend and how that obviously complicates things.

Whether you mind or not, I'm going to take the time to explain the complications with Seth. Maybe hearing the details won't go that far in assisting you with your plans for world domination, but there's still useful information in this chapter. If, however, you are repulsed by anything remotely gooey or cheesy and want to skip over it, I can't stop you. Just don't complain if something later on doesn't make sense because you skipped ahead.

Seth and his antics were one of the constants during my childhood. We first met when we were three and my regular babysitter had to watch her little cousin while I was at her house. At first I was annoyed that I had to spend time with a little boy I didn't know. Boys had cooties, after all. That's what my neighbor Brooke told me, and she was nine years old, so she was clearly an expert on these things. I spent the first hour sitting in the corner with some blocks and ignoring him. I'll admit that I was a stubborn child. Shocking, right? I held out until he offered to share his chocolate bar with me. Even I could never deny such a gesture of friendship.

From that time on, we were inseparable. My mom organized playdates (though something about the term "playdate" makes me retroactively shudder on my own behalf), and when we started school, it was nice to already have a friend. We were both teased about various aspects of our friendship over the years, but Seth turned out to be as loyal as they came, and I refused to let anyone get to me like that.

Growing up we spent summer nights camping in our backyards and winter nights watching bad horror movies while stuffing our faces with popcorn. For most of fourteen years, Seth was the best friend I could've imagined. Sure, he always sucked at remembering birthdays (though to his credit, he even forgot his own birthday one year), but he was great at picking out the perfect gift to make up for it. The dragon statue with red LEDs for eyes adorning my bookshelf was a perfect example of that. He also listened to my frequent rants with an amused expression and rarely got mad about my tirades.

Then the dynamic began to shift. It's weird how changing feelings can sneak up on you and catch you off guard. I'm guessing that my feelings had been subtly shifting for a while, but I remember the day I realized it.

It was the middle of July, and the heat had risen well into the realm of absurdity. We were sitting on the front porch of my house eating ice cream, though it was becoming increasingly apparent that the whole exercise was a lost cause. The ice cream melted faster than we could consume it, and we unsuccessfully tried not to end up with rivers of melted chocolate-flavored dairy product dribbling down our chins. My light blue tank top was in danger of being stained when we were hit with a blast of ice cold water. I heard Tyler's laughter before I saw him standing there with the garden hose in hand, and despite the fact that the water felt amazing, I still had a solemn duty to smite him. At least I did until Seth joined in on the laughter. His sandy blond hair was plastered to his forehead, and his sky blue eyes were sparkling with mirth. Those observations might have been innocent enough on their own, but I also noticed how full his lips were and how his canary yellow shirt clung to his chest. That was when I learned that, while he'd never had the most robust physique, there were some muscles lurking under there.

It's strange. I'd never thought of Seth's body before that. I mean, yeah, of course I knew he had one. If I'd become best friends with some disembodied entity that telepathically communicated with me, that would have registered as noteworthy. It certainly would've become problematic once I surpassed the age where it was acceptable to have an invisible friend. It's just that, after that moment on the porch, I went from never thinking about his body to noticing it all the time. And it felt strange when I was listening to him talk, and as much as I tried to focus on his words, my mind homed in on the sound of his voice and the odd tingling sensation that sank into my extremities when he leaned in close to whisper something he didn't want anyone else to overhear.

I tried to deny what it all meant, but even I had to admit the truth, at least to myself. Once I did, I tried to fight it. These kinds of feelings had the potential to massively screw things up between us, and that was the last thing I wanted. It also felt like an annoying cliché, and I started doubting whether I should be having those feelings in the first place.

In case it wasn't obvious, I have a tendency of overthinking things, and it's even worse when my heart is involved. That doesn't make me a romantic, though. Intensely socially awkward, yes, but not romantic.

Things went on like that for months. I did my best to act as I always had around him, and it worked for the most part. We did the same sort of stuff together, and only my closest female friend Lyla pulled me aside to ask if anything had "finally happened between us." Her words, not mine. I told her the honest answer, which was no, but I didn't confess that I liked him. Cool as she was to spend time with, I had no doubt she'd say something to Seth in an attempt to be helpful. That, to my mind, would have been problematic.

Then, two weeks before Christmas, we were at a holiday party Lupita Ruiz was throwing at her apartment. She graduated high school the year before, and one of the two guys she was dating happened to be twenty-three, so the drinks were flowing. Needless to say, plenty of people had decided to swing by.

Lupita invited me and Seth, though I knew it couldn't be because she wanted me there. We didn't have a problem with each other as far as I knew, but we ran in different circles. More specifically, she was part of a large social circle that was composed of the most popular people. I ran with a lopsided tripod, meaning I spent most of my time with Seth and some of my time with Lyla. Lyla spent the rest of her time with a group of friends that never seemed to know what to think of me. There were other people here and there, sure, but those were too casual to really count.

No, I figured out the real reason for the invite when I saw Lupita's younger sister Connie. She was sixteen, and her parents were under the impression that she'd be spending a quiet evening with her older sis. Though, if they were to find out, they could take some comfort in the fact that she did very little drinking that night. How could she drink when her entire night consisted of drooling over Seth and attempting to get his attention?

At one point, a large group organized a game of spin the bottle. What drunken teenage party would be complete without that classic? Connie walked right up to Seth while he and I lounged by the snack table.

Note #10

Always set yourself up by the snack table at any gathering. It's a good place from which to monitor the assembly. You can also ensure the integrity of the food by watching for any possible contamination. Being a dictator also requires strength, so munch away while you're there!

Connie batted her eyelashes at Seth. I didn't want to believe that anyone ever did that outside of cheesy movies, but apparently they did. "Would you like to play spin the bottle with us?"

"Um . . ." He glanced over at me, and he looked as awkward as I felt. "What do you think? Do you want to play?"

The searing sideways glare from Connie let me know that her invitation didn't extend to me. Shocking, right?

I shook my head. "Nah. No offense to anyone, but there are some people in that bunch I can't risk having lip contact with."

Seth turned back to Connie. "I think I'll sit this one out, but thanks."

She shot me a dirty look one last time before walking away. The disappointment rolled off her in waves. I couldn't concentrate on that, though, because I was busy trying to decipher Seth's strange reaction. Why in the world did he look to me for an answer?

Then I told myself I was being stupid for reading too much into things. I didn't even want anything to happen between us, did I? Dipping a toe in the romance pool could get weird, and while weird could be good, it could also be disastrous when that weirdness involved a best friend.

I tried to leave it at that. I honestly did, but life wasn't going to let me. We watched from a distance as the juvenile party staple played out before us. For the most part, it was your standard fare. A guy and a girl kissed, and people giggled. A girl and a girl kissed, and people giggled. A guy and a guy kissed, and people giggled. There were the occasional whoops and whistles as some of the surprisingly enthusiastic kisses went down. Then there were taunts when the two kissers acted as if they'd rather endure an anesthetic-free root canal than touch each other. The last group seemed to spur the crowd on more than any other. Those tended to end with a quick peck on the cheek and a rapid disengagement.

"If you're not going to bother playing along, why even play at all?" I remarked, crossing my arms in front of my chest as Penny Oswald tentatively placed the briefest of kisses on Lionel Maxwell. Seriously, there was more than a foot of distance separating most of their bodies while they engaged in the minimal amount of contact required to complete the task.

"Maybe there's someone in the circle they really want to kiss, and they're hoping they'll get their chance," Seth said. He took a long sip of his cheap beer, as if all the answers to the world's mysteries waited at the bottom of the can.

That might explain philosophical drinkers like Grandpa Phillip.

I took a long swig of my own beer. I figured I might as well test the veracity of the drunken-wisdom hypothesis. Or maybe I was attempting to drown the butterflies that were threatening to take up permanent residence in my stomach.

"That seems like an unreliable and risky way of trying to get what you want," I said as a more enthusiastic pair took the stage with a full-out tongue duel. "They could try kissing the person they want without the elaborate ruse."

_Hypocrite!_ I told myself. _Why would you say something like that? Are you hoping that Seth might possibly want to kiss you and that saying this might encourage him to go for it? Guess what! That's a ruse too, you dummy!_

"A lot of the time, people are too scared to take that risk," Seth said congenially. Then he locked his intensely blue eyes on me. "Just out of curiosity, is there anyone in that group you would want to have lip contact with?"

Yes, he was mocking the way I declined to participate earlier, but his teasing was gentle and without malice. I also generally gave back as good as I got, so there were no worries on that front. I just felt awkward about the question. It felt weird discussing the hypothetical kissing of other people with the best friend you had feelings for. Still, I couldn't let on that it bothered me, because then he'd want to know why. "Not really. Is there anyone in that group that I _would_ kiss? Sure, if I was playing, I'd go along with the ones that don't have completely repulsive personalities. That does weed out a lot of them, unfortunately."

Seth shook his head and laughed. "Don't go pretending that you hate everyone. Other people might believe it, but I know better."

I didn't dignify that with a response. Instead I immersed myself in the chips and dip while the evening's entertainment continued.

A beer and a half later, well after the spin the bottle crowd had dispersed, I felt the irrational need to resurrect the topic I'd originally wanted to dodge. It's funny how that happens.

"I've never been kissed before." I cringed at how pathetic I sounded when I said it.

Note #11

Choose your drinking buddies wisely, for you never know what will come out of your mouth while under the influence.

Seth gave me a meaningful look. I didn't know exactly what the meaning might be at the time, but it was obviously something significant. "I kind of guessed that. I mean, I thought you would have told me if it had happened, not that no one would want to kiss you or anything."

That made sense, and I enjoyed his clear discomfort at the end when he realized what he might have implied. "You're right. I would have, but that's not what I'm trying to say. I don't want to sound like a sap, but I don't want my first kiss to happen because someone had to do it. I want it to be because someone wants to kiss me." Hearing those words come out of my mouth only proved that I'd had far too much to drink. I might've had thoughts like this in passing, but I'd never intended to give voice to them.

"You're blushing!" Seth found this so shocking he had to hold himself up by gripping the edge of the snack table. The alcohol may have also played a role. "Why? That's not a terrible thing. You're allowed to have romantic notions now and then."

I pointed a finger in his face. "Don't use that word! I'm not a romantic. I'm disillusioned!" Even as I scolded him, I didn't feel any anger. Why should I? Seth wasn't judging me.

His smile was fond. There was no getting around it. He knew me far too well for my own good.

The subject naturally dropped when Connie swept in again, and that's when I noticed that this girl had an uncanny ability to angle her body so that she blocked me from view. It was nearly as impressive as it was infuriating.

Also impressive was the amount of mistletoe covertly dispersed around the overcrowded apartment. Connie, who seemed to know where all of it was, also proved adept at steering Seth toward it.

Note #12

Physical agility can be highly useful when it comes to maneuvering other people. Use that ability to keep people in their place.

To his credit, he succeeded in avoiding the mistletoe every time except one. The time he failed, he rewarded Connie for her efforts with a good, smacking kiss on the cheek. She stalked off and didn't try again after that. I might have felt bad for her if I wasn't afflicted with the irrational urge to scratch her eyes out. I suspect the feeling was mutual.

Note #13

Learn to keep feelings of jealousy in check. Any eye scratching or gouging should serve a legitimate purpose in your quest.

We left the party shortly afterwards, on foot of course. Neither of us brought a car in anticipation of our impending impairment. My parents were always asleep early, and Seth's parents didn't care if he had a drink or two as long as he was safe about it.

He'd definitely had more than a drink or two that night. He wasn't stumbling drunk, but his cheeks were a bit too rosy to be entirely blamed on the cold weather. Not that I had any room to talk. Too bad I hadn't been intoxicated enough earlier to mask my inopportune blushing.

Halfway to my house, Seth said, "That was an interesting evening."

"That's one way to put it. You had an adoring shadow most of the night."

"If you'd left out the word 'adoring,' I might have assumed you were talking about yourself," he joked.

My hand flew to my chest in mock offense. "I see how it is. If you wanted rid of me, why didn't you say so earlier?" I started to storm off.

Seth's hand landed on my arm, and we both erupted with laughter. "I need you around, if only to keep my ego in check."

"Well, as long as my presence serves that kind of purpose, I suppose I'll hang around."

We started giggling again. What is it about being intoxicated that makes everything funny? "If that's the only reason you want to be around," Seth choked out, "maybe I should be the one to go."

He tried to pull away in a rather theatrical manner, but neither of us anticipated the patch of ice we stumbled upon. There was slipping. There was sliding. What took place during those few seconds could have been lifted directly from a corny rom-com, minus the good lighting, flattering editing, and mood music.

Somehow, with the aid of flailing arms, we both regained our balance. It was only after the immediate danger was past that I realized Seth and I were clinging to each other, and I might have wondered how we didn't manage to pull each other down in a tangle of limbs if it weren't for the fact that his face was less than an inch from mine. That observation sent my brain temporarily offline.

Then the distance was gone, and I couldn't grasp how it happened. His lips were on mine, and I was bent slightly backward at a muscle-cramping angle, and snow must have made it into my shoes at some point because it was melting and soaking my socks. Yet, even with all that, my heart was racing.

Seth started to pull back, and when he tried to speak, it was clear he was fumbling for an apology. I was in no mood to hear it, so I twisted my hand in the collar of his jacket and pulled him back to me, silencing him with my mouth. I felt the vibration of his shocked _Hmph!_ , but then his hands were on my waist and he was kissing me back with unrestrained enthusiasm. I did the same, still too stunned by the unexpected turn of events to overthink it.

The overthinking came later.

I finally pulled away, gulping air as I tried to muster a cool response. "I had to shut you up. I couldn't risk you saying that it was a mistake, because then my whole wanting-my-first-kiss-to-be-something-the-other-person-wanted thing would've been ruined and . . . then, um, I would have had to push you in a snowdrift."

"So you kissed me for my own good?" Seth asked breathlessly.

I nodded.

"That was considerate of you."

I couldn't stop the stupid grin from stretching across my face. "Well, you're the only one I'd do that for. Anyone else would go straight into the snowdrift."

I eventually made it home that night, although I did spend about fifteen minutes pressed against the side of the house with Seth while we gave all those spin the bottle tongue battles a run for their money.

Romantic, right?

I'd seen him a few times since that night, and everything felt uncertain, but it was also charged enough that within minutes of being alone we were back at it.

So what did it all mean? Was he my boyfriend? Were we friends stuck inside some kind of transitional limbo? Or would it all just fade and go nowhere? I couldn't say, because we'd never talked about it. This was due in part to the fact that our mouths were too busy to do much talking, and also in part to the fact that I suck at bringing up the subjects that need to be addressed.

Being besotted like this definitely wouldn't have done me any good if I was personally trying to become the overlord of humanity. Distractions can be deadly in those circumstances.

Note #14

Don't be a sentimental moron.

I glanced at the clock again. I still had some time before dinner, but I also needed to figure out my clothing predicament.

Not to mention my Seth-related predicament. Still unsure of how to read his last message, I simply sent him a smiley face. He could take it however he wanted. In the meantime, I had a family to cope with.

Chapter 5

In which there are covert tactics of various kinds and tensions quickly escalate.

My closet held what many would think is a distressingly small selection of clothes. I don't tend to get dressed up all that often, and when the situation calls for it, I'm typically content to wear the same "nice" outfit over and over. That should have made the selection process easier, but I also knew that by changing clothes at all, I was choosing my father over my mother. That didn't seem fair at all.

So what was my solution to this conundrum? Simple. I endeavored to disappoint both of them. It was the most equitable answer, at least to my mind.

After a suitable minimum of effort, I chose a pair of jeans that didn't have any holes and a red T-shirt. The shirt was neither too baggy nor too form-fitting, so most days, no one would be able to complain about it. I wanted to make sure that my disobedience was the only reason anyone was able to get upset.

I was halfway through changing when the unexpected creak of a floorboard caught my attention. I already had my pants on, but the red shirt was still dangling from my hand when I spun around and saw a wide-eyed Corey peering through the door crack. I didn't know whether he'd opened the door with the intent of peeking, or if it had never closed all the way after Dad left, but the answer didn't matter either way. In that moment, I only wanted to wring his scrawny neck.

"Get out of here before I kick you down the stairs!" I roared.

That snapped him out of his stupor. With an audible gasp, he fled the scene, his rapid footsteps echoing through the stairwell. I tossed my shirt on and took off after him. The sound of my pursuit spurred him to run faster, and he was already off the stairs and out of sight by the time I started my own descent.

"Get back here you little rodent!"

Note #15

Don't send mixed messages to those below you. They are there to serve your purposes, and in order for them to be effective and make you happy, you must be clear about what you expect.

I was so furious that I didn't even know what I intended to do to him, but I'm sure it would have been bad. I'd never considered myself a prude, so it had less to do with what he might have seen and more to do with my privacy being violated. It was a clear matter of principle.

I burst through the living room in hot pursuit, nearly running into an astonished Uncle George and Aunt Carrie. They were staring in the direction Corey must have gone, which would've taken him to the hallway that led to the bathroom and laundry room. Locking himself in the bathroom seemed like a reasonable choice, and while I knew how to pick that lock, I doubted Corey's parents would stand by and watch while I exacted my revenge.

"What's going on?" Aunt Carrie asked.

Normally I don't advocate snitching, but catching my own cousin in the act of perving on me had crossed some line I hadn't previously been aware of. "Corey was peeping on me while I changed my clothes."

Carrie pinched the bridge of her nose. "We've only been here for ten minutes, for crying out loud!"

"I'll go talk to him," Uncle George offered.

"No, we'll both go talk to him," Carrie insisted. "I want to make sure you don't let him off the hook like you always do."

"Are you crazy? You're way too hard on him. That's the real problem!"

Seeing that they didn't need me to get in the way of their shouting match, I retreated.

"Hello dear, it's so great to see you!"

I looked up to see Great Aunt Ruth Ann shedding her coat in the front entryway. Mom stood next to her with a covered baking dish, and I barely suppressed a shudder. If Great Aunt Ruth Ann cooked, that meant we needed to have poison control on standby.

Note #16

If you're going to take over the world, you're going to need food tasters. Whether the poisoning is purposeful or accidental is of little consequence. Dead is dead.

"It's good to see you too!" I tried to sound cheery as I accepted the hug I knew was coming. At least Ruth Ann didn't have the physical strength required to crack ribs.

Great Uncle Stewart came through the front door next, his arms loaded with gift boxes. He didn't bother with a verbal greeting, but instead went with his typical nod to acknowledge that he'd seen you. People who don't know him often mistake him for being unfriendly or aloof. In truth, he just doesn't tend to bother with people unless he feels it's worth his time, and for that reason, he has to be my favorite extended family member.

Before you go assuming that Stewart and Ruth Ann are married, let me clarify things. Yes, they live together and always drive to functions together, but they're actually brother and sister. I never knew my Great Uncle Lawrence, who was married to Ruth Ann, as he died about a year before I was born. Ruth Ann didn't want to live alone, so she moved in with her brother, who'd been a bachelor his whole life.

The subject of Stewart's perpetual bachelorhood has been the focal point of a lot of speculation over the years. No one that I've talked to has ever seen him take any interest in women at all. This has led multiple family members, my dad included, to speculate that Stewart is gay. That assumption might hold up if it weren't for the fact that no one has ever seen him take any interest in men either. Personally, I suspect that he's not interested in having an intimate relationship with anyone. Unless he does have those sorts of relationships but chooses to keep them private, and if this is the case, I'm perfectly happy to keep my nose out of it.

One thing that has always baffled me is the fact that Stewart and Ruth Ann are Grandma Pearl's older brother and sister. In stark contrast to Pearl's perfect exterior, their gray hair looks vaguely Einsteinian, and their matching Christmas sweaters have always been the epitome of tackiness. This time they each featured a Christmas tree with flashing lights, and the rest of the garments were decorated with multiple colors of tinsel.

I had a sinking feeling that my gift would look just as bad those monstrous sweaters.

Stewart emerged from his voyage to the living room, his eyes comically wide. It didn't take much to guess the cause, because George and Carrie's voices had only increased in volume. Their shouts, however, were interspersed with softer mutterings, meaning that Corey must have emerged from his hiding spot.

"Here, let me drop this off in the kitchen, then I'll show you to Dani's room so you can get settled," Mom told Ruth Ann. This typically would have been my job, but the downstairs portion of the house was rapidly becoming hostile territory.

"I haven't moved my stuff yet," I countered. It wasn't as if I was anxious to linger on the outskirts of the battle zone either.

Unfortunately, Mom was already halfway to the kitchen. Ruth Ann just smiled at me. "Don't worry, dear. I'm not planning on lounging around naked, so it should be safe for you to come get what you need later."

What possible response could there be to a statement like that? I simply nodded.

Mom returned from the kitchen and whisked Ruth Ann upstairs without another word. Considering she's the person I inherited my short legs from, that woman can sure make a quick getaway when she needs to.

Note #17

Always know all escape routes, and make sure you can reach them in a hurry.

Once they were out of sight, Stewart touched my shoulder. When he jerked his head toward the kitchen, I knew what he was suggesting. I sent him an answering smile and followed his lead.

The kitchen was saturated with smells of all kinds. The ham baking in the oven accounted for much of the aroma, but the apple pie cooling on the counter and the hot apple cider warming in the crockpot added a pleasant spicy note. I breathed it all in. If things continued along their present course, there was going to be too much tension at the dinner table to actually enjoy the meal.

Note #18

Make sure your dining space is as welcoming as possible. After a long day of ruling over the unwashed masses, you need time to unwind. If anyone is going to be tense, it should be your subjects, not you.

The true landmine of the evening, however, came in the form of the baking dish residing on the kitchen table. My mother, ever the intelligent woman, had segregated it from the rest of the food. Standard quarantine procedure.

"We'll have to move quickly," Stewart said as he hefted the dish.

"What's in it?" This was a simple point of curiosity. Regardless of the answer, evacuation proceedings needed to commence immediately.

"Peach cobbler. At least, I think that's what she intended it to be."

The infamous cobblers could be spoken of in hushed tones around crackling campfires. Truth be told, no one thought Ruth Ann should have ever been allowed near a kitchen, but her sheer stubbornness seemed to override all subtle attempts to keep her from committing culinary atrocities. Her cooking seemed to be a matter of pride for her, and no one had it in them to break her heart by outright telling her the truth.

As I opened the door that led into the side yard, it occurred to me that having a family member who was a menace in the kitchen was one of the biggest clichés I knew. Yet, there I was, living out the consequences of it. Maybe my life really was turning into a sitcom right before my eyes.

Note #19

Don't assume a cliché or stereotype to be an accurate representation of reality, but don't outright dismiss them either. Doing either can get you into trouble.

Dark had already fallen, and snow crunched beneath our feet as we attempted to traverse the yard without being detected. Music from a popular spy movie started playing in my head.

"I doubt we have to be too quiet," Stewart said. "With the noise George and Carrie are kicking up, no one's going to be concerned about anything they might hear out here."

"What else can you expect from a family like ours?" I said lightly. Then I pointed to the rear of our yard. "Let's dump it over here. That guy has been dropping his lawn trimmings into our yard all year. If there wasn't snow on the ground, we might've gotten the added bonus of killing his grass."

"Eh, this stuff might be able to eat its way through the snow."

"It's a shame to see food ruined like this," I mused. "I'd donate it to charity if I didn't know it would only make their lives worse. Hmmm." I tapped my chin in thought. "Do you think Dr. Kevorkian could have used this cobbler to do his work and avoid prison?"

Stewart cocked his head. "Interesting. 'I wasn't trying to kill them, Your Honor, I was just throwing a dinner party!' It might have worked, but the ethics are a bit shady. People who are already dying don't deserve to suffer through eating this." He glared at the cobbler as if it might jump up and bite him. "She's never been a good cook, you know, but it's only gotten worse over the years. It's all downhill from here."

I shuddered at the thought, but I didn't have much time to dwell on it. We'd just reached our target. I peered over the fence to survey the area. As I'd hoped, our neighbor's windows were dark. Those particular neighbors went on vacation to Hawaii over Christmas most years. "The coast is clear," I announced. "Let's do this."

The operation was completed quickly, the satisfying plop of the offending food-like matter signaling that all was well. With the empty baking dish in hand, Stewart looked back at my house and visibly hesitated. I didn't blame him.

"Have you been doing anything interesting lately?" he asked.

Expert diversionary tactics. Though, to be fair, Stewart had always taken an interest in my life, even when he wasn't using it as a way of avoiding the crazies with whom we shared DNA. I credit that with our shared appreciation for sarcasm.

Note #20

Perfect your diversionary tactics. Any diversion you use should seem so natural that no one who knows you can tell for sure that you're stalling for time.

I briefly thought of the situation with Seth, but I didn't feel ready to talk about it yet, so I stuck with a topic I knew would be safe. "I'm writing a self-help book about how to achieve world domination."

Stewart didn't look the least bit surprised. He simply nodded and asked, "Do you think there's a market for that?"

"I hope so. I don't know how much longer I can stand babysitting, and not many places around here are hiring right now." And those that were tended to be put off by my personality.

Stewart smirked. "People trust you with their children?"

I laughed. "I know, right? People really are that desperate for a date night. Anyway, I figured writing a self-help book should be interesting, and there are always people desperate for money and power. What better way is there to get those things than by taking over the world?"

He nodded. "You are the most fascinating teenager I've ever met."

"Thank you."

"It's the truth."

A long silence filled the night as we both considered ways to prolong the excursion. In the end, there was no avoiding it. We had to return. I boldly made the first move, and Stewart fell into step beside me.

When we got to the side door, I peeked in through the kitchen window. The room was no longer unoccupied, but the good news was that my mother was the only one in sight. As we entered, she looked up from the ham that she'd just pulled out of the oven. Her eyes fell on the baking dish, and she let out a sigh. "Oh good. If she asks, we were so hungry we ate it all."

"Fine by me." Even as I agreed, I worried that this lie would only encourage her to bring more cobbler the next year, but the needs of the moment were more urgent than what might happen down the road.

"Why don't you go out there and tell everyone that we'll be ready to eat in ten minutes?" Mom asked.

"Sure," I replied. I took a small step forward, but I could not ignore the elevated voices that were still traveling through the house. For a moment, I genuinely considered telling my mom that I didn't want to go through with it, because stepping into that firing line seemed like a surefire way to get myself into trouble.

Then Mom shut down those thoughts completely. "I see you changed clothes."

I froze in place. "You said to wear whatever . . ."

Her eyes narrowed, and I realized that reciting her exact words back to her would do no good. She was in no mood to listen.

Note #21

Learn to recognize a no-win scenario when you see it.

Nevertheless, I had to say something to defend myself. My natural stubbornness demanded it. I went with a desperate gamble. "Dad said . . ."

"Believe me, I know what your father said." The razor-sharp edge in her voice made it clear that some kind of fight had resulted from the whole debacle. How had it all stemmed from such a simple clothing choice? How had such a benign request turned into such a disaster?

Even with all the trouble brewing, I couldn't resist getting in the last word. "Maybe next time I'll just show up to dinner naked so no one can complain about my clothes." Yeah, I adapted that from what Great Aunt Ruth Ann said earlier, but the opportunity was too perfect.

Once I left the kitchen, the screaming became ear piercing. It felt far too personal a thing to be hearing, but how could I _not_ hear it?

"This is so typical of you!" Aunt Carrie shouted. "I disagree with something you say, so you just shut me out altogether!"

"Maybe if you weren't so irrational all the time, I could take you seriously!"

The scene came into view as I rounded the corner. Aunt Carrie and Uncle George stood a couple feet apart with their fists clenched. Dad and Grandpa Phillip lingered awkwardly on the other side of the room, and Tyler stepped up behind me, craning his neck to get a better view. It was like watching the scene of an accident; oh so wrong to do, but so hard to resist.

Worst of all, Corey looked on from the couch. As angry as I was with Corey, I couldn't help but feel bad for him. This definitely wasn't something he needed to witness.

"Irrational? I'm irrational? It's irrational to expect my son to respect boundaries? Fine. Why don't we let him spy on anyone he wants so he can grow up to be some kind of voyeuristic pervert? Never mind the fact that he was spying on his own cousin! Do you really want to condone that?"

George ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "Thank you for proving my point. He's thirteen! He's curious, and it was only a quick peek! That's perfectly normal, Carrie!"

"I can't believe it. We don't agree on anything anymore! I remember a time when you used to back me up, but it's been so long that I don't know why we're even married!"

George drew back a little, as did I. Those were serious words.

"What are you saying?" he demanded.

Carrie leaned forward. "I think we should get a divorce."

"Okay." Uncle George said it so matter-of-factly that I could hardly believe it.

"Fine then." Carrie abruptly turned and pushed past me, bumping my shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise.

The rest of the room cleared out fast. George stormed off in the opposite direction, disappearing down the back hallway while Dad and Grandpa followed. Tyler, upon realizing that the entertainment was over, made a break for the stairs.

That left Corey sitting there all alone. He blinked and wrung his hands in his lap, as if such things could help him make sense of what just happened.

Chapter 6

In which delusions and divisions make everything far too complicated and leave me completely out of my depth.

I guess I'm not totally heartless. That's why I'm writing a book about taking over the world instead of actually doing it. So, even though I'd been threatening the kid with bodily harm mere minutes before, I couldn't bring myself to leave him there like that. I felt uncertain as I took a seat beside him. The odds were high that I'd say the wrong thing, but it appeared as though no one else was even going to try.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

Corey noticed me for the first time, and he leaned away, putting his hands up in a defensive maneuver.

"I'm not here to rip your head off or anything," I assured him. "Yeah, I was going to kick your butt earlier, but this whole mess seems to have done that for me. I don't believe in kicking a man when he's down."

He puffed up a bit and dropped his hands. "I _am_ a man, and I'm fine. It's nice of you to ask, but none of that bothered me."

Oh dear. Acting tough when he wasn't certainly wouldn't get us anywhere. "Are you sure? Most people would be shaken up by seeing their parents fight like that. It wouldn't make you look bad if you were upset."

He shook his head. "Nah. I know that most people would be, sure, but I'm not most people. I'm too chill to let anything mess with me."

This was definitely a bad idea.

Note #22

Kick a man when he's down in certain situations. Showing mercy may occasionally be a good thing, but showing mercy to an adversary can also make you look soft.

"Well then . . ." If he didn't intend to be honest, there didn't seem to be any point in prying further. "If I catch you spying on me again, I'll stuff you in a stocking. I just want to make that clear."

Corey's eyes widened, but he kept his voice somewhat nonchalant. The slight waver in his words gave him away, though. "You don't have anything to worry about. I was trying to do you a favor, you know, to make you feel special. I've dated plenty of women. I had a casual thing going with a model for a little while, but I had to break it off. She was falling in love with me and I wasn't ready to settle down."

Note #23

Delusions of grandeur are helpful.

He'd given me a few more reasons to go ninja on him with his last statement, but I decided to go the mature route for once. I nodded and walked away. Other matters required my attention. As concerned as I was for other people and what the fight meant for their lives, I was also quite hungry and curious about what that fight meant for dinner.

When I got to the kitchen, the room was crowded. Aunt Carrie was sitting at the table, as was my mom and Grandma Pearl. I did note, however, that Mom and Grandma were sitting as far apart as humanly possible. The hostility between them was on the back burner, but not forgotten. Great Aunt Ruth Ann was the only woman in the house unaccounted for, which could only be a good thing. I might have thought of this conglomeration of women in the kitchen as stereotypical, but as I mentioned earlier regarding the party's snack table, there's an undeniable wisdom in being near a source of food. This is especially true when there's the possibility of a long, drawn-out fight. Should we have needed to stand our ground, we could have held out longer because we controlled the kitchen.

Tyler either saw the wisdom in this as well, or maybe he was just that hungry, but he was currently huddled in the corner of the room stuffing dinner rolls into his mouth. No one appeared to be paying any attention to him, though.

After grabbing a roll off the serving tray, I waited for a lull in the gossiping before butting in. "I just thought I'd mention that Corey is sitting in there alone, and I can tell that he's pretty upset." There was a definite undercurrent of anger in my voice, and the others must have recognized it.

Carrie paled. "I forgot about him," she said softly.

That took me aback. The whole fight had been centered around Corey, but then again, as heated as things had become, it seemed reasonable to conclude that anything could have triggered it. Maybe it hadn't actually been about him at all.

Note #24

Never underestimate the power of resentment. The people beneath you will always have their angers and frustrations. Learn to direct those negative emotions so that they take them out on someone else. Scapegoats are your friend.

"I should talk to him, but I can't think straight right now," Carrie continued. Perhaps she had a point, because her hands were shaking as she moved them to clasp a mug of hot cider.

Mom put a hand on her shoulder. "It'll be best if you calm down first. It might only upset him more if you try talking to him right now." Then her eyes fixed on my little brother. "Tyler! Go spend some time with Corey. Distract him."

"Mom! I don't want to spend time with him. I don't even like him!" Tyler declared in his whiny all-of-the-injustices-of-the-world-have-just-descended-upon-me voice.

"Tough! Now go!" Our mom might've been a tiny woman, but her no-nonsense voice commanded respect.

Tyler scurried out of the room, grumbling the whole way.

Then Mom looked at me intently, and it was clear she'd seen right through me. "I thought you were angry with him, and now here you are worrying about him."

I shrugged. "He's a rodent, sure, but I felt sorry for him."

She smiled at me, and I felt Grandma's eyes on me too. I was in serious danger of someone telling me how sweet I was. "I see," Mom said knowingly.

I needed to do something to save face, and soon. Luckily, I still had an important question to ask. "So, when is dinner?"

Judging by the shifting expressions in the room, I was no longer on the verge of being praised for my kindness.

* * *

Dinner took place about two hours later, and it in no way resembled our typical arrangement. Mom, Grandma, Aunt Carrie, and I sat at the dining room table, while Dad, Grandpa, Tyler, and Uncle George took their plates into the living room. Corey, who undoubtedly understood that choosing one or the other would have made a big statement, opted to eat in the kitchen. Stewart and Ruth Ann, who seemed happy to dodge the drama, joined him there. Personally, I would have rather eaten in the kitchen too, but Mom's pointed glare kept me where I was.

During the wait for dinner, I'd grabbed my notebook, the self-help book, and some clothes. I stashed all of it except the notebook beside the sleeping bag in Mom's office. The notebook stayed with me throughout the meal. It earned me some sideways looks, but since the whole affair was screwed up anyway, I didn't see the harm in it.

While Carrie discussed aspects of her marriage that were truly none of my business, and Mom and Grandma overtly avoided direct interaction with one another, I caught up on my notes. The current division of the house had inspired me further.

Note #25

Divide and conquer. Find emotional triggers that will inspire instant and deep division. This will keep people distracted from your actual goals. People naturally need something to argue about, and you can use that need to your advantage. If you need a real world example of how to do this, observe any local high school. In this environment, a few choice words or clothing choices can be socially devastating.

Note #26

At any official dinner, keep an eye how your guests are using their cutlery. The hostilities you have worked to cultivate amongst your guests could work against you at inappropriate times.

The division lasted long past dinner. Carrie and George obviously weren't talking, and my parents didn't seem to be on speaking terms either. This tense dynamic complicated sleeping arrangements somewhat. Grandma and Grandpa didn't seem to have allowed the fight to extend to them, so they both returned to the guest room at the end of the evening without issue. Tyler might have complained about Corey sharing his room, but those complaints fell on deaf ears. Stewart fell asleep in the recliner as always. No one bothered to set aside a bed for him anymore. And of course, Ruth Ann's claim to my room went unchallenged.

The original plan had put my parents on the fold-out couch in the living room, and my aunt and uncle in my parents' room. The revised plan instead put my mom and Carrie in my parents' room, and my dad and George on the fold-out couch. Given that they were brothers, I didn't doubt they'd shared a bed at some point during their childhood, but it was something else entirely to have two full-grown men in a bed that would have only been moderately comfortable for one.

Eager to retreat from the drama of it all, I headed up to Mom's office, which was across the hall from my bedroom. Not yet ready for sleep, I sat at Mom's desk and pulled out my phone. I needed to vent to someone, and Seth was the first person I thought of. And yes, I know how sappy that sounds, but even before the whole kissing thing started, I still would have gone to him first.

-My family is nothing but a walking, talking disaster, and somehow I'm the worst of them all.

I set the phone down, not necessarily expecting an immediate reply. After all, he had his own family stuff going on, and why would he have been waiting for a text from me anyway?

When my phone went off almost instantly after I pulled my hand away, I jumped.

-Y u say that?

I imagined the concerned look on his face. I'd seen it more times than I could count over the years. He genuinely wanted to know what was wrong, and though I wanted to tell him, it was hard to come up with a good way to sum up the night.

-There have been two major blow-ups so far, and I've managed to contribute to both of them. I'm like a powder keg, and right now one half of the family isn't talking to the other half. Hence my conclusion that I'm a walking disaster.

A few seconds after I sent that last one, my phone started ringing. The ringtone, "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" by The Proclaimers, revealed that it was Seth. I set that song as his ringtone due to his inability to hear it without singing along in even the most humiliating circumstances.

"Hello."

"Hey Dani. Tell me what's going on."

"I don't want to bother you," I said, and I meant it. "I know you're busy."

"Actually, I'm not. We're in the car. We left Grandma Dawson's place early, because we have to be at Grandma Oldman's first thing for breakfast. Besides, you know I've always got time for you when you need it."

Of course I knew that. So I spilled my guts. As much as I hesitated to talk about the things that bothered me with most other people, Seth naturally drew it out of me. He'd been doing it since we were little kids. When I was done explaining the situation, the tension I'd been feeling in my shoulders was gone. The relief wouldn't last into the next morning, but I was happy to take what I could get.

"Don't blame yourself for this mess. Other people's issues are responsible for way more of it than you could possibly be."

I laughed. "You have to say that."

"No, I don't. You can't punch me through the phone."

Then we were both laughing. It was nice. This felt normal, and it took some of the pressure off.

Note #27

Make sure you have a confidant you can trust with anything and everything. We all need to vent, and the stresses associated with world leadership will make this even more of a necessity.

"If you make me mad enough, I'll just take off and track you down. Don't think I won't do it," I warned.

"Other than the possibility of getting punched, that wouldn't be such a bad thing. I miss you."

There were those infernal butterflies again. The ups and downs were threatening to drive me up the wall. "I miss you too," I said at last, "but I'm sure we'll see each other again before too long."

"I'm sure you're right. I still have to give you your Christmas present."

"Present, eh?" I grinned. "That sounds promising. I'm looking forward to it."

"Me too," Seth said, and I could almost hear his smile. "I've got to go now. We just pulled in. Good night."

"Good night."

Chapter 7

In which I somehow survive morning hostilities before moving on to hiding away and succumbing to temptation.

Waking up on Christmas morning should have been joyous. I remember a time when I would have run down the stairs, unable to stop my excited squeal upon seeing the shining gifts and Mom's Christmas breakfast waiting for me. I can admit such a thing, because any squealing that occurred before age ten cannot be held against you. It's a law or something. Look it up.

Note #28

Enact a law saying that any childhood incidents that might make you look bad cannot be mentioned in any public forum. Seriously, you don't want those embarrassing baby pictures to follow you throughout your reign of terror.

That Christmas morning saw me trudging down the stairs. I was dressed and all, but I still needed to make a trip to the bathroom to tame the wild mess of brown hair that I was sure resembled a bird's nest. I also radiated nothing but sleepiness, as becoming a teenager seemed to have made mornings intolerable regardless of the occasion.

Another downside of having a large number of relatives sharing the facilities was the difficulty of gaining access to the house's lone bathroom. After waiting for five minutes, I sighed and shuffled toward the kitchen.

Note #29

All world dominating hopefuls should have a private bathroom. You don't want anyone to see you at anything less than your best. This includes bedhead and crossing your legs as you wait for your turn to pee. You also don't want anyone else to be able to smell what you might have been doing in the bathroom. That could be bad for your reputation.

As I approached the kitchen, I was greeted by hushed voices. They were also strained, and that didn't surprise me. Nor did it shock me when I got closer and realized it was my parents. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was worth the risk.

In the end, the lure of freshly brewed coffee was simply too tempting to resist.

Note #30

Get a coffee service. It's vital that you start your day right.

Note #31

Conscript minions to take on tasks both mundane and risky. It's always nice to have the option to send someone else into the line of fire.

"Why are we even getting involved in this? It's none of our business," Dad argued.

"I know that, but all of this happened in our house," Mom countered. "There's no getting around it. We're involved by default."

"Well, I can't kick them out, because they're family. Besides, George said . . ."

"Oh, don't get started on what George said. He's your brother. You're biased."

"Yeah, well you're only siding with Carrie because of . . ."

"Don't you dare finish that sentence!" Mom yelled. The time of hushed voices had passed.

I'd already made it to the coffee pot by that point, and as far as I could tell, neither of my parents noticed me. Not that I was looking in their direction. I had only one goal in mind.

Note #32

Know when to have tunnel vision. This helps you avoid noticing things you don't want to deal with.

I pulled my favorite mug out of the cupboard and proceeded to pour the last of the coffee while the disagreement continued behind me.

"You think you can decide what I can and can't say? Is that really what you want to go with here?"

"Why not?" Mom demanded. "You've already decided that you can override what I tell our daughter. If you can invalidate what I say there, why can't I do the same to you?"

Uh oh. Mom mentioning me indicated that I needed to make a quick getaway.

"That is not the same thing!"

I kept my head down as I left the room. Whether I'd been detected or not, I needed to escape without engaging them. And it worked, because they kept bickering while I made my way back toward the bathroom to check up on its current state of occupancy.

Tyler was sitting by the Christmas tree when I walked by, and he had a doughnut in hand.

"Where did you get that?" I asked.

"Stewart bought them from a gas station a little while ago. It's the only breakfast to be had around here, so if you want something to eat, you'd better find him."

There were times when I was grateful to have a little brother, and this was one of them. I nodded and took a sip from my coffee mug. "Will do."

After discovering that the bathroom was in fact still inhabited, I left to track down Stewart. I found him hiding in the laundry room with a brown paper bag. Before I even had the chance to ask, Stewart smiled and pulled a doughnut from it, which I happily accepted. It wasn't the full breakfast with eggs, sausage, bacon, and hash browns that I'd grown up with, but it was better than nothing.

"Thanks." I took a bite and savored both the flavor and the relative quiet of the room. I gestured to indicate the room as a whole and continued, "Times like this prove that you're smarter than the rest of us."

* * *

By the time we got around to opening gifts, I'd finally snagged a smelly bathroom for long enough to tame my flyaway hair. Apparently half the family still hadn't managed to eat any breakfast, so some of them ended up raiding the cabinets. That's how we wound up sitting around the tree accompanied by the sounds of people crunching down on chips and cheesy crackers.

I expected some kind of brawl to break out as Dad handed gifts to everyone, but people chose a tense civility that was bad for the blood pressure while being good for the eardrums. Every time Mom got a gift, she snapped it out of Dad's hand. When Aunt Carrie received the gift her husband had chosen for her and opened it to reveal a potpourri set, she made a sarcastic comment about his originality. When George later opened the gift from her, he responded by telling her that he'd never have a use for the outdoor popcorn maker since he never got the chance to go camping anymore. His wife responded by saying that he could spend that night camping in subzero temperatures so he could quit whining about that.

At least Great Aunt Ruth Ann's sweaters helped me feel better about the whole thing. Granted, the sweaters were atrocious, but in order to avoid further upset, everyone obligingly slipped them on. No matter how angry a person becomes, it's hard to take them seriously when they're wearing a garment portraying an ugly reindeer with a light-up nose. I even put mine on without any complaints. As long as no one took any photos of me wearing it, I was willing to play along.

Note #33

If you're going to rule the world, don't try to do it while wearing a hideous Christmas sweater. Choosing the right uniform is important. When people see either you or your forces coming, they should be intimidated, not amused.

* * *

Lunch was nothing more than leftovers from the night before. That left a gap in kitchen use, which Ruth Ann decided to fill. When I walked in to put my empty plate in the dishwasher, Dad was talking to her while she worked.

"You really didn't have to go to so much trouble," he was saying.

Ruth Ann waved off the comment. "Nonsense. It's no trouble at all, and it seems like this gathering could use some cheering up. I don't know if you've noticed, but people don't seem to be enjoying themselves all that much this year."

I snorted. "That's an understatement."

She leaned down to put a pan into the oven. The contents of the pan looked like standard cinnamon rolls, but I didn't trust them. The wary expression on my dad's face told me that he didn't either. "Have I told you how good you look in that sweater, dear?" she asked as she let the oven door close. "The color suits you."

The bright red color and flashing nose made me look like a traffic light, and thus I was of the opinion that it would better suit a hole in the ground, but I nodded. "What can I say? You have excellent taste."

Note #34

Learn how to tell convincing lies, no matter how outlandish they might be.

Ruth Ann beamed, and my dad, who'd been looking severe for the last twenty-four hours, cracked a smile. "You sure do know how to flatter an old woman, dear," she said.

"I do try to be nice on occasion, even if it's just to shock people," I replied.

After that I retreated back to Mom's office. A common theme of the holiday, I know. There wasn't going to be much going on until dinnertime, and I couldn't guess how that would go. Tradition was that Grandma and Grandpa would make dinner that second night. The meal itself was different every year. It just depended on what new recipe they liked or what they felt like making. It was their way of contributing to the hosting duties, and though Mom could have taken it as a suggestion that she couldn't handle the extra work of preparing a second large meal, she'd chosen not to. "If it saves me work after days of stress, who am I to argue?" she'd told me one year.

I understand her point. After seeing all the stress she's endured over the years, I can't see myself ever handling it. I can scarcely handle witnessing it. Fortunately, I doubt any of my family members think I'll make a good host, so I can probably dodge that particular responsibility with a minimum of effort.

Settling at Mom's desk, I pulled Richard "Moneymaker" Johnson's book toward me. I needed a way to pass the time, and the title of one chapter in particular sounded promising. **Chapter 5: Making Sense Out of the Chaos**.

As soon as you've compiled your list of notes and done some preliminary research about each point on your list, you can move on to the organizational side of things. This is the point where you can create a full outline that details how your book will be laid out. A lot of people view this as a mundane task, but I think there's a lot of fun to be had here.

For some skills, it should be easy to put your list of points in a good, logical order. For others, there's no obvious order to things. Some skills can be learned in a multitude of ways, and your job is to identify the way that makes the most sense to you and communicate that to readers. Bring your own unique perspective to the task.

Unique perspective? Considering how long people had been living and dying, or even considering the much shorter length of time in which people had been writing books, coming up with something unique seemed like a daunting task. And sure, I had a decent list of points going, but I still wasn't sure how to go about tying it all together.

Story of my life, really.

My phone sounded, alerting me to another text from Seth. This served as a reminder of how I couldn't seem to sort out my own life either.

-I'm free! Family time over!

There was an undeniable flare of jealousy on my part as I typed my reply.

-Lucky you.

-How long til u r free from the clutches?

-Everyone is supposed to leave tomorrow, but I'm not sure what time.

"It definitely won't be soon enough," I mumbled to myself. Returning my attention to the book in front of me, I read on.

How do you do this? Simple. In analyzing the notes you have so far, you should be able to identify commonalities between each point. This will help you to link them together in a meaningful way. Be creative and look at the big picture. How can you string them together to tell a story? Can you link them in a way that a reader will find easy to follow and engaging?

In order to know that, I'd have to understand how normal people's minds worked. In the process of observing my family, I'd only gained insight into how crazy people operated, and in seeing how they interacted with one another, I'd also learned that if I had an ethical bone in my body, I'd keep their empire-toppling abilities a secret.

Note #35

Do all you can to understand the psychological factors that make people behave the way that they do. I can't help you much with this one. That's why I'm writing this book and you're trying to take over the world. Best of luck with this one.

Another message came, and my train of thought was lost.

-U still want to be rescued?

That was an easy question to answer.

-Of course! I'd normally rescue myself, but there are people everywhere!

I tapped my fingernails against the desk as I awaited a reply. If anyone were watching me just then, I would have been humiliated by my behavior. As it was, I continued to behave like an impatient moron.

The response finally came, and I scrambled to retrieve the text.

-Not sure I can rescue u myself, but I can give u an xcuse to get out. Can u step out for a few? I'd like to give you your present.

Damn. Sneaking away to see Seth for a bit sounded far better than hiding in the office. Checking the clock, I confirmed that I might have a little time before I was missed, but I wasn't sure it would be worth the risk. The idea of being grounded for the rest of Christmas break sounded terrible, and sneaking away definitely had to potential to make that happen.

-Maybe, but I really can't risk going too far. My family is probably waiting for me to slip up again.

A few seconds later, there was a new message.

-Look in the backyard.

Those stupid butterflies really were a nightmare to vanquish. There were two windows in the room, and one of them faced the backyard. I hurried over as requested and looked down. All thoughts of what Richard "Moneymaker" Johnson had yet to teach me dissipated, because there, beneath the oak tree we used to sit in as kids, Seth waited with a Santa hat perched atop his head.

I did not squeal in excitement. I swear.

Chapter 8

In which there are threats, gifts, more butterflies, and dreams of revenge.

Getting out of the house proved a bit challenging. Corey was sitting at the top of the stairs when I walked by, but he was absorbed in playing a game on his phone and didn't even look up. The real problem came when I reached the bottom of the stairs. I took a quick look around to see if anyone was watching. Though I heard voices and other signs of human activity, I couldn't actually see anyone. I grabbed my winter coat from the closet, and as soon as I'd shrugged it on, I reached for the doorknob.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I turned to see Tyler standing there with his arms crossed in front of his chest. The lopsided sneer let me know that he was out for blood. There were times he was perfectly cool, such as earlier that morning, but something must have soured his mood since then, because his bratty side was on full display. The time for being grateful for my little brother's existence had passed.

"Just getting some fresh air," I said innocently. Which was a mistake, obviously, since playing innocent didn't come naturally to me. Sarcasm would have been a safer bet.

"I see." He paused as his wicked grin grew. "So the fact that Seth is outside has nothing to do with it?"

My mouth dropped open. Undignified, I know. I struggled to formulate a response, and I realized right away that I'd messed this up terribly. I could have lied, but there would have been no point. This time I resorted to sarcasm as I should have done in the beginning. "No, of course not. He's just out there because Dad decided to go with living yard decorations this year."

Tyler snickered. "That would be cool, but no. I know the real reason he's here is to make out with you some more." His voice was a bit too loud at the end of that declaration, and I barely managed not to punch him in the mouth to shut him up. Not only would that have been an incredibly immature thing to do, it would've caused far more trouble in the long run.

"Okay, twerp." I glared at him. "Where did you get that idea?"

"I saw you two the other night. You know, when you were out on the porch. It was nasty." Tyler accompanied that with a gagging sound.

"Your face is nasty," I retorted. This probably would have made it into the hall of fame for lamest comeback ever if such a thing existed, but I was too annoyed to care. "You're going to keep this quiet."

"Why would I do that? Telling Mom and Dad sounds much more fun to me."

Note #36

Master the art of negotiation. This includes both the art of diplomacy, and the ability to scare the living crap out of people with threats. Go with whichever best suits your strengths when possible.

"If you tell Mom and Dad, I'll force feed you one of Great Aunt Ruth Ann's cinnamon rolls." Then, for good measure, I added, "Plus I'll tell them about the time I caught you and Dylan smoking Dad's cigars."

His face paled slightly. "You have no proof, though."

"As if that counts in the court of Mom and Dad." Without further ado, I opened the door and stepped out into the crisp air. No firm resolution had been reached, but I didn't feel like wasting any more time.

The snow crunched beneath my feet as I circled the house, clouds of frozen breath fanning out before me. I shoved my ungloved hands deep into my coat pockets. I might have worn my gloves if I'd had a clue where they were. I'd never been able to keep track of a matching pair of gloves for more than a week at a time, so this was normal for me. I might have bought a bunch of gloves on clearance to prepare for the following year if I wasn't confident I would lose them all before I ever got to use them.

Note #37

Stock up on critical supplies whenever possible, and make sure you have someone reliable to keep track of them for you. Don't be ashamed of admitting to yourself that you're not up to the task, but make sure no one else knows this. Act instead as if these kinds of details are beneath you.

Those thoughts flew out of my head as soon as the tree came into view. I didn't immediately see Seth, but the tip of the Santa hat was peeking out from behind the oak's thick trunk. I quickened my pace, and as I reached the tree, a hand shot out, clamped down on my arm, and yanked me into the tree's shadow. Seth's smile and cold-reddened cheeks greeted me.

"You took long enough," he said amiably.

I shrugged. "I had a run-in with Tyler. Threats were exchanged. The usual. You know how it is."

He nodded. "Oh yeah. I do."

I looked up, having noticed that the movement of his head made the white ball at the tip of the hat flop forward. Something green dangled from it. "Is that mistletoe?" I tried, and failed, to choke back a laugh. "You dork!"

His eyes widened in mock surprise. "Oh my. How did that get there?"

I shoved his shoulder lightly. "It was pretty brave of you to wear that. A run-in with Connie on your way here would have made things awkward."

"Maybe, although I suspect she's given up. I saw her at the library the other day, and she was looking pretty cozy with Kevin Millner."

"Aww. Does that mean you missed your chance?"

"Nah. I don't think I missed out on anything at all." Seth brushed a lock of hair behind my ear. I'd seen this move performed a thousand times, but I couldn't believe how many nerve endings flared into life after such a light touch. "Besides, Kevin's been after her forever. It's for the best."

"Definitely." My voice was a bit more breathless than I would have liked. The main reason for that was the way Seth had subtly inched closer as we spoke. "Good for them."

"Good for me, too," he whispered, so close that I caught the scent of peppermint on his breath.

The butterflies suddenly grew to the size of birds as they redoubled their escape efforts. My whole body was trembling, and the cold didn't have all that much to do with it. Even so, I managed to remain reasonably still, so when Seth closed the distance between us, I was there to meet him. His lips were cold, but they warmed quickly as I kissed him back. I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my hands beneath the collar of his jacket. He jumped a little at the feeling of my cold fingers against his warm flesh, but he didn't pull away.

The whole thing was dizzying. Literally. There has to be some kind of scientific study out there investigating how kissing impacts a person's oxygen intake, though I haven't taken the time to find it. I might have been inclined to investigate the matter then, but the kiss showed no signs of ending any time soon. No matter how dizzy I felt, the taste of him and the warmth of him and his tongue kept me rooted in my spot, unable and unwilling to pull away.

Nevertheless, it did have to end, and when it did, it took a few moments to fill my lungs. After a couple of deep breaths, I felt a bit steadier.

"You're not going to kiss everyone you come across that way, are you?" I asked. Then I started to second-guess how that might have sounded. "Not that I, um, have any say or anything, but, um, it might get weird if you see, uh, a teacher or something." I cringed. Here I was trying to write a book in my spare time, yet this was the wittiest response I could muster.

Instead of making fun of me, he simply said, "Yes, that would be awkward. I think I'll avoid that. Anyway . . ." He trailed off for a bit, and biting his lip, he looked down at his feet. When he glanced back up at me, I knew he was blushing because his neck was just as red as his cheeks. "There isn't anyone else I want to kiss. Only you."

Fine. I might have claimed that my inner romantic had been buried beneath six feet of metaphorical dirt, and it certainly felt that way at times. Being a socially inept teenager can do that to a person. Seth and his charm, however, had lured it from its grave, and my heart was suddenly being driven by a ravenous love zombie. And yeah, falling in love with your best friend is a cliché, but it's a cliché for a reason. That shit actually happens.

I accepted my feelings, crazy as they seemed to me still, but his admission floored me. How was I supposed to respond to that?

"Wow." There it was. The best response I could muster. Terrific.

Note #38

Do your best to be prepared for anything people might say to you. This means having a reply waiting for the seemingly impossible time when someone tells you that fuzzy purple wombats are falling from the sky. If you can't react to both the mundane and ridiculous scenarios you encounter with confidence, you may wind up being the one to look like an idiot.

"Here." Seth pulled a flat, square box from inside his coat. "I hope you like it. If you don't, well . . . please don't push me into a snowdrift."

The reference to the night of our first kiss wasn't lost on me. I nodded. "Very well. I suppose I can play nice this time." The box was tied with a thin red ribbon, which I promptly chucked off to pop the box open. I might have been a bit excited. I pulled out a black beret with white stitching that proclaimed "YOUR OPINION IS IRRELEVANT." I stuck it on my head and grinned. "I love it. No snow drift for you."

"Ah, that's how it is. You would have thrown me into a snowdrift even after I asked you not to. That's just cold."

"Yeah, it would have been, because that's how snowdrifts are." Good. My wit had returned. It hadn't been permanently stunned out of me after all.

Seth pressed his forehead against mine and wrapped his arms around me. This position felt intimate, and as nervous as it made me, I wanted more. "So, um . . ." It came as a relief that I wasn't the only one struggling with words. "I know we haven't talked about this yet, but there's obviously something going on between us here. Please tell me I'm not wrong about that."

I swallowed. "You're not wrong."

"That's good, because I wanted to ask you something." He took a deep breath. "If I were to tell you that I wanted to be your boyfriend, what would you say?"

I bit my lip to hold back my grin. "Are you asking hypothetically or for real?"

Seth closed his eyes. "For real."

"Then I'd say I want that too. For real."

His eyes flew open again. "Really? You're sure?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you trying to talk me out of it already?"

"Definitely not. I just want to make sure there are no misunderstandings. For all I know, reading this wrong could earn me a snow wedgie."

I pursed my lips in thought. "A snow wedgie, eh? I'm not sure what that would entail, but I bet I could come up with something."

"I'm sure you could."

"You know me so well, yet you want me to be your girlfriend. There's something wrong with you," I joked.

"I know there is. You've told me that for years."

That's when I decided to silence him with another kiss. There'd been enough talk for the time being, and this proved to be an effective distraction. Perhaps a bit too effective, because I didn't hear the tell-tale sounds of footsteps and rustling fabric.

The sound that finally caught my attention was someone clearing their throat. Seth and I sprang apart to find my dad standing a few feet away, pointedly looking at anything but us. He started with the fence, then his eyes moved to the ground near his feet, and at last he settled on looking at the ground by my feet. "I'd ask what you're doing out here, but I think it's obvious."

I glanced at Seth, who had gone impressively pale. I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "Seth came by to bring me my Christmas present. I don't want you to think I _only_ came out here to make out with my boyfriend."

That shocked Dad into looking directly at me, and Seth's fingers tightened around mine. It was somewhat amusing to watch my dad fumble for words. "How long has this been going on?" he finally asked.

"He's only been my boyfriend for the last couple of minutes, actually."

"Oh. Okay." Then he turned his attention to Seth. "How are you doing?"

"Good."

The amount of awkward in the air could have probably driven away entire armies, and I couldn't help but think that might make an interesting section in my book.

Note #39

Learn how to use awkward social situations to your advantage. You know the old saying that you should keep your enemies close to you? Keep in mind that your enemies may try to use this tactic. If you make things sufficiently awkward, your enemies won't want to be anywhere near you, which could work in your favor.

"I hate to interrupt this enthralling conversation, but did you come out here for a reason?" I asked. I could only take so much of the tension, especially since I'd endured enough tension over the last couple days.

"Just to look for you," Dad replied. The simple question must have snapped him out of his stupor, because he seemed fully capable of speech again. "I hadn't seen you around, so I asked Tyler if he knew where you were. He tried to lie for you, but you know how lousy he is at it. I saw that he was getting nervous, so I pressured him a bit. He ended up telling me that I could find you out here."

"Tyler," I grumbled, pressing a hand to my face.

Note #40

Be careful which allies you stab in the back. Vengeance can be a nasty business.

"So, I'm going to go back in now." Dad indicated the house with a nod. "Try not to stay out here too long. And Seth, if you're free, you're welcome to join us."

There it was. My dad always needed to be hospitable, even when things were ugly. Maybe he wouldn't have invited a guy he didn't know given the circumstances with the family, but Seth had been around for so long it probably didn't seem like a strange thing at all to invite him in.

"Thanks, Andrew." I heard the uncertainty in his voice. He'd been calling my parents by their first names for years, but our changed relationship status had altered things, though neither of us were sure by how much. When nothing about my dad's expression changed, Seth continued, "I'll have to check with my parents first."

Dad nodded and walked away. Once he was out of earshot, I said, "You don't have to come in, you know. This whole holiday has been a mess, and I care about you too much to throw you into the middle of it."

Seth pulled me close and rested his chin on top of my head. "Does that mean you don't want me here?"

I shook my head. "No. The selfish part of me does want you here. You might be my only chance to spend time with someone sane, but my family might scare you off."

He laughed. "No chance. If you want me there, I'm there. Trust me. I'll survive it."

"You'd better, because I can't kiss you if you're dead. Well, not without it being completely gross, anyway."

I kept surprising myself. Where had this new flirtatious side of me come from?

Chapter 9

In which I discover all is not as it seems with my nosy family.

News of my new relationship spread quickly. In fact, even though Seth and I went back to the house only a couple of minutes after Dad did, there was an entourage waiting for us just inside the door. Mom stood at the front of the group, and the look on her face would have best been described as smug. That's when I realized I apparently hadn't been as brilliant at disguising my feelings as I'd imagined.

Note #41

Develop a strong poker face. People may otherwise be able to pick out your weaknesses and exploit them.

"It's good to see you, Seth," she said before moving in to give him a hug.

"You too, Beth," he said, all the while looking over her shoulder at the rest of the group.

Grandma Pearl, Grandpa Phillip, Corey, and Great Uncle Stewart were all there waiting. Granted, Stewart had the decency to remain in his typical seat in the living room, but he was looking over the top of his book rather than reading it.

My grandparents did the typical grandparenty thing by descending on Seth and interrogating him. Other than wanting to know his full name (Seth Dermod Dawson) and where the name Dermod came from (a great, great grandfather), there were multiple other queries that probably could have waited until the second or third meeting at least. Those questions revolved around his family history and what his plans for the future entailed. I would have pulled him away, but our only exit that didn't include running back outside was blocked.

Corey's only contribution to the whole thing was giving Seth the once-over and shrugging. His main motivation for being there likely had more to do with his parents _not_ being present than anything else.

Tyler's conspicuous absence only confirmed for me that he knew he was in for it. That particular order of business could wait, though.

Note #42

Acts of revenge are far more satisfying when the target has let down their guard and doesn't see it coming. That often means having patience and waiting for the opportune moment. However, this does not mean you should trust them after their betrayal. Being burned once is enough.

The assembly dispersed at last. It helped that Grandma and Grandpa needed to start cooking dinner. I took Seth's coat and put it in the coat closet. He startled me when he started to laugh so hard that I thought he might fall over, clutching his stomach with one hand while covering his mouth with the other.

"What in the world is up with you?" I demanded.

Seth peeled the hand away from his mouth and used it to point at me. I remembered with a sinking feeling that I was still wearing the red reindeer sweater with the light-up nose. Fan-freaking-tastic.

"I'd hoped to burn this thing before anyone outside of the family saw it." I crossed my arms in front of my chest in a huff. "You already saw everyone else wearing theirs, and you didn't laugh at them."

"True," Seth said as he wiped tears from his eyes. "Of course, I had to restrain myself from laughing so they wouldn't hate me, and I never imagined you going along with something like this!"

"I'm not wearing this voluntarily."

"That makes it even funnier," he argued.

I pointed a finger right back at him. "If you don't quit your laughing, you don't get your Christmas present."

Seth straightened up and clamped his hand back over his mouth. No matter how hard he tried, though, his shoulders kept shaking, betraying his mirth. The only way to stop it was obvious, so I grabbed the hem of the offending garment and tugged the entire thing up and over my head. This action made Seth's jaw drop slightly, and the laughter ceased once and for all. I saw a distinct hint of disappointment in his gaze as it became clear that I was wearing a T-shirt underneath and he wouldn't be getting an eyeful of anything.

Leaning close, I whispered, "Yeah, I'm totally going to strip naked right here where anyone can see me."

He looked away bashfully, and while fighting back my own laughter, I stretched to kiss his cheek. The whole showing-affection thing used to strike me as difficult, but it was turning out to be simpler than I'd thought. Then I grabbed him by the elbow and guided him into the living room. Not that he needed to be guided. Maybe I was just looking for excuses to touch him.

We settled on the couch while Stewart did a bad job of pretending to read. A couple minutes later, while Seth was in the middle of telling me a story about the loser of a guy his older sister brought to meet the family, Mom came in with mugs of hot chocolate for both of us.

The sight of the mugs reminded me of Seth's gift. "I almost forgot. I should go get your present. It's in my room."

Mom's face hardened. "You can go." Then she pinned Seth down with a pointed glare. "You stay here."

"Geez Mom. I wasn't planning on getting down and dirty with him while everyone else is here. Give me some credit." Then I shuddered. "Besides, Great Aunt Ruth Ann's stuff is in there. That would be weird."

"Either way, he doesn't get to hang out in your room anymore," Mom told me firmly. Then she smiled. "Enjoy your drinks. And Seth, if you want anything to eat, let either me or Dani pick. We both know what's safe to eat and what isn't."

I remembered seeing Ruth Ann in the kitchen earlier. "Trust me, she's right about that. You can't just eat anything at random."

"Okay then." He didn't sound at all taken aback by this. I'd told him the horror stories on more than one occasion.

After Mom walked away, Seth looked at me. "Is that how it's going to be from now on? A mixture of 'oh, you look so sweet together' and 'if you touch my daughter, I will end you'?" It might have been a serious question, but there was a hint of amusement in the words.

I nodded. "Absolutely."

I took the stairs two at a time, mostly because I didn't want to risk leaving Seth on his own for too long. When I got to my bedroom door, I pushed it open without much thought. I wasn't expecting to see Ruth Ann standing by my window and giggling. At least she was true to her word that she wouldn't be lounging around naked in my room. That would have been embarrassing.

"Sorry! I didn't realize you'd be in here."

Her eyes twinkled as she turned to me. After studying me for a moment, she wagged a finger. "Come over here, dear. I want to show you something."

Unsure of what to expect, I complied.

Now, I always figured I had a handle on the character of the people I'd known since birth. That didn't seem like a ridiculous notion, but as I approached my bedroom window, it started to feel like one.

At first I couldn't decide what Uncle George and Aunt Carrie were doing. Given the last interactions I'd seen between them, I assumed they had to be searching for some way to kill each other. Uncle George was holding the outdoor popcorn maker his wife had given him high above his head. Using the long handle as leverage, he brought it back behind him, then swung it forward with all his might. The lid must have been rigged to remain open, because it didn't budge once during this arc of motion. And at the end of that arc, a round object flew out of the contraption and continued on a trajectory that took it out of the yard.

Then I focused on Aunt Carrie, who was balancing a tray on one hand while she watched George work. Once the spherical object landed in a yard two houses over, she took another off the tray and handed it over. This process repeated multiple times, each time with George aiming in a slightly different direction.

It took almost a minute of staring at the scene playing out below and juxtaposing that in my mind with the image of a happy Ruth Ann before I could grasp what I was seeing.

"You . . ." I cocked my head to one side and gaped at her. "You realize they're catapulting your cinnamon rolls across the neighborhood, right?"

Ruth Ann nodded. "They're being pretty ingenious about it, too."

I had to admit the truth in that. I also couldn't get over the fact that they were working together at all. "They're getting along for the first time in twenty-four hours, and it's all because of your cooking." I tapped my chin thoughtfully. "So, level with me. You obviously know you're a terrible cook."

"I've never been a good cook, though I do make an effort to be terrible at it from time to time."

"Why?"

"Entertainment, I guess." She shrugged. "Contrary to rumor, my food can't kill anyone. I don't even have to try to make it awful anymore. My cooking has become the stuff of legend. People just assume. Those cinnamon rolls down there might even be edible. I wouldn't know, because I was smart enough not to try them myself. I just enjoy seeing people cringe and go to extreme lengths to avoid eating what I make."

I shook my head in awe. "That's quite the hobby. Why this though? I'm sure you could find some other way to pass the time." Ruth Ann's particular brand of terrorism didn't really seem like a hobby, but I didn't know what else to call it.

"Like what? Gardening? Knitting?"

"Um, you do knit. I've seen it," I pointed out.

My great aunt rolled her eyes. "Yes, and I do some gardening too, but that isn't the point I'm trying to make here."

"Okay." I drew that single word out slowly, inviting her to elaborate.

She didn't disappoint. "I do the normal stuff that old ladies are supposed to do, and I do enjoy them. It's just that I want something more than that. After my husband died, I needed to find that spark of joy he took with him. Lawrence died before you were born, so you never had the privilege of knowing him. He was a practical joker. I guess he rubbed off on me after all our years together." She looked wistful. "What I do doesn't hurt anybody. It keeps people on their toes. Sometimes it even gives people a common goal." Her gaze returned to George and Carrie.

"You're right about that. So, Stewart must know."

"Oh yeah. He's been in on it from the beginning. He plays along to keep me happy, and he joins in on it, too. It's a hoot for both of us." Then Ruth Ann narrowed her eyes at me, but the expression didn't look angry. "Don't pretend you don't understand about unorthodox ways of passing the time. Stewart told me about your latest project."

I nodded. "The book."

"The book," she confirmed. "Our family has always been unusual. That's not a bad thing."

"Except when it involves coercing people into wearing ugly sweaters."

"Ah, how do you know I don't actually think they look lovely?" Her voice dripped with false innocence.

"Because no one with functioning eyes can think that."

"True, true," she conceded, "and that made it even more amusing. I see you took yours off, though."

"My boyfriend saw it and couldn't stop laughing at me." I flushed at the mention of Seth, and I wondered how long it would take me to get used to calling him my boyfriend. "I had to take it off so he wouldn't rupture something. That reminds me. I came up here to get his gift." I walked over to my desk and opened the middle drawer.

"Your boyfriend? I assume you mean the young man you went out back to meet." She nodded approvingly as I let it sink in that she'd been spying from the window for longer than I'd realized. "He's handsome."

I couldn't argue with that. I grabbed the box that I'd wrapped with metallic blue paper, and with a wave to the great aunt I suddenly knew a bit better, I bolted from the room and rushed down the stairs.

In learning such startling things about Ruth Ann, I'd learned a bit more about conquering the world.

Note #43

Never assume you know all there is to know about someone. People may surprise you. Whether it will be in a good or a bad way is unclear, so it's best to be prepared for either possibility.

Note #44

Keep people so busy and distracted with trivial things so they never see how you're manipulating them.

Note #45

Don't forget to laugh, even if you have to humiliate others to make it happen.

Maybe I should have been irritated by all the years of trickery, but I wasn't. Instead, I felt almost giddy. I was in on a secret. There's something exhilarating about that.

By the time I made it back to Seth, Stewart had given up the ruse and was openly chatting with him. From what I caught of their discussion, they'd delved into the realm of old horror movies. This was the sort of topic that could absorb Seth for hours, but I must have had some kind of new-girlfriend voodoo going on, because when I sat down beside him, he promptly shifted his focus back to me. That might have made me a feel a bit self-satisfied.

"Here you go." I handed him the box without any real flourish. Not that I ever would have made a production out of it before, but I didn't know what the protocol should be now that things had changed.

His face lit up when he opened it to reveal the mug I'd picked out more than a month before, weeks before our relationship got complicated. The cartoonish zombie on the front of it was stumbling around in plaid pajamas, and the voice bubble proclaimed that instead of needing flesh or brains, he just needed "COFFFFEEEEEEEE!" When I saw it online, I immediately thought it would be perfect for him. Since the night of that unexpected first kiss and the multiple kisses that followed, however, I'd gone back and forth on whether I should have found him something else. Then again, how did you find a romantic gift for someone? Shouldn't romance involve showing how well you know someone and what they would like?

"You know me so well," Seth said with a grin.

More than anything else, that comment confirmed that I'd made the right choice. When I considered the hat perched on my head, I realized that Seth had gone the same route with my gift. And given that we still had our usual banter, I was able to reach a reassuring conclusion. As much as some aspects of our relationship had changed, many of the best parts of it were still the same.

There remained only one real concern. Would my volatile family end up scaring him away during dinner?

Chapter 10

In which we manage to have an actual family dinner, I have an epiphany, and Grandpa Phillip's whiskey-marinated philosophy causes major embarrassment.

Dinner for the evening consisted of chili, cornbread, salad, and a triple chocolate cake dessert. All in all, it looked and smelled amazing. I only hoped that feeding this large number of people beans in a relatively small space wouldn't lead to another less-than-pleasant smell later on.

Our dining table was rather crowded with everyone in attendance, but being forced to squeeze in close beside Seth was fine by me. Having Tyler wedged against me on the other side was the part that made the experience somewhat miserable. Almost every time Seth or I leaned closer to the other to say something, Tyler groaned loudly about how disgusting we were.

With every complaint he lodged, I added to a mental tally that would ultimately determine how brutal my revenge plot turned out to be.

My closeness to Seth wasn't the only thing Tyler complained about. "Mom, Dani isn't wearing her sweater like she's supposed to."

Seth snickered, and I elbowed him in a not-so-subtle way.

Ruth Ann spoke up before anyone else got the chance. "Don't worry about that, dear. She's got a guest, and we wouldn't want him to be the only one without a sweater. He might feel left out if she puts hers back on, and we wouldn't want that."

More and more, I was realizing what a genius my great aunt is.

"Fine." Tyler moved to take his off as well.

"Oh no, darling. You look so good in yours, please keep it on. For me." Ruth Ann smiled sweetly.

I couldn't stop myself from grinning evilly in Tyler's direction. Ruth Ann definitely deserved a better gift the next time around than the dollar store scented candle my parents had gotten her, and I promised myself that I would make it happen.

I'm sure Tyler wasn't the only one who would have jumped at the opportunity to wear something different. There was something interesting about watching my grandmother with her perfectly groomed hair and makeup, nicely pressed slacks, fancy shoes, and garish Christmas sweater while serving a dinner she'd worked so hard to prepare. As much as she and I may never see eye-to-eye on certain things, I kind of admire her. You wouldn't think anyone on the planet could make that reindeer sweater look regal, but she accomplished it. If someone can pull that off, they can probably do anything.

Overall, dinner went better than I'd anticipated. There wasn't as much chatter as there had been in previous years, but the lack of yelling was good enough for me. My parents were speaking in a civil fashion, and my aunt and uncle were even sitting side by side. Granted, they'd managed to put a bit more space between them than anyone else at the table, and they came across as a bit stiff, but an improvement is an improvement.

The evening improved even more once Grandma started serving her specialty egg nog. Everyone under the age of twenty-one got the somewhat less special, but still delicious, version. Grandpa, as per tradition, had one glass of egg nog before moving on to whiskey. As the drinks continued to flow, the flow of conversation finally increased.

Note #46

Control the distribution of alcohol and other intoxicating substances. By doing so, you can influence the behavior of those within your sphere of control. It may also open up opportunities for blackmail in the future.

Note #47

Consider the ease with which your subjects may be able to record the evidence of anything you do. If you are unable to avoid making yourself look like a fool during special events, take steps to ensure you're the only one able to gather incriminating evidence for purposes of blackmail. Hidden recording devices can be both your best friend and worst enemy.

Seth and I soon settled on a blanket by the Christmas tree. I balanced my notebook in my lap, furiously scribbling away as I documented the observations I'd made over the course of the afternoon.

"Are you trying to ignore me, or did I do something to inspire you in the last five minutes?" Seth asked.

"You always inspire me. You bring out my muse, my inner romantic, my inner homicidal maniac . . ."

" _Inner_ homicidal maniac?" Seth said incredulously.

I gently bopped him over the head with my open notebook. "Shut up, you!"

He nudged my shoulder. "Seriously though, how is the book coming?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. There are a lot of ideas on the page, but I'm not really sure what to do with them. They might be decent enough, but away from the stuff that inspired them, they're just not as interesting. If I can't make the book interesting or entertaining, then people won't read it. Then I'll be stuck babysitting all the time."

"True." Seth was silent for a long moment. "Maybe you shouldn't be writing it as a strict step-by-step self-help book then. Maybe you should find a way to throw some of your own life into the mix. That is what inspired you, after all. If you can do that, you might be able to include the same information and make it entertaining."

I didn't know whether I wanted to hug him or smack him with the notebook again. The idea sounded good, and I wished I'd thought of it on my own. Instead of following through with either of those options, I took my pen and returned to the top of the first page where I'd scribbled the title. Looking at it again, I had to admit that _How to Take Over the World in _____ Easy Steps_ was less than inspiring. I doubted having a concrete number to plug into that blank space would do a whole lot to change that, so I crossed that title out. After only a moment of thought, I wrote out a new title above the old one. _How I Learned to Take Over the World Through Tolerating My Family_.

Then, in the margins, I wrote the beginning of a disclaimer.

The things I learned from watching my crazy family have not taught me all there is to know about taking over the world. You should also pay attention to the people you know to see what you can learn from them and combine it with my advice.

Anything bad that happens to you during your quest is your problem, not mine.

That disclaimer, like the rest of the book, needed a lot of work, but I felt better now that I had a definite idea of where I wanted to go with it.

"Now that looks promising," Seth said with an approving nod.

"We'll see how it turns out," I replied.

Note #48

Don't become entrenched in one way of doing things. Sometimes plans must be revised based on the situation, and there's nothing wrong with that. If you can't be adaptable, you will fail.

I continued making notes, but I had to stop when Grandpa Phillip stood in the center of the room. He held a little glass in one hand while holding out the other in a call for silence. We'd come to the portion of the evening where he took it upon himself to dispense some nuggets of wisdom. The previous year he'd given advice about how to buy a car for a good price, and from there he'd somehow managed to segue into a soliloquy about how important it was to steer your own path in life. It was oddly insightful, and I was curious about where he was going to go with his philosophizing this time around.

"This might be good," I whispered to Seth.

"Excuse me, I'd like your attention for a moment," Grandpa said. He could have easily been a public speaker or an auctioneer, because his voice came across loud and clear with minimal effort on his part. "After thinking about the rocky nature of our Christmas gathering, I have a few things I'd like to say."

Based on previous years, it was hard to guess what he meant by "a few." Sometimes he really did mean just that, but most of the time, that didn't give any kind of accurate indication of how long his speech was going to take.

Grandpa turned to look at Uncle George and Aunt Carrie. They were sitting in a couple of folding chairs that Dad drug out of the garage earlier. "The holidays are a stressful time for anyone, and any day comes with its challenges. There are disagreements about bills and how to take care of kids and a million other things, and those disagreements can make us forget about what's really important."

Then he turned to my parents. They were sitting together on the couch, albeit on opposite ends. "Opening your home to anyone is tiring. You may be opening it to family rather than strangers, and it sounds like that should make it easier, but it doesn't. Pearl and I know this from experience. There's a reason we don't host these gatherings anymore. It gets messy and crowded and you don't get a quiet moment to yourself. After years of doing it, you get to the end of your rope. The stress makes matters hard enough, but it's even worse when you get pulled into other people's squabbles. It's a shame when that happens, because you end up losing sight of the most important thing in the world, and it's the very thing this season is supposed to be about."

As he paused for dramatic effect, I tried to decide what kind of background feel-good music would make for the best accompaniment.

"Love," he said at last. "At the end of the day, love is the thing that makes it all worth it. We all go through hard times, but the love is what gets us through it all. Love is what can keep the bad times from tearing people away from one another. It's when you lose touch with that feeling that you end up in trouble."

This speech would have definitely been at home in some cheesy made-for-TV movie, and I was wondering where it could possibly go from there when Grandpa Phillip turned his attention to Seth and me. Having all eyes in the room suddenly on us was a bit unsettling. "Look at them," Grandpa continued. "Seeing young love like that can serve as a reminder of what it was like in the beginning. Try to reconnect with that feeling and the raw hope and possibility that came along with it. Clearly it was strong enough to get you all this far, and there were rough patches along the way. Love is stronger when it comes through those hard times. As long as you don't let yourselves forget the young lovers you once were and how you've worked together to get where you are, there's still hope." Then he downed the last of his whiskey and went to sit by Grandma Pearl.

While everyone else in the room returned their attention to whatever they'd been focused on before, I looked over at Seth. He smirked at me. "So our love is being held up as a source of inspiration, eh?"

I bit my lower lip. "I know. The world really is in trouble, isn't it?" Even as I said it, I felt warm inside. I wasn't sure how much of that was lingering embarrassment and how much of it was happiness about being newly in love, and even if I was sure about the percentages, I wouldn't tell you. Some things are best kept private.

* * *

An hour later, I sat on the stairs beside Seth, the two of us bathed in the soft glow of the miniature tree. He had to go home soon, but we were soaking up every last moment we could. Our position left us partially secluded, but we could still see directly into the living room. Grandpa had moved on to philosophizing about the nature of existence, a newly poured whiskey in hand. His wife, the only one who seemed to still be listening to him, sat beside him on the love seat. She was looking at him with an amused smile.

Stewart and Ruth Ann each had a recliner to themselves. Ruth Ann was knitting a purple scarf, and Stewart was once again immersed in a book. By all appearances, they were oblivious to the world around them.

Also oblivious to the world were Corey and Tyler. Corey had stretched out on the blanket Seth and I used earlier, his head resting on his arm and his mouth hanging open as he slept. Tyler sat with his back to the wall as he stared at his phone.

Uncle George and Aunt Carrie were sitting together in the window seat talking in hushed tones. I had no idea what they might be saying, but it looked as though they might be moving beyond bare civility. There was nothing like a couple of glasses of adult egg nog and a rousing speech about the power of love to move things along. Only time would tell whether they'd work things out between them or not.

Mom and Dad were sitting somewhat closer on the couch than they had been before. They both looked absolutely exhausted, and the bickering had fallen by the wayside. I knew my parents well enough to guess that they'd have made up completely within the next couple of days. While they could get on each other's nerves like no one else could, they were also sickeningly in love.

Love may be weird, messy, and occasionally icky in its tendency to go overboard with corny lines and gestures, but there is power in it. Grandpa was right about that much.

Note #49

Don't automatically discard the wisdom dispensed by those under the influence of alcohol or other substances. Sure, they may be dispensing utter crap, but they might also have something valuable to offer. Judge the advice based on the content, and not on who delivered it or how.

Though the notebook sat on the step behind me and I had more ideas in my head itching for expression, I let it rest there. I'd have time later on. In that moment, Seth's thigh was warm against mine, and our fingers had twined together where our hands rested on his knee. I simply couldn't bring myself to pull away from that.

"What are you thinking about?" Seth asked, his voice so soft only I stood a chance of hearing it.

I cast another look across the group, and I considered how the current peace would only last until the following morning. When everyone woke the next day, some would be sporting alcohol-related hangovers, while the group as a whole would be suffering from the inevitable post-holiday hangover. They'd all stumble out of our house in their own time while thinking that they needed a holiday to recover from their holiday.

I smiled fondly. "They're all lunatics, but they're _my_ lunatics, and I love them." Then I turned and leaned over to whisper in his ear. "That probably means I'm a lunatic too, you know."

"As long as you're _my_ lunatic," he whispered back before brushing a kiss across my cheek. "I was wondering if you'd like to come over to my house tomorrow. It might be nice having my girlfriend over for dinner. That's something I've never gotten to do before."

"That sounds good to me." And it did. It really did.

Okay, I'll admit it. That Christmas didn't turn out half bad for me, all things considered. Seth and I had worked out what we were, my book was off to a good start, and I had a long and satisfying revenge plot to construct around my little brother. No, things hadn't turned out bad at all.

Note #50

Learn to take bumps in the road in stride. Conquering the world is no easy task, and it won't always be smooth sailing. It should be more about the process of dominating the world than the end goal. If you don't enjoy the process, you'll burn out quickly and fall short of accomplishing the things you want.

Afterword

That's it. That's the book.

I don't think most of my family will actually read it. I know them. They'll say they will, but there will be excuses about how busy they are, or they'll say they read it and make a generic comment about how good it is and how proud they are of me. This may work to my advantage, of course, since I've clearly divulged some sensitive family secrets. If anyone does read it, it'll be Great Uncle Stewart, and I trust him not to murder me over it.

That being said, if you hear any stories in the news about me being murdered by a family member, then you'll know they did read it and took offense. This is part of the life of the writer. There's always going to be a critic.

Seth has already read it and offered his thoughts. They were mostly positive. This may be due in part to the fact that reading it is how he first learned that I love him. I hadn't gotten around to saying it yet, and while I don't think he was particularly surprised by the revelation, he did spend the rest of the day looking pleased with himself. After he told me he feels the same way, of course.

As for you, congratulations. You survived the reading experience. Take whatever you will from it. The rest is up to you.

And remember, I am not liable for anything bad that happens to you in your pursuit of world domination. I'm still figuring out how to be responsible for myself, and that's tough enough.

# # #

About the Author

L.G. Keltner spends most of her time trying to write while also cleaning up after her crazy but wonderful kids and hanging out with her husband. Her favorite genre of all time is science fiction, and she's been trying to write novels since the age of six. Needless to say, those earliest attempts weren't all that good.

Her non-writing hobbies include astronomy and playing Trivial Pursuit.

Ways to Connect

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Also by L.G. Keltner

A Silent Soliloquy

Cosmic Seasoning: A Collection of Short Stories

