“You’re a satanist?” he asked with disgusted wonder.

“Agnostic,” I corrected.

“Me too,” he said, his expression perking up, “Except if I told her I’d probably be lobotomized.” He motioned towards the door and stared at it a moment as if it were a half eaten deer carcass that had been rotting in the sun for two weeks.

“Who are you?” He finally asked. I pointed over to the hideous purple house.

“That,” I said hopelessy.

“You are Betty’s granddaugher?” He asked curiously.

“Christ, does everyone know everything around here?” I said, annoyed, crossing my arms.

“Um, sorry,” he said, casting his eyes once again down to his torn Converse, “And, um, sorry about the dart gun, for a second I thought you were that cheerleader, Hillary.” I gave him a look of complete and utter annoyance.

“Do I look like a cheerleader?” I said, motioning to what I was wearing.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed.

“So, what’s the deal with the cheerleader?” I inquired curiously, there could be fun in this…