Sometimes I wonder why Charlie never complains about us still living in his house. Not even a sarcastic jab—which, coming from him, says a lot. Back in the show, he never missed a chance to mock my dad. Now? Silence.
The truth is, Dad could easily afford a new place now. We all could. But knowing him, he's gotten a little too used to the Malibu lifestyle—ocean view, fresh breakfast, no rent (especially the last one). That's peak Alan behavior: find comfort and cling to it like a parasite. No effort to change. No real motivation to move out.
And Charlie? I think he actually likes having me around.
He always had a soft spot for Jake in the show. But me? I'm not the same kid. I don't do the same dumb stuff. I'm not a walking disaster when it comes to grades or hygiene. I've made him rich—several times over. I'm smart, helpful, polite, and I can hold a conversation that doesn't involve fart jokes or video games.
Honestly? I think Charlie likes me much more than the original Jake
I was stretched out on the couch, deeply absorbed in a worn hardcover copy of Margin of Safety by Seth Klarman. The book was dense, but Klarman's take on risk, discipline, and long-term investing had me hooked. I'd read it in my past life, but the re-read was absolutely worth it.
Charlie walked into the room, hands in his pockets, wearing that trademark half-grin that always meant trouble.
"Jake, buddy, I need a favor," he said.
I didn't even look up. "You needing a favor usually means I end up doing something weird, uncomfortable, or both. What is it this time?"
He hesitated for a beat. "I need you to entertain someone."
I finally glanced up, narrowing my eyes. "How old are we talking?"
"Twelve," he replied. "But this time, it's a girl."
I groaned, closing the book with a thud. "Of course it is. There's more, isn't there?"
Charlie scratched the back of his neck. "Well... technically, she's still married. The mom, not the kid."
My mouth dropped open. "Uncle Charlie... there's a special place in hell for people like you."
Before he could fire back some witty defense, the doorbell rang.
"That's them!" he said quickly, straightening his shirt and heading for the door.
I stayed planted on the couch, mentally preparing myself. This was going to be awkward. No question about it.
Charlie opened the door with his usual charm. A tall, stylish woman walked in, heels clicking softly on the hardwood. Right behind her was a girl with long dark hair, sharp brown eyes, and an oversized hoodie. She had that look—half happy, half too-smart-for-her-age.
"Hi," the girl said before he could finish. "I'm Tori. Tori Vega."
I blinked. Tori... Vega?
That name set off alarms in the back of my mind. I stared at her for a moment.
"Do you... have a sister?" I asked out nowhere
Tori tilted her head, confused. "Yeah. Trina. Why?"
Bingo. I knew exactly who she was.
Charlie gave me a side glance. "What's with the face?" Then he leaned in and whispered with a playful smirk, "Don't tell me you've got a crush on your first playdate." while elbowing me
I glared at him, clearly annoyed. "Nothing. Just... wasn't expecting that."
Tori walked further into the room, her gaze drifting casually around until it landed on the piano. Her expression changed a lot. She was already more intriguing than most kids her age.
Back in my old life, she had been one of my biggest teenage crushes. Talented. Gorgeous. Seeing her —so young, so completely out of context—was like a glitch in the Matrix.
I rubbed the back of my neck, unsure how to act. A dumb part of me even wondered if I should try to be impressive. Say something clever. Be memorable. Lay the groundwork for... something.
But then another thought hit me, hard.
Wait—what the hell am I thinking?
She's twelve. Twelve.
And I'm... well, technically twelve too. But only technically. And I was saying that Uncle Charlie is a scumbag minutes ago...