"Jesse," Mrs. McCartney called urgently from the brightly lighted kitchen, intensely stirring the yellow batter in a green bowl. She blew a strand of her golden hair far from grazing her clammy face, her turtle-shell glasses steaming up with fustration.

Jesse slowly surfaced from his room and turned to the right toward the kitchen, crossing his hands in front of his chest because of this interruption from "The 6th Sense." He leaned against the white doorframe and looked at his mother, curiousity filling his face with intrigue. "Alright," Jesse started as his eyes scowered over the chocolate chip cookie batter, dropping his hands to his jeans. "Who's coming over?"

"Why do you always assume things, Jess?" his mother asked exasperated, whipping her powdered-dusted hands over her sweaty forehead.

"It's quite a known tid bit that when you're baking up a storm, someone is coming to visit," Jesse stated matter-of-factly, flying past his mother to the white refrigerator. He swung the door open, reaching deep inside its core for a Sunny D. He poured himself a heafty cup's worth and continued. "Who is it? Please don't tell me Great Uncle Milton. When he talks, you can see his fake teeth rattling in his mouth. It scared Lea."

"No, silly," Mrs. McCartney replied with an amused chuckle, scooping the batter into sweet tiny mountains on the grey cookie sheet. "It's your Aunt Diane and McKenzie."

Jesse's ears perched up like a dog's. "Really?" he asked, excitement tweeking his vocal chord, making his question sound more like a child's.

"Yes," Mrs. M replied smiling, sticking the cookies in the fiery pit of the oven, glancing into it to make sure everything's running smoothly. "Diane and Mike's divorce was finally sealed. The poor dear, she's quite a mess. Her and McKenzie are moving back here, driving up from Virginia. I offered to let them stay here for a while until they get back on their feet. We've got plenty of room; Diane's going to stay in the guest bedroom and McKenzie will stay in Lea's room. They're arriving tomorrow."

"That's great," Jesse shouted, taking one last gulp of his Sunny D, whiping his mouth with his arm satisfied as if grew up in a phrehistoric cave, and then left the glass on the marble counter intentionally.

"Not so fast, Mister," Mrs. M stopped him moments before he could successfully slip out of the kitchen like a thief, "Put it in the dish washer."

Reluctently, he picked up the glass, opened the dishwasher next to the fridge, placed the glass gingerly in the holders, then slammed the door shut with enough force to shattered the kitchen windows. Jesse slyly smiled as his mother shook her head at his juvenile antics.

He glided back through the livingroom, taking notice of a young Timmy, passed out on the couch from drinking in too much of life. His red flannel blanket shielded his mouth from the germs creeping through the air, but his button-nose and bowl haircut were poking up from the security of his blanket. He reminded Jesse a lot of himself, always running around until his feet fell from under him and knocked him to sleep. After leaving a light kiss on Timmy's cheek, Jesse receded to his fortress and closed the door quietly.

The TV glared through the dark room, slits of light crawling in from the white blinds of his window facing the back yard. Only vague outlines of his chestnut dresser which the TV perched on and his desk next to his bed could be seen under the blanket of darkness. He leaped high on top of his blue-sheeted bed, snuggling his head onto a warm, orange pillow. Fatigue weakened his body, strenght not fully restored from touring with Aaron Carter. That experience will be filed in his memory for later use of entertaining his kids and grandkids with the stories he experienced in Dream Street around a crackling fire. But he never stopped, this week they began recording for the new album to be released in late spring. Sometimes it was overwhelming, but that's a price he's willing to shell out.

But now that McKenzie was coming home, it would be a breath of fresh air for Jesse, a kink in the sometimes boring gears of his life's clock. Memories of their childhood rushed into his mind like his fans into a venue. He remembered when they were 5 and they wondered if they could really fly off the roof like Wendy and her brothers in 'Peter Pan.' They didn't know how they could get onto the roof, so they tried climbing onto the antique dresser in Jesse's mom's room for experimentation. McKenzie went bravely first and received a broken ankle and bruised knee for her reward. That's when they decided cartoons were misleading and went straight to dramatic series like 'Beverly Hills 90210' and 'Saved by the Bell.'

They were so much alike, you would have thought they were brother and sister, not close cousins separated by a few weeks. They both loved bright colors, the snow, and baseball. During the winter, they'd always hike up Morton's Hill on the first snowfall, the chill and flakes smacking their faces bitterly, but they always trudge through like alaskan huskies. They'd have a plastic yellow bat in hand and make snowballs of all sizes, estimating which ones would soar through the air the farthest. They'd play 6 rounds of non-stop snowball bashing, always ending it with a tie, retreating to the house for TLC and hot cocoa. That's how it always was.

Sometimes, Kenny would whip up 2 peanut butter and chocolate syrup sandwiches, both of their favorite smears, for the two of them, always getting more syrup on her fingers and face than on the bread. It's things like that people must cherish, Jesse concluded, the memories that will never die. Jesse rested his hands behind his clogged head and peered at his New York Yankees poster on the white wall.

Now that she was coming home, they could make more memories, sew more patches in the quilt of their youth. She could meet the guys of Dream Street, they'd both like that; maybe even tour with them. But little did he know, McKenzie's homecoming would bring a terrible fate worse than death.