23rd September 2009,
Two years later. Sixteen now. Two more years breaking ribs for rent money, but the bills stacked higher than broken teeth. Enough to buy something real. Enough to buy Emmy something better.
I stand on the porch of a house that smells like mildew and old memories. Emmy's tiny hand wrapped around two of my fingers. She hums a song she made up — a safe, warm sound in this cracked neighborhood.
We need out. So I call the realtor listed on the only decent sign I could afford. Name on the card: Phil Dunphy.
It made me laugh when I saw it. Phil Dunphy — just like that sitcom from my old life. Couldn't be real. Just a name. Right?
Phil's office looks like a sitcom threw up dad jokes and golf trophies. Emmy runs circles around the desk. Phil tries to contain her with a candy jar. She wins.
"So, Zane Creed." He pushes his glasses up. "Parents busy today, huh?"
I watch him carefully. The same goofy smile. The same hair. It's him. I keep my face blank. "No parents. Just me and her."
Phil freezes halfway to handing Emmy another lollipop. "Oh… uh, hey, I'm sorry, bud." He pats my shoulder awkwardly. Emmy grins at him with sticky lips. "Well, she's the boss now, huh?"
"She always was."
Phil chuckles, awkward tension gone. "Okay, Mr. Boss and Mini Boss — let's talk houses. But first — paper trail. How's a kid like you got house money?" He squints, suspicious dad mode unlocked.
"Legal," I deadpan. "Clean. My earnings."
He squints harder. "You're sixteen. This better not be cartel money, man."
"Fighter," I say, voice flat. "Underground." I don't elaborate.
Phil's jaw unhinges. "Like... like punching people?!" Emmy giggles. "He's strong!" she cheers.
Phil nods slowly, mouth open. "Wow. Okay. Explains the vibe. Super gangster, honestly. Alright, I can work with that." He flips through listings, muttering. "Not every day a teenage John Wick buys a house next to mine."
He drives us around in a squeaky SUV that smells like air freshener and optimism. Emmy babbles about every house. Phil matches her energy beat for beat — answering about lawns, trees, mailboxes like it's the highlight of his month.
"So," he says as we slow down by a pale blue house, "I might have the perfect spot. Neighbors are kinda weird. Bakes a lot. Talks a lot. But they got a swing and a big yard." He grins. "It's my place. Next door."
I stare at it — that sitcom porch, the exact driveway I remember from lazy reruns. It's real. It hits weird. I keep my poker face locked.
Phil elbows me lightly. "You good?"
"It's perfect." I say it like a fact, not a wish.
Emmy squeals when she sees the backyard. "TREE!" she shouts, dragging her bear through the grass. Phil chuckles. "I mean, that's the deal, right? You got tree, you got swing, you got Phil next door for free pie."
Inside, the kitchen hums with light. Emmy claps when she finds the pantry stocked for staging. She demands Phil sit for an imaginary tea party in the sunny front room. He does. Pinky out and all.
When she's off chasing shadows up the stairs, Phil leans on the counter. "Kid to kid — how do you do this? You're sixteen."
I roll my shoulders. "You grow up fast when you're all they got."
He lets out a low whistle. "Respect, man. Seriously." His eyes flick to my bike outside — a sleek black 2009 Yamaha YZF-R1. Phil's dad-dork switch flips again. "OH MY GOD. Is that yours?! That's, like, fast. How fast?"
"Fast enough," I say with half a grin.
Phil mimics a vroom noise like a twelve-year-old. "Gangster and biker. Gloria's gonna have a heart attack when she sees you roll in."
"She'll live," I say dryly.
He laughs. "You will fit in here."
He shows me contracts. He explains tax nonsense I pretend to care about. Emmy colors his sales sheet with little suns and flowers. Phil doesn't stop her — he just slides another sheet under her marker.
"So you're sure," he says at last, pen in hand. "You buy this, you get the whole Dunphy circus next door. Unfiltered. I'm a terrible golfer. My wife's scary beautiful. My kids are chaos. You good with that?"
"We're good." I sign. My name in ink looks heavier than any knockout punch I ever threw.
Phil claps me on the back. "Well, neighbor — next BBQ's on me. Just, uh, don't fight my in-laws. Or do. Actually, do. Might be fun." Emmy perks up. "BBQ!" she squeaks. "Pie!" Phil nods solemnly. "Lots of pie."
We finish as the sun dips. Emmy dozes against my chest while Phil locks up. He stands in the parking lot, all awkward dad pride and weird neighbor energy.
"Hey, Zane," he says, softer than before. "You're doing something amazing. You know that, right?"
"I'm just keeping a promise." I adjust Emmy on my shoulder. "That's all."
He watches me strap her into the car seat I installed myself. "Well," he says, grin back in place, "promise me you won't knock me out if I ding your mailbox."
"No promises." He laughs so hard he nearly drops his keys.
I ride the bike home — Emmy asleep, helmet loose, her tiny hands tangled in my jacket. The new house waits. The Dunphys' porch light flicks on like a laugh track I can't hear yet but know by heart.
White Ghost, gangster kid, big brother. For a second, I swear the ghost gets to breathe too.
And that's enough for tonight.
Dunphy Residence
"Kids! Breakfast! Kids!", shouted Claire before looking at her husband, "Phil,
would you go get them?".
Phil, who was next to her and playing on his phone, said, "Yeah. Just a sec".
Walking towards the fridge, he quickly grabbed something before stuffing it into his mouth, leaving the fridge open.
As soon as he turned around, Claire turned around to get something and walked into the fridge, dropping the bowl with cereal in her hand. "That is totalled", said Phil, looking at how frustrated his wife had become.
Seeing it necessary to ease the growing tension, he shouted, "Kids! Get down here!"
"Why are you guys yelling at us when we're way upstairs? Just text me", said
Haley, coming into the kitchen with her phone in her hands.
"All right, that's not gonna happen. And, wow, you're not wearing that out t", said Claire, seeing Haley's attire.
"What's wrong with it?", questioned Haley.
Claire turned to look at her husband, who was still on his phone, "Honey, do you have anything to say to your daughter about her skirt?".
Looking up from his phone, Phil replied, "Sorry. Oh yeah, that looks really cute sweetheart".
"Thank Dad", said Haley.
"No. It's way too short. People know you're a girl, you don't need to prove it to them", responded Claire.
Alex walked into the room and informed her parents, "Luke got his head stuck in the bannister again".
Putting his phone in his robe pocket, Phil left the kitchen and towards the stairs, "I got it. Where's the baby oil?"
"It's at our bedside ... I don't know, find it", said Claire.
"Buddy, why do you keep getting stuck like this?", asked Phil as he patted some baby oil on Luke's head and the bannister.
Luke quickly defended himself, "I thought I could get out this time".
Alex was walking down the stairs while saying, "I'm just going to say it. He needs to get checked by a specialist".
Ignoring her words, Phil put in some more effort and finally pried Luke's head
from the bannister, "There. Be free, Excalibur", he said while waving his hands.
"I'm having a friend over today", said Haley as she walked out of the kitchen.
Claire, who was walking down the stairs with a basket of laundry, asked, "Who?"
Walking up the stairs, Haley replied, "You don't know him".
Immediately, Claire stopped walking and swivelled around to talk to Haley,
"Him?"
Luke, who was now free, said, "Oooh. A boy. You gonna kiss him?" while making kissing faces.
"Shut up!", shouted Haley, before being restrained by Claire.
"Easy. Easy", said Phil, trying to calm down Haley, Luke and Alex who were
arguing with each other.
Once everyone calmed down, Claire turned to Haley who was walking away,
"Haley, who's the boy?"
"His name is Dylan", she said, passing her fingers through her hair, "You know,
might as well just tell him not to come because you guys are just going to
embarrass me again".
"Sweetie, hang on a second", Claire said, stopping Haley, who was at the top of the staircase, "You're 15 and this is the first time you're having a boy over. I mean, I'm bound to be a little surprised, but I'm not gonna embarrass you".
Phill snapped his finger, "I better go charge the camcorder".
Immediately, Haley let out a series of groans, "I'm kidding. Come on, who are you talking to?", he said while pointing at himself.
"Guys! Big news!" Phil announced, waving a mug of coffee dangerously close to the edge of the counter.
Haley didn't look up from her phone. "Is Mom finally divorcing you?"
"Ha. Ha. No." Phil flicked her ponytail as he walked by. "We have new neighbors moving in next door. Really interesting guy. Zane Creed. And his little sister, Emmy."
Claire paused mid-hairbrush swipe at Alex's stubborn part. "Zane Creed? Who's that? Wait — did you say guy? Like, an adult? Moving in alone with a kid?"
"Technically not alone. He's got Emmy. Cutest little girl. Four. She made me promise to come to her tea party, and I will not break that promise."
Alex looked up from her laptop. "So… an adult man with a child moves in next door and you think that's totally normal?"
Phil raised a finger dramatically. "Plot twist — he's sixteen."
Haley finally looked up. "Sixteen? You sold a house to a teenager?"
"Haley, sweetie, we've talked about this. You can't just sell your way through life—" Claire started.
"That's literally what Dad does," Alex deadpanned.
"Thank you, Alex," Phil said proudly. "Anyway, yes, he's sixteen but you wouldn't know it. Guy's got this whole cool, silent, brooding vibe. Motorcycle. Leather jacket. The works."
"He sounds like a vampire," Luke chimed in from the stairs, wearing his T-shirt on his head for no apparent reason.
Claire looked at Phil, eyebrows drawn together in that way that meant she was already planning a neighborly 'background check'. "Phil. Is this safe? A sixteen-year-old kid with a motorcycle and a child , what's about their parents?"
"He's perfectly nice!" Phil said. "Quiet. Respectful. Totally gangster vibe, but in a good way."
"A gangster vibe is never good," Claire hissed. "Phil, we don't know him. What if he's—"
"He's fine. He fought his way through something to take care of that little girl. He's solid. I can tell." Phil leaned closer. "Trust me. Real-life hero vibe."
Claire threw her hands up. "Fine. But you're greeting them. You and your hero vampire gangster."
Phil beamed. "Perfect. And you guys," he pointed dramatically at his kids, "are going to be polite and neighborly."
Alex shrugged. "I'll be polite if he doesn't park that murder bike in my science fair path."
Haley smirked. "I'll be polite if he's hot."
"Haley!" Claire barked.
Luke flipped his shirt back down over his head. "I hope he's got swords. Or a wolf. Or both."
Claire massaged her temple. "Great. This is going to be great."
Phil rubbed her back. "Come on, it'll be fine. We'll bake them a pie. You love pies."
"Phil, I love being prepared," Claire said, glaring at him. But she couldn't help it — her lips twitched. "We'll be good neighbors. But I'm watching him."
Phil grinned. "And I'm borrowing that bike someday."
Claire rolled her eyes. "Over my dead body."
Luke raised his hand. "Can I borrow it?"
Phil and Claire answered in perfect sync:
"NO!"
The Dunphys' chaos swirled on. But one thing was clear — when Zane Creed and Emmy rolled up to that pale blue house next door, they had no idea what sitcom storm they'd just parked beside.