Boys and... ME

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I was practically born with boys. I have lived with four boys since I was 5 years old. My best friend is a boy. And I will probably die with a boy. “Probably” because I’m not the stereotypical, cliché girl you see on the street. I’m the girl that plays hockey, who fights with her three brothers, who eats pizza at least once a week, who is too proud, who hates shopping and fancy dresses. I mean, I don’t dress like a boy. But not like most of the girls. So I’m not the romantic type. At all.

My mom left my dad, my three brothers and me eleven years ago. But I don’t complain. I feel good with boys. Not judged or weird. I’m just me. Not like with most of the girls I know. Caus’ it’s just like that.

“ROOOSE! TIME TO EAT!”

My older brother, Dean, shouted from the stairs leading to the basement. I start the washing machine with my brothers’ clothes and run upstairs.

“Hope the chicken’s gonna be good this time!” I tell my father, laughing.

I sit down at the table, but before I touch my chair, one of my brothers, Nate, pulls my chair and I fall on the hard ground.

“JERK!” I say, frustrated.

He laughs at me and sits on his chair.

My dad arrives with the cast-iron pot and puts it in the middle of the table.

“Ok guys, quit it. You’re not ten anymore. Where’s Jake? JAAAAAKEEE! TIME TO EAT!”

My other brother tumbles down the stairs, singing a stupid song.

When we are all at the table, my Dad starts to talk.

“Ok, you guys, I have great news. Yesterday, I got a job interview and I thought it might be the worst of all. But I guess they liked my sense of humour, caus’ they called today and, well…”

He makes a pitiful face.

We all look at each other, impatient to know what happened. He continues.

Suddenly, his face changes radically.

“I GOT THE JOB! And we could have a larger house in the city and eat better and be closer to the rink. It’s just so perfect.”

The boys all scream and cheer.

 I don’t.

“Wait… it means I’ll have to… change school?” I stutter.

My dad stops laughing. He nods.

“I’m sorry, Rose. But you could make other friends. And Tommy would still be close. I mean, he’d only live twenty minutes away.”

I sigh.

“Ok…”

I was about to say something when the phone rang.

Nate stands up and goes to pick the phone.

“Hello? Who?...Oh… WHAT?...Well I guess I could… Hum…what do you mean?... Like, forever?... Oh…Ok. Bye.”

He hangs the phone and returns to the kitchen, looking flustered.

I begin to panic. He’s never like that. I must be serious.

“You ok there? What was that about?”

Nate looks at us nervously.

“Mom’s back.”