Fake Sam

1. Logan: moving isn't the answer to any of our problems

"Okay, so, we are moving because you don't like my boss?" I question my dad. Sometimes he just needs some questioning to knock some sense into him.

"No, he was an asshole and didn't get your paycheck to you in time. You needed that money to pay your tuition last week. Now you can't afford it, so what are you going to do?" He complains only because usually he gets to be home alone during the day and laze around without any one to use it as blackmail, but today I had to stay home because of the whole tuition thing. Which apparently, is getting him all fired up.

"Well, maybe I could go to the public school across the street," I laugh while gesturing out my window to the school that literally lies within 100 meters of our front door. "Didn't you ever think of that?"

My dad pauses his movement of stuffing my clothes into a large luggage bag sitting upon my bed, and looks to where my hand points. it only takes a second until he continues his actions and shakes his head aggressively. "No, public schools are a waste of space. You don't even learn anything there."

"How do you know dad?" I begin taking the clothes from the bag and going across the room back to my dresser where they belong. We both move back and forth continuously taking and replacing the just taken.

"Because they don't even put thought into who they hire and plus I don't want you getting bullied."

"Why would I get bullied, that was you as a child. Not me."

He turns around and slams his hand on my dresser top. "Don't you talk to me like that! I was a good student and I at least took my school seriously. You should be thankful, your grandfather was working day and night to earn 6 cents an hour and to su-"

"Support six kids, I know. but he's the one who chose to have six kids. Not you, so stop nagging me about it."

Downstairs, we hear the door click open and a pair of 5-inch Louis Vuitton's clicking across the floor. My dad's gaze snaps to me, as mine does to him. I shake my head and click my tongue at him, boy, is he in for one.

"Chuck, I'm home! Is Logan with you? I didn't see him at school, so I assumed he already got home." My mom calls from the very end of the long, curving wooden stairs that stand outside my room.

"Yeah, honey. He's up here with me." He cups his face with his hand, looking up as his fingers stroke back through his hair.

You see, my mom is practically The Boss around here, if she doesn't like something, you WILL be eaten. My dad has gotten in trouble a few times for his decision to move, but somehow he will convince her otherwise by the next morning. I don't know how he does it, but somehow I think I'd rather not.

Besides that, we have moved every year since I was six, even then, we had moved every two years. Somehow, my dad finds a reason for it to be mandatory to leave ASAP. I think he just wants some adventure and doesn't really intend to hurt anyone, but he always manages to do just that.

"Oh? What are you two doing?" She asks, and then we hear her move to pull one shoe off, and then do the same with the other. Her feet make tiny patting noises as she jumps up the stairs and then she falls through my door.

Now, I wouldn't say Mom is young or anything, she is middle-aged, just like Dad; but she still has the energy level of a five-year-old. In other words, if you compared her to someone who is high, you wouldn't be able to tell that she only drank one cup of coffee this morning. I guess, since she also is constantly exercising and watching calories and all that stuff girls do, she looks rather young too. For work, she also is always wearing a tailored suit with a thin belt to accent her thin waist, showing off that "she isn't going to get old, and (probably) never will."