Hating Grayson ✓

25

The next morning when I woke up, I had forgotten about the fact that I had a sprained ankle when I got out of bed and ended up face planting into the carpet.

"Arghh." I groaned.

Wait.

This carpet actually feels kinda nice...

I lay there for a moment before finding the strength to get up and limp downstairs.

This was all Grayson's fault.

He's the reason I was limping with a sprained ankle.

As I descend the staircase in a slower than usual manner, I hear clinking coming from the kitchen. I hope Stacy isn't still here.

Following the sound of clinking crockery and scratching cutlery, I found myself stunned when I see my lazy ass brother doing the dishes.

I needed to take a photo of this moment.

Crap. I left my phone upstairs.

"What's gotten into you?" I wondered, eagerly taking a seat at the table. Standing on one leg is exhausting, then again, so is standing on both of them.

"Since Mom and dad aren't here, and you're currently handicapped, someone had to clean up." He says, placing a clean plate on the dish rack.

"Blame your dumb friend for my impairment." I said with anger.

"Speaking of, he dropped off something for you." Mitchell says.

"Who did?" I wondered.

"Grayson."

Say what?

For me?

I wonder what it is...

"What is it?" I wondered.

Mitchell placed another plate in the rack and turned to face me, cleaning gloves on his hands. "His old crutches from that time when he broke his leg."

He's referring to their freshman year of high school, when I was still in middle school. According to Mitchell, Grayson had broken his leg after falling out of a tree. Luckily enough for him that it wasn't a major fracture, otherwise he probably wouldn't be as good at football as he is today, or he probably wouldn't even be able to play.

"They're in the foyer." He says before continuing to do the dishes.

In the foyer, Grayson's crutches stand upright against the wall near mother's precious assortment of indoor plants. This will make walking a hell of a lot easier.

I take the crutches and walk back into the kitchen on them. "Have you heard from mom and dad at all today?" I asked to avoid complete silence.

"Dad called before, he says they might be away longer than expected." Mitchell says, sounding unbothered by it.

"We should throw a party." I joked.

"Already planning it." Mitchell says.

"I was kidding." I tell him. "We can't throw a party! Mom and dad will murder us."

Mitchell chuckled. "They can't murder us if they're not here."

"Well, I don't want to throw a party." I say.

"Well, who cares what you want."

"I swear to god Mitchell, if you throw a party I will actually call the police to shut it down." I said in all seriousness.

My words fell on deaf ears.

That afternoon as the sun was setting, the house party that my idiot older brother planned was already in full swing. I felt uncomfortable and out of place, despite this being my house!