The Baby Project

Day 3

Day 3

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As a teen there are many times in your life where you want to bash your head into a wall, repeatedly, over and over and over again. These periods of abusive activity may come from:

1. Annoying siblings

2. Parents trying to be "hip"

3. White people trying to go gangster

Or even your friends and their not-so-private sex life.

However, what you wouldn't expect, being a seventeen-year-old teenage virgin, is to experience the symptoms of extreme head bashing due to a baby. A fake baby, as a matter-of-fact, who you can't get rid of because it's worth half of your grade!

You see, after Kale had dropped me off at home, I took the baby and did everything that we were required to do - feed, burp, change, etc. Fast-forward a couple of hours and I was lying in bed drifting off to dreamland when all of a sudden, the loathsome devil’s incarnate, starts crying. Not even crying, like full on sobbing. 

It’s been two hours and I'm on the verge of ripping my hair out and slamming my head into the wall.

I think I'm losing my mind. Scratch that- I think I've already lost my mind because get this: I contemplated calling Kale! 

Yes, Kale. 

The Kale Mathews. 

AKA: The rude, chauvinistic pig. 

AKA: the guy who has the attention span of a squirrel.

I know he lives right next door, but I will not call him.  I could handle this on my own.

I can do this.

I can- "WAHHHHHHH"

Ten minutes later, I’m standing in my balcony.

"Pst, Kale! Kale!"

Thank the lord everyone was asleep because let's just put it this way: I wasn't a pretty sight.

My hair was more messed up than Lindsey Lohan’s life, the bags under my eyes were bigger than Kim K’s butt, and the crying baby in my hands was more annoying than Kale Mathews himself.

And that, my friends, is very, very impressive record to beat. 

"KALE!" 

Aggravate, I run my hand through my hair. What was I thinking getting help from such an imbecile?

I mean its not like I can- wait, that's it! I will jump to his balcony! In a hurry, I throw the baby in a small backpack of mine, put it on, and survey the jump.

There was a two-foot distance from my balcony to his- two feet that could either help me or kill me. 

Shaking my head, I bend my knees. "The things I do for school."

1, 2, 3-

"OW, shoot. Oh, ow, ow, ow, ow." I yell as my foot catches the railing. There's definitely going to be a bruise there tomorrow.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why in the world did I-" My rambling is cut off by the door opening.

"Rory? What are you doing? On my balcony?"

I blush, thankful for the darkness of the night. "You wouldn't open the door so I had to get you somehow." I mumbled.

Kale quirked an eyebrow, "Why didn’t you just call me? Or ring the doorbell? What do you need anyways?"