Number eleven

Chapter 1

"Brinley," My mom yells from downstairs. "Are you ready.? The moving truck is ready to pull out."

"Yes, I'll be right there," I answer hoarsely.

I turn around, placing my hand on the smooth sides of the door frame. Gazing around, I breathe in my old room one last time.

It's vacant with a sensation of eeriness and sadness radiating off of it. A few tacks still hang isolated on my walls, where all of my football posters and pictures use to hang. My creamy built in bookshelf, which stood across from my bed, is now desolated and unoccupied instead of being crammed with books like usual.

Outside, my window reveals a dingy gray sky, whose dreary clouds predict rain soon. The large trees sway in the slight breeze, the colorful leaves slowly falling off and drifting to the ground one by one.

"Hurry up Brinley," my mom calls again, and I sigh.

"Coming," I yell back.

Taking one last look at my room, I close my eyes and inhale.

This is it, I sigh. This is one of the last memories that I will have of my old house. This is it.

I've grown up here; all of my memories were created here. All the happiness and tears I spill, all the faint echoes of my crying and the sounds of my laughter.

All the times I've gotten hurt, and all of the happy times I've lived. After all of this, this is it.

This is really it.

A lone tears falls down my cheek, and I wipe it away before slowly closing my door.

I saunter down the old carpeted stairs, gripping the smooth wooden hand rail tightly as memories flood through my brain.

"Hey Brinley," my brother exclaims, walking up to me.

"What do you want now?" I groan, sending him a glare. "I already told you I'm not giving you twenty dollars to buy another stupid video game. If you're really that bored then there are these things that have words in them called...wait...drum roll please...books."

"I wasn't going to ask you that...again," my brother Daylin objects.

"Then what could you possibly want now?"

"I was just wondering," he hesitates. "Would you want to slide down the stairs in a laundry basket?"

"No," I answer, shooting him an odd look. "Why would I possibly want to do something that stupid?"

"It's not stupid," he defends.

"Answer my question," I command, and he shrugs.

"I just think it would be a lot of fun," he replies.

He shoves his hands in his front jean pockets and looks at me. "So?"

"Hmm. Let me think about it." I place my finger over my lips, pretending to consider his proposition. "Um...No."

"Come on. Please sissy," he pleads, jutting out his bottom look. "It'll be so much fun."

"You know your definition of fun and my definition of fun are totally different. Your fun usually ultimately causes you to either a, get hurt and lose extreme amounts of blood, or b, get into massive trouble with either the principal or mom."

"Just come on," Daylin begs, flashing me the puppy dog face.

"What's in it for me?" I query, placing a hand on my hip defiantly.