I Don't Really Know...

Chapter 3: A Party Pooper and a Blondie

My day started with my bright orange alarm clock ringing  in my ear.  I slapped the snooze button, and crawled back into bed, groaning with annoyance.  I hate mornings.  I am not a morning person.  No matter what I do, I just can't seem to get up on time.  I pulled the covers over my head and arranged my body so I was hidden and Mrs. Lasdon couldn't come stomping in and dragging my feet onto the cold, bare wood floor.  

 

I reluctantly, not wanting to be late on my second day of school, practically fell out of bed, almost hitting my iPhone on the way down.  

 

I had a phone!  I cannot believe it!  I smiled, thinking of getting my own number, calling my friends-

 

That's right.  

 

I don't have any friends, really.  

 

But I hope I have one good friend.  I never understood the 20,000 friends, that little group that you always follow.  It seems exhausting.  Having that one true friend you can stick with seems much better.

 

Let's just get this day over with.  I left my phone at home, worrying that I might lose it at that horrid place with toxic, inedible slop.  Namely, the cafeteria food.  I glanced at my closet as I decided what to wear.  I picked out a simple, tight-fitting Star Wars shirt, the classic logo of Yoda, that green, wise, and old....creature.  I picked out skinny jeans with black denim, grasping that necklace Mama gave me, clasping it around my neck.  My classic, black converse sneakers completed the outfit.  I trudged to the bathroom, and slathered toothpaste on my toothbrush, and brushed my teeth in a very lazy state.  My  brother walked in, wearing just his boxers with rubber ducks on it.  The house only had one bathroom, which was pure torture for my brother and me.  He was so messy, I don't think he's human.  

 

"Good morning, Mrs. I-snore-a-lot," He muttered in his half sleep.

 

My brother did not look like me.  I looked like Mama.  He looked like Papa.  We all knew it.  You wouldn't recognize him and myself as siblings if we hadn't told you.

 

He had dark hair, unruly and wavy, but in a good way.  His eyes were a deep, ocean blue and had tan skin.  He wasn't ugly, I'll admit it.  But you haven't seen him in the mornings...

 

"I'm a Mrs.? Who's my husband?" I reply, waiting for the comeback.

 

"Donald Duck.  Oh yeah," He said back to me.  I stared at him, then flipped my hair.  

"Oh, come on!  I can do better than that!  You are the one marrying Mickey Mouse.  Oh yeah, he's something."

 

I left the bathroom, all prepared to get to school, and came downstairs.  I ran my hand down the railing of smooth, sanded oak.  I remember being a little girl, living with my neighbor, running down the hardwood stairs that has been worn down over the years.  

 

"Good morning, Mrs. Lasdon..." I yawned, barely understanding the words.  Mrs. Lasdon figured what I said.