Until I Break

Two

I hate Saturdays. And I know what you're thinking; he must be one hell of a nerd to hate Saturdays. Wrong. I'm not a nerd. I don't study. Or care that much either, I don't get good grades, or understand what's going on in class. Big whoop.

I wake up Sunday morning to horrible groans. I blink and get myself out of bed.

"Good morning Danny." I say, even though I can't see my brother move in the dark. He's always awake.

"Morning Dennis."

I roll my eyes as another undesired sound comes uninvited through the thin walls.

"How long has she been at it? Sounds like they've been up all night." I note.

"Yeah. Someone else was here earlier." He mutters.

I sigh and pulled a clean shirt on. Mostly clean at least. I was lucky enough to leave my room the same time my older sister did.

"Morning." I say stiffly. She looks tired and had obviously pulled on clothes seconds before.

"Yeah." She agrees as a new face shuts the door to her room behind him.

"Uh. Hi." His fly is still unzipped.

"You could go down to the basement. So the rest of us could sleep."

"You could shut up and appreciate the fact that I make enough to support a family of four." She hisses. Ava's like that.

"Ouch." The guy behind her laughs.

"You can shut up too Ron." She doesn't look at him.

"John." He corrects, finally attending to his fly and sheepishly grinning at me. I shrug. Like I care. Maybe a niece or nephew wouldn't hurt.

"Whatever." She pushs past me and trudges down the stairs.

"You uh... Got any cousins?" The guy... John... says, rubbing his neck.

"Get out of my house." I say, immiditaly standing up straighter.

He leaves.

I have that sort of effect on people. I'm only sixteen, but I look older. Most people guess I'm closer to nineteen, which has it's perks. Besides looking like and adult, my eyes are gray. Not blue gray or green gray, but gray gray. I hate to admit it, but I've practiced glaring in the mirror longer than I've thought about schoolwork.

Of course having gray eyes and looking older does have a slight affect, but it doesn't exactly keep people from picking on you. Fact is, I'm short. If I slouch, I stand at 5'5" which really sucks. If people think you're older, it makes me look really short.

And that's how most people think of me: a short nerd in a big fancy house who has everything he's ever wanted.

I blink. Everything I've ever wanted might be a slight exaggeration.

I pack up my stuff quickly. Not much to pack up really, laptop, charger, wallet, keys. Knife? No knife.

I leave the house no later than ten, locking the door in case maybe Ava forgot hers. She deserved to be locked out.

Outside a rambly pickup waits for me.

It's one of those old cars that only cool people (like me) would care for. Some would call the wheels flat, I'd say they're tired. Some might call it dirt and mud, I'd call it experience and fun.

I got in, swinging my legs into the front seat.

"How'd you sleep?" The driver, Noah, asks me.