Trouble Maker

#2

Chapter Two

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BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

BE-

I slammed my open palm down on top of the alarm clock, sending it into silence.

Looking over at the clock I read the flashing red numbers.

6:45am

Groaning, I kicked back my blue doova covers with my feet and hoisted myself from the plain mattress.

Crossing the room I opened my white bedroom door, looking back to my messy bedroom.

Several sketch books lay cluttered on my desk and clothes were splayed on the bed end, back of the chair and floor.

My wardrobe doors were open and shoes were piled against the door.

Leaving the room I picked my way down the hall to the bathroom that I shared with Britney.

The sound of Britney's whining voice told me she had already claimed the bathroom.

Unfortunately.

Banging the door open I looked at the blonde eleven year old that was brushing her teeth, leaning over the sink. She was still wearing her pink nighty and pink slippers, her hair in plaits from last night.

"Morning Britney," I forced a smile, "you almost finished in here?"

My little sister takes hours in the bathroom. No joke, she spent like two hours in here yesterday before she went to her friend's house.

Shaking her head violently Britney replied, "no, mum said I still need to brush my hair, plait it again, floss, paint my nails and put that skin coloured stuff on."

"Britney, you are going to primary school. You do not need to put foundation on for school and paint your nails. For God's sake I don't even floss!"

"But mum said..." Britney's lower lip quivered.

"I don't care what Samantha says, you are not wearing that stuff to school. You're eleven for Pete's sake, not some 16 year old try hard!"

Sure, Britney is annoying, but she's my little sister and I need to look out for her. Well, little step-sister. It's not right for Samantha to tell her to wear make up for primary school.

Storming out of the bathroom I went to confront Samantha.

I marched down the stairs (tripping on the third one because dad never bothered to fix it) to find Samantha straining chai tea in the kitchen.

"Foundation? Nail polish? Samantha, it's school, not jersey shore," Samantha turned to face me, her lips tight and pinched.

"I don't want my daughter looking like a slob, your father has let you slip but I can assure you it will not be happening to my child."

I stamped over to Samantha, eyeing her up. I'm about the same height as her, probably could beat her in a fight too-

"-Mummy?"

We both turned to see Britney squirming uncomfortably at the top of the carpeted stairs. She was clutching a tube of foundation and had a massive glob of it on her fingertips.

"Yes, darling?" Samantha's I'm-the-perfect-mother mask slipped back on as quickly as it left.

"How do you put this on? I don't like it. It looks like poo."