“Ooh, ooh!” I cry out, clutching my fingernails into my inner thigh. “Ooh, OOH!” I start to shout, as I bend over like I’m going to puke, and hug my stomach tightly. “Please, somebody help me!” my siblings roll their eyes. They’ve seen this a million times, but my parents seem to always fall for it. What Suckers.
My mom quickly rushes over and puts one hand on my back and puts the other hand under my arm, like she’s trying to keep me upright. I open my mouth widely to gag.
“Oh, Derek, you’re going to throw up!” she says, “Peter, grab me the garbage can, will you?”
“Mom…” I mumble, “I think…I think I just need to lay down.”
“Of course, Sweetheart,” she says, her eyes gentle and soft. That gaze always makes me feel terrible, because I know that I’m lying to her when she’s being so kind.
She tucks me in as I shiver violently. Right as she opens the door to leave she says, “Derek, you seem to be sick a lot. Do you think this is psychological?”
“W-What do you mean?” I stutter on purpose.
“Are you stressed out at school?” She comes back to my bed and pushes my hair back. “Do you think this is because your brain is telling you to avoid school without you knowing it?”
“N-n-no.” I frown, “I th-think, that I’m sick because I caught what my friend had at school. She’s f-f-fine though. J-J-Just had to go to the ER,” I say without thinking
“Oh! Should I take you to the Doctor?”
“NO!” I shout, “No. Getting out of b-bed will make me m-more s-s-sick.”
“Alright, I love you honey.”
“I l-love you too.” I smile sweetly back at her.
She shuts the door. I lay there for a minute, listening to this and that from downstairs, my sister whining about her art project due today and my brother was bragging about some football touchdown he scored. I honestly don’t care about any of it; I just want them to get the Hell out so I can get going on my day.
After the clattering of dishes and them scattering out the door, I shoot upright, and turn my head to the door, and smirk. I did it, once again. I get away with everything.
I sit in my bed for just another 5 minutes just to make sure everyone’s gone, and I’m right, the coast is clear. I stroll over to my dresser, singing “We Are The Champions” but instead it’s “I Am The Champion”. Grabbing some clothes out of my drawer, I realize that my sister has some pretty rad bikinis. Why can’t guys wear bikinis? I’ll prove to everyone that guys can look hot in bikinis, too. I wont have to wear a speedo for the rest of my life.
I race down the hallway and into my sister’s room. Pink. Pink everywhere. Classic 13-year-old girl. My fingers just happened to push every single book out of her bookcase. Oops.
Whoa. Wait. What’s that? I’m laughing so hard my sides begin to burn. There’s a framed picture of Harry Styles from… I think it’s called One Erection? Some weird name like that. Anyways, it has a heart around it and above it; it has those sticky letters on it that says, “MY FUTURE HUSBAND.” In your dreams, little girl.
I tear through her drawers, throwing various colored, short t-shirts everywhere on the floor, along with her underwear (yuck), and… finally! I find an orange bikini with black polka dots on it. Oh. My. Gosh, I’m gonna look so cute! I squeal like a 13-year-old girl would in my head... Somebody help me.
