Liar

Chapter Three

I walk in through my front door, seeing nobody or any sign that anybody is awake. It surprises me because usually Thomas or Nathan would be sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. Well, I decide, making my way towards the kitchen, since I'm awake, I might as well make breakfast. I open the pantry and take out the pancake mix.

It takes about five minutes to make a batch of pancakes. Right as I finish placing the last pancake on a plate, Thomas comes sleeply down the stairs, no doubt the pancake aroma waking him from his 'beauty sleep' as he likes to call it.

"Morning," I say before he can mention anything about the previous night. "I'm not hungry so help yourself." I turn away and start filling the sink to wash my cooking utensils.

"Okay, first you're not hungry and now you're cleaning up after yourself. Who are you and what have you done with my hungover sister?" I hear a smirk in the last part of his observation.

I sigh and spin around, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "If it means anything to you, I've learned to avoid hangovers and haven't had one in three months," I tell him proudly. That part is partially true. I usually have a minor headache, but that's about it.

"It doesn't mean anything to me so I'm not going to ask," he says as he stacks his plate with pancakes.

I sigh and slap his hand. "Save some for everybody else. I'm going to go Whitney's, if anyone asks," I tell him, grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge.

"Yeah, whatever," Thomas says, his speech muffled as he tries to talk around his food.

I sigh and exit through the front door, not bothering to close it behind me. I hear Thomas's muffled complaints as I reach the street. Without looking, I cross and make my way towards Whitney's house.

Our street is never occupied this early in the morning, mostly because almost everyone either has a night-shift job or is rich and doesn't work. Yes, I live on the rich side of town, but that's only because my parents are...well...rich. I don't really like shouting out to the world that I come from wealth because that stuff never really mattered to me. I figure if someone was important enough, then he or she would eventually find out. That's the way I see it anyway.

As I reach the porch, the door is yanked open to reveal Garrett in a pair of sport shorts and tennis shoes. Nothing else. My gaze runs over his nicely toned chest, across his amazingly perfect washboard abs that lead straight to his noticeably visible v-line.

"Hey Shortcake. Like what you see?" I immediately tear my gaze from his body and to his face, feeling a possible blush creep up my neck. Instead of answering his question, I fire my own.

"Is Whitney here?" I ask, willing the color in my cheeks to go away. Garrett smirks before leaning against the doorway. I growl. I was close to punching him, but I would probably break my hand, so it would be pointless.

"You of all people should know that Whitney doesn't get up before eleven. And after that stunt you pulled last night, she didn't get as much sleep as she normally does, so she will probably be out longer. I still can't believe-"

"Save it, Garrett. Go on your stupid run and just leave me alone. It's my dad's job to lecture me, not your's," I tell him, rage building up in my voice little by little. Garrett knows how I get when somebody comes close to acting like my father and decides to actually listen for once. He plugs his ear-buds in and slowly moves around me before jogging off.

I try my hardest to erase the little scene from my mind. I was there when it happened. I may have been too young to remember slightly important details, but I was there.