"Are you fucking serious?" I shouted.
"Maybe if you would wake up, I wouldn't have had to do that," Alex, my older brother, said, dropping the bucket to the floor.
I sat up, soaking wet. "I hate you," I said, "and so help me god, if I go in the kitchen and there are no more poptarts, I will kill you."
He backed away, looking only partially scared. He took off out of my room, probably to go eat the last poptart. Fucking twat.
I got out of bed, and went into the bathroom to get dried off, and got dressed. I carelessly threw my wavy, black hair into a messy bun, and went into the kitchen.
"Morning, Biscuit," I said, petting my white ragdoll cat. She meowed in response. I grabbed my white and black Converse from the shoe rack and put them on.
"Please tell me you're not wearing that to school," my mom said, eyeing me up and down.
I rolled my eyes. "What's wrong with it?"
"Your pants are destroyed." she said matter-of-factly.
"Okay, and?" I questioned, glancing down at my shredded leggings.
"And you will not leave this house looking like that!" she shrieked.
"Whatever," I said, opening the cabinet. "Alex, I fucking hate you!"
"What's the matter, sweetie? Poptarts gone?" he said, sauntering into the kitchen.
"Go to hell!" I replied, grabbing my backpack. I checked the time on my phone: 7:28 am. I had plenty of time to catch the bus.
At exactly 7:32, bus number 86 wheezed to a stop in front of me. "Morning, Paul," I said to my bus driver. I made my way down the aisle and sat in the same seat as always.
My ride to school was relatively short; only twelve minutes long. I could walk if I wanted to.
I got off the bus, and stood at my locker for six minutes until the bell rang for class.
Math. First class of the day. Who in their right mind assigns teenagers a math class at 8 in the morning? Satan, that's who.
Class had only just began, and I found myself raising my hand to use the bathroom. I didn't even have to pee.
"Yes?" asked the substitute.
"Can I use the bathroom?" I asked.
She glared at me. "I don't know, can you?"
"I don't know," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "can you get a full time job?"
She looked horrified. The rest of the class let out gasps. Just then, the P.A. system dinged.
"Aristotle Foster, you're being picked up." said the principle.
"Ah," I said, smirking, "that's me. Gotta blast."
Weird, I thought to myself as I walked to the office, Mom never picks me up.
YOU ARE READING
A Long Way From Home
RomanceAris Foster has never gotten along with her mother, and never known her father. She's always been the outcast in her family, for whatever reason. But when she's kidnapped by three mysterious, yet familiar guys, and the truth about her family comes t...
