The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 4: Finn

I don't get much sleep. I toss and turn throughout the night, dreaming of frogs, purple curtains, and a dinged-up police car; waking up every other hour or so to a racing heartbeat and sweat-soaked skin; half-expecting to see my dad looming over me, a pair of cuffs clutched in his calloused hands. I'm almost relieved when the first rays of sunlight start to peek through my blinds— that is until I realize that the morning brings something even scarier than a few nightmares: my meeting with the principal and my inevitable expulsion. It's enough to make me wish that I could close my eyes and go back to sleep for a thousand years.

I lay in bed until my alarm clock goes off and mom comes into my room to make sure I'm awake. "Get ready," she says, her voice monotone. "The meeting is at eight. Don't make us late."

When she leaves, she closes the door a little too loudly behind her.

I roll out of bed. Resistance is futile, I think to myself, as I robotically follow mom's orders, pulling on my day clothes, eating breakfast, brushing my teeth, and waking up my two ten-year-old sisters, Maggie and Maureen, like the perfect automaton son. The Twins— that's what I call my sisters— are identical, which means they're both equally evil. They enjoy making my life as miserable as possible, and every morning with them is like a fight to the death.

I know today is going to be even more a struggle than usual when I flick the blinds open and the two blanketed lumps don't even stir. "C'mon guys, it's time for school," I sigh. On a good day, I might try to wake the Twins up slowly by turning on the radio and singing along to whatever song is popular at the time, but today is not a good day, and I simply don't have the energy to deal with their bullshit.

One of the lumps starts to snore. The subtext is clear: we're not waking up anytime soon, loser.

That's when the remaining shred of my patience snaps in half. I toggle the light switch, making the room strobe like a disco party. "Hey, slowpokes!" I shout. I clap my hands together loudly. "Get your asses out of bed, now!"

Maggie, the younger twin, sticks her frizzy head out of from under a mound of pillows. "You're early," she grumbles at me.

"Thirty minutes early," her sister adds, pulling the blankets up over her head.

"I don't care what time it is," I say. I yank the sheet off of both of their heads and throw them in a pile on the floor. "It's breakfast now, so either wake-up or starve."

Maureen hurls a pillow at me. "Go away!"

"Stop that," I snap, deflecting the pillow with a lopsided kick. "You're acting like a three-year-old!"

"You're acting like a three-year-old," Maggie mimics in a sing-song version of my voice.

"Don't copy me."

"Don't copy me."

"Maggie is a big loser."

"Maggie is a—" She shuts up abruptly and frowns at me. "Hey, that's not very nice."

I pick the pillow up off the floor and hurl it at Maggie's head, but she catches it easily with her little gremlin hands. "Too bad. I'm not feeling very nice at the moment. Now, get up and go eat breakfast before I have to get mom involved."

The Twins' eyes widen. I hate being the older sibling who turns to their parents for authority, but sometimes it's the only thing that works. With the threat of a mom intervention hanging over their heads, the Twins have no choice but to wake up and crawl out of bed, although they make it clear to me that they'd rather be doing anything else. "Why so grumpy today?" Maggie asks me. When I don't respond, she pinches me on the arm and dashes into the hallway before I can retaliate.