Secrets Teens keep

14. Laura

Tuesday 9, August.
10:30 Am

Laura.

For two weeks straight, I had been my dad’s personal lackey. A terrible experience, though innovative. An adventure with the hint of regret and detrimental effect on my social life.

I made plans to start a fashion lifestyle blog and vlog to keep myself busy this holiday, but so far, I had to put that on hold because of that idiot, Henry.

The recent pressures from my dad as a mentor grooming me to be his heir, I had to turn my life 360. I was up by 5am every week day, Skipped breakfast and sometimes lunch and had not updated my status, posted a picture on Instagram, Tweeted on Twitter for two weeks. My online friends and followers must surely be feeling my absence.

Vapid has been the definite word for the way of my life in the past two weeks and after serious pleading that involved my compelling puppy dog eyes, I was allowed to take the day off.

I was rejoicing like a teenager newly given freedom, loud music blasting from the home speakers. Heavy bangs on my room door made me pause the music. I took my time, shuffling my dirty clothes into the laundry basket, just in case it was my mom, hid my Adidas slides by the door under the bed, just in case it was Henry and pulled the curtains open for sunlight.

I yanked the door open and seeing who it was, mighty curses were at the tip of my tongue. It was high time I recognized his knocks. Frowning in front of me was henry, a basket full of neat laundry in his hands and he pushed it in my direction. I caught the basket and pushed into the room with my leg.

“Kill the music. Get downstairs. Dad wants to see you,” He ordered and left. What a jerk!

Older brothers were the worst. They go around with their broad shoulders, flat tummy and deep voice, screaming, shoving or throwing things however they liked. Those times we were little, I would kick him in his private part and go hide behind my mom. Good times, I tell you.

I closed my door, picked the laundry basket and dropped it in my closet, making a note to call on one of the maids to clean my room. The closet was vast and decorated into sections. School uniform was ironed and hanged, put away for now. House clothes in one section, party clothes, church clothes, dinner gowns and so many more. My shoes and bags were on the opposite side and in the center was a white drawer filled with jewelry, makeup and other fashion accessories.

I took a new flip flop from the shoe rack and ran out of the room to answer my dad. I practically slid down the stairs on the handle, a habit I picked up from Henry. I made a beeline for the staff kitchen to get a quick breakfast, before going to see Dad, knowing his long talks could keep me seated for over an hour.

The aroma coming from the kitchen was an all too familiar one and catching the sight of the one behind it, I looked down at my outfit and groaned. Ugh! I should have opted for something other than a sweat shirt.

Thinking fast, I tied it up in a knot revealing my flat tummy and adjusted my Jean shorts to accentuate my hips and butt.

Operation get the mouth watering chef to notice me.

“Good morning!” I said loud enough to get the attention of the few kitchen workers, who muttered, “Good morning, small madam.” And went on with their work.

My dad’s personal chef, Samson grinned at me, greeted me and asked how my night was as he pulled a stool out for me at the center slab.

“My night was wonderful, thank you,” I replied giving him my best smile and batting my non existent eyelashes.