Not all Blondes do Backflips

1 - Let It Be

Dedicated to Jessie_Baby because she's my #1 (aww). You're going to understand just how much I love this woman in a few pages.

Listen to "Let It Be" by The Beatles in the sidebar.

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1 – Let It Be

   

“Everybody in the car, right now!” Mom shouted over the everyday chaos of a Simms' household breakfast.

I was yelling at Paul for using up all the milk and he was telling me off for all the screaming I did in the morning. Dad, on the other hand, was yelling at the both of us to just shut up as he walked off to the garage.

That was just the noise coming from our mouths.

Frying pans were haphazardly thrown into the sink, glasses were slammed onto the breakfast bar and forks and spoons angrily banged against plates and bowls.

It was – to say the least – chaotic.

From six-thirty to seven-thirty on weekday mornings, the kitchen turned into a war zone. Everyone was short-tempered and cross – including our parents who were normally so sickeningly sweet they could give cavities to people who practiced dental hygiene like a religion.

“I haven't even had breakfast yet!” George complained, pulling a sweatshirt over his head as he stumbled into the kitchen.

Mom smiled sweetly at him. Her eyes, though, were mad. “That's not really my fault, is it?”

No, of course it wasn't her fault.

It was Paul's.

Paul was always to blame for either me or George running late in the morning.

He was the only teenage boy on the planet who took twenty minutes to shower and another twenty to fix his blonde curls into what he claims is, and I quote, an artful mess.

At least he was the only teenage boy like that in this house hold – thank holy hell for that.

George glared at Paul who, being Paul, simply ignored his twin brother and continued to chug down his cereal like it was ambrosia and molasses. Eventually, George shook his head in frustration and grabbed the box of cereal.

Correction: the empty box of cereal.

George looked even more pissed off than he did earlier..

“Shush your crying, you big baby,” I told George before he could tear Paul's head off. “Here.” I pushed a plate in his direction. On it sat the second bacon and omelet sandwich I'd made earlier.

He whooped in appreciation and joy, flashing me an unusually goofy grin.

Paul stopped inhaling his cereal and turned to me. His brows were crossed in anger and his lips were smashed together in a pout. “Hey! I asked you if you were eating that!”

I gave him a sweet smile laced with enough venom to let him know I was genuinely pissed off at him. “Well I would have if you didn't take so long in the fυcki –”

“Lennon!” Mom yelled before I could finish.

I feigned a look of innocence. “Well I wouldn't be swearing at seven-thirty in the morning if Paul here took shorter showers!”

Ever the mature one, Paul just stuck his tongue out at me. “You don't just roll out of bed looking as hot as I do, Lenn,” he waved at his hair.