The Year of April

Chapter 3

Hey! So sorry for the long wait. I realize this seems like a filler chapter, but it actually has a purpose. Don't despair. Hopefully I'll upload again much sooner.

"April, wake up."

"Get up, April."

"April!"

"It's morning."

"April." Tentative poke.

"Wake up." Flick.

"Mom! April's not getting up."

"April!" Elbow jab.

"Mom, I think something's wrong with April."

"Mom, she's dead!"

"April!" Jumping on top.

"Wake up!" Following suit and jumping beside his twin.

"Get up!" They intoned in near-perfect synchronization.

"Get off me," I moaned. I had decided to lie in bed again all day and attribute my absence to another fever when I called and excused myself from class.

"No!" Steven demanded

"Get off!" I bellowed, jolting up at last. The twin terrors on top of me squealed and dove off of my bed, tucking and rolling when their hands made contact with carpet.

"But April," Steven whined. "Guess what?"

"Yeah," Billy chimed in, unwilling to let his twin do all the talking. "Guess what day it is?"

I rubbed my foggy eyes before tapping my chin thoughtfully. "Is it........ National Tickle Your Little Brothers Day?"

"No!" They screamed, dashing away as I jumped out of bed. "It's Monday!"

Chasing after them, I managed to tackle Billy at the top of the stairs and tickled his sides. He struggled with surprisingly strong resistance for a seven-year-old boy before succumbing to painful howls of laughter. Steven stood watching from behind the safety of a bookcase, unwilling both to leave his best friend and to risk being tickled himself.

"Let....me....go!" Billy managed.

"Well what would I get out of it?" without remorse. Besides, they're used to being blackmailed on a regular basis.

"The last bowl of Fruit Loops!" Steven offered, peeping round the bookshelf, his blue eyes rounding and his bottom lip jutting out slightly. Fortunately, he was now too old to achieve the perfect puppy dog face.

"Nice try," I bluffed. "Anderson finished them yesterday."

The twin still violently convulsing beneath me gasped in outrage, but it came out sounding more like he had forced down a slice of my infamous pies.

"I'll do your homework! Or your make up!" Billy was getting desperate now.

"As tempting as both of those sound," I deadpanned, "What if you guys help me wash my car after practice today?"

"But American Horror Story is on tonight!" I should really talk to my mother about the shows they're watching. They religiously watch Criminal Minds every Thursday.

"If you don't want to, that's fine. Isn't it Billy?" I deployed my greatest advantage, switching from his sides to his armpits.

A squirming Billy could hardly breathe at this point. Steven at last took pity on his brother's purple face. "Fine."

We shook hands and then I released an indignant Billy, who smoothed his curls with the small amount of dignity he had left.

We moseyed down the stairs to find most of the family assembled around the breakfast table.

Mom was manically scrubbing a stain on the cherrywood table, ignoring the buttered toast beside her. Tray was slumped over his cereal; dark circles suggested that he was a bit hung over from last night. Kylie hardly touched her yogurt as she texted the latest sophomore gossip, her polished thumbs a blur. The only ones missing were my dad, who was on yet another business trip, and my two older siblings who had moved out, Caitlin and David.

No one bothered to look up as I poured myself a cup of non-fat milk and plopped down beside Tray. Shrugging, I downed it and rinsed the cup before shoving it in the dishwasher and checking the time. Twenty minutes left. Not bad.

After getting ready, I walked out the front door, slamming it behind me to alert Tray and Kylie that their ride was leaving.

I inhaled deeply as I reached my Jeep, casting out the negative vibes that seemed to have infiltrated my mind yet again. The familiar routine of unlocking my car and buckling my seatbelt was strangely therapeutic.

I had barely placed the key in the ignition when the front door opened and Tray emerged, shuffling out.

I checked the time.

"It's time to go!" I yelled. "Where the hell is Kylie?"

"The hell should I know?" Tray muttered, clambering into the passenger seat. "Putting on make up or some girly shit."

"Call her," I demanded. Kylie had already cost us four tardies, and we had only had three weeks of school. I was not in the mood for detention.

Mumbling profanities about sophomores, Tray fished out his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found his momentarily least favorite sister.

She picked up on the second ring. "Hey baby, so sorry I hung up, where were-"

"Kylie." Tray interrupted abrasively. "Get in the car now."

"I'll be there in a sec, kay?" she promised in a voice too sickeningly sweet for 7:34 in the morning. "I just have to-"

"Ass. Car. Now." Tray was intimidating even half-asleep and wearing clashing socks. Kylie mumbled in defeat before exiting the house and sauntering into the back seat.

"Two hours just to look like a slut?" Tray wanted to know as she shut the back door.

"At least I match," Kylie snapped

as I backed out of the driveway.

"That's true, I think dick colored lipstick matches everything," he retorted.

"You wouldn't know what that looks like though, would you?"

"I-"

"Shut up!" I interjected. "Just stop talking!"

"Yeah Tray," Kylie sniggered smugly. "Shut up."

"Shut your trap," Tray growled with unchecked aggression. I pitied the unwitting freshman who would piss him off later.

"No, you need to shut up, Kylie" I countered, a bit childishly. "And Tray was right, you look like a slut." It was true; her shirt was thin, her makeup was heavy, and her shorts could hardly be classified as such. "How easy do you want people to think you are?"

"And you," swiveling to glare at Tray, "that was uncalled for."

"Yes, mother," every syllable injected with poison.

"Whatever." Kylie mumbled.

I whipped into the first parking spot I spotted, just as the tardy bell rang.

And just like that, we were late again.