Love to Hate You

Chapter Twelve

Smiling at my handy work, I brush my hands on my shorts and strut out of the living room. I, Reese Bentley, have successfully cleaned this entire house. Mom’s working late tonight so I’ll have to wait for her approval and Dad is sleeping because he worked a night shift last night. The only other person I can show is A.J. and there is no way that’s happening. If I was desperate enough for someone’s approval, than sure, I’d go to A.J. but that boy needs a good kick in the knees for what he did to me.

He did this. He got me into this whole mess. Even though I can stop sneaking around and hating everyone, I’ve had to clean this entire house by myself and no one has made it easy on me. I hate to admit I deserve every last greasy dish and dusty cobweb, but truth be told, I actually do deserve this cruel form of punishment. I had been a complete nuisance—constantly singing around the house to annoy my mother, sneaking out, ignoring my family. Goodness, I can’t believe my Mom even kept me around.

My dad wasn’t too happy about it either. I hate it when he disapproves of things I do, and those are the only looks I’ve been getting from him for the past month and a half.

Still, I blame A.J. for ratting me out. Heck, I think he should get a punishment too. I mean, he helped me. But, I guess being Mommy’s favorite and going ahead to tell on me has its perks.

Jerk.

“Reese! I have a dish for you to wash!”

Stopping midway up the steps, I glare at the bedroom down the hall. See what I mean? What kind of brother does this?

“Oh, no!” I yell back, “I finished cleaning. You take care of your own dishes from now on you lazy sack of bones.”

I hear a chuckle from his room as I tiptoe closer to it, purposefully dodging creaky floorboards on my way there.

“Come on, Reesie! Pay for your terrible deeds, you little delinquent.”

I stop, my eyes hooding in annoyance. Delinquent? Excuse me. I hope he pees himself when I scare him.

“I know you’re outside my door.” He adds.

Darn, caught in the act.

Sighing, I walk the rest of the way to his bedroom door recklessly and push it open. There he is in all of his glory, A.J. on a studying day. He’s still in pajamas and his hair is absolutely horrendous. Hasn’t the boy ever heard of a brush? It’s a great invention really. I find personal hygiene to be very important.

“Here,” he orders, holding out his glass whilst reclining back on his pillows, “take it and be gone with you.”

“And to think I thought you were on my side,” I scowl, “you’re the worst.”

Sitting up, the glass drops to his lap as he retaliates, “Look, you’re my little sister. I do what I can for you, or at least I try,” he rolls his eyes, “you were messing up the balance of happiness in this house. If the Queen’s not happy, nobody’s happy.”

“I still hate you.” I tell him.

A.J. scoffs, “Yeah, well you hate everyone, even your boyfriend, so whatever.”

 I’m slightly taken aback and lean against his door frame, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I try, testing the waters to see what he knows.

“You do.”

“Uh, huh,” I say, narrowing my eyes, “what makes you think so?”

He lifts his textbook off of his bed sheets and shows me the cover, “Studying psychology, remember?”