The Bad Boy is a King

Day 25.

"Did you tell them some elaborate lie?"

Lee grinned. "That's my specialty. I should be a professional lier to cops."

"If mom and dad knew about that secret job, they would bite your head off," I told.

"And that's why we can't tell them, Nellie," Lee said.

He yawned. "Shitface, give me some coffee actually."

"That doesn't even make sense," Anthony grumbled before making Lee's coffee.

"You don't make sense," Lee retorted.

"I make more sense than that name."

"So you're hating on your name?" Lee asked.

"It's not my name."

"Well, it is now," Lee sneered and rubbed his head.

"Says who?" Anthony asked and gave Lee his mug of coffee.

"Your master which is me," Lee answered and sipped his coffee.

"Oh shit. You didn't put the fucking sugar or cream in this?" Lee grumbled and gave his cup back to Anthony.

He looked at me. "I meant shish and freaking."

I rolled my eyes. "I've heard people swear before."

"Do I look like your maid, Lee?" Anthony asked as he added the sugar and cream to Lee's coffee.

"Stupid head, I told you that I was your master, so you can answer that question."

Anthony gave Lee his coffee and sat down across from me. Lee was sitting to my left.

"You're not my master."

"Ask Nellie. She'll agree with me because you suck," Lee said.

"I'm not getting in the middle of this," I stated, knowing better from last time.

"It's okay, Nellie. I know you'd choose me over that idiot any day." Lee smirked.

Just then, Drew rolled down the stairs. Not literally but figuratively, of course.

"You look worse than Anthony's hairline," Lee commented.

"That's a low blow, man," Drew said and sat on my lap.

"Get off my lap, gigantic ape."

"I'm comfy," Drew mentioned.

"What's wrong wit my hairline?" Anthony asked.

"It looks like a fucking dog did it in their sleep," Lee said.

"I mean freaking," he mumbled.

"My hairline looks exactly like yours," my twin told.

"So you're saying that my hairline was done by a fucking dog in their sleep?" Lee asked.

"No, I meant that we have like the same hair-"

"Enough lame excuses from you, loud mouth," Lee moaned.

"Belle, wake up Wes," Drew said.

"No, he'll be really mad," I replied.

Drew said, "Just wake him up."

"But, he'll be really mad," I repeated.

"Just go wake the baby up." Lee sighed and rubbed his head.

"Fine. Get off of me, Drew."

"Make me," he chuckled.

"You want me to wake up Wes so you can at least get up."

"You're new name is going to be bossy Belle," he said and got up.

"It's better than Dumb Drew," I said and stood up. Drew pushed me hard and I almost fell.

"I agree with Wes, you have to address us as sir," Drew informed and ruffled my hair before sitting back down in my seat.

"You look more like a miss," I said, running to Wesley's room.

Like any other boy's room, his was unorganized with stuff laying everywhere. He had millions of shirts of his floor, covering almost every inch so you could not see the hardwood floor. He had pictures of indecent girls covered his walls and trophies for soccer, football, and hockey in a corner of his room by the window. Wes' bed was pushed up against the right wall, the window on the wall next to it, across from the door. His closet was a walk in, next to the door, the wall touching the wall which his bed was pushed against.

He was laying with the covers off and no shirt on. His dark brown hair was disheveled and sticking up. Wes had an arm slung under his head.

I walked over to his bed, careful not to step on his hockey stick. "Wes, it's time to get up," I said.

I shook his right shoulder that was not behind his head. He hit me away with the same hand dangling off the side of the bed and mumbled something incoherent.

"I said louder and shook his should again, Wes, get up."

"How many times have I told you not to wake me up?" He snapped. Wes rolled on his side and faced the wall.

"Just get up."

"Why do you want me to get up? Are you that eager to see what I'm going to do to you?" He grumbled.

"Get up, lazy," I repeated.

"I'll give you a head start before I beat you," he said, stretching his arms.

"You're so slow in the morning so I won't need it," I told and crossed my arms, standing over his bed.

It was not entirely false. Wes was always one of the fattest people I knew. With Wes, he would slowly walk up the steps which was even more menacing than Drew's tactics of sprinting and screaming.

"You're lying."

"I-I'm not lying."

Wes smirked. "Yes, you are. When you're lying, you try to act like you're not scared of me."