Victoria Place

Naomi

August 2nd 

My name is Naomi Patterson. That sound's cool, doesn't it? Like a cool frictional character who breaks all the rules.

Well, I'm not cool. I'm a clutz, I'm a nerd, I'm a geek, I'm a dork, I'm weak, timid and pathetic.

Utterly uncool.

Sometimes I wonder what it's like to have a relaxing, small, happy family. Nothing like mine.

I heard creaking from just outside my room, and I looked up from my book (Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins, thousandth read, great one) as the door opened.

It was Mum.

Duh.

My mother, Francesca Ella Patterson-Briarwood, is the best. Mum. Ever. She's a professional translator and interpreter, and speaks fluent French, Spanish, Portuguese, Mandarin, Arabic, Russian, Italian and Japanese.

And English.

Duh.

"Naomi, come downstairs, sweetiecakes," she said, and I followed her out. Honestly, I'm twelve, but you'd think I was three!

I got into the living room and lined up with my seven other siblings. You heard me right. Well, technically my eldest sister and favourite sibling, Trisha, makes eight, but she's off at college becoming the next big lawyer.

The second eldest is my brother Dean. He's 20, and a pretty nice guy. He wants to be a big actor one day, and is going to university at L.A.M.D.A, but still lives at home. I help him practice with his scripts a lot. He does some funny dramatic gestures sometimes, but nothing major.

Then there's Jason. He's 16, and the most sport headed guy EVER , with a zillion trophies.

Then the twins, Luke and Arlene, who are 15. Arlene is my only other sister, but I HATE her. She's one of the annoying popular girls who just... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! She's so effortlessly perfect, it makes me wanna SCREAM!

Luke is probably my second favourite sibling. Sure, he pulls pranks on everyone, me included, but he's actually really kind.

On the inside, a place only I've seen, he's a huge bookworm, and spends almost all his time writing stories. And he's not half bad.

Then Dominic, who's 14. He's a HUGE tech person, and sometimes it gets a little tiresome. But it's only about his really cool animations, which are really cool. Eventually.

And then there's me.

"Ok, honey cakes," Mum said. "Pizza's on the table, knock yourselves out."

Don't get me wrong I ADORE pizza, but to me the word 'pizza' is synonymous with the word 'battlefield'. My brothers are obsessed. The usual routine: Arlene swoops in and nabs the most undercooked slices, and my brothers nab the best ones, leaving me to pick up the last pieces like some kind of mozzarella vulture.

"Mum, why are we having pizza?" I asked as the battle royale over the greasiest pieces.

Uncharacteristically, Mum shrugged. "No idea. Your father texted me about a half hour ago, your father called to request I order your favourite meal. I got Deliveroo on speed dial."

Jason started laughing, slumping forward, his mouth spewing bits of pizza everywhere.

Gross.

Arlene wrinkled her nose. UGH! She's impossibly perfect. "Why would Dad want us to have pizza?"

"He said that he wanted to break some important news. Preferably over your favourite meal," Mum said.

"Good Lord, who's died?" Luke said.

Everyone burst out laughing. That was when we heard the key rattling around in the lock.

"Dad!" Dominic yelped. "Dad's back!"

Before any of us could move, Mum was up. "None of you move. I'll go get him."

I could hear Mum and Dad kissing and talking in the hall on the way though to the kitchen.

"Trust me," Mum said, leading through into the kitchen and letting out a high pitched laugh. "I nearly had to use physical force."

"DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!" we all yelled.

Dad smiled. "I can tell this exited reaction is not from me, more my news."

Mum mirrored him. "I get that same impression."

"Sit down, all of you," Dad said. "And cool of, it's not that exiting. You lot are a bunch of dramatizers."

"SPILL IT!" Dean blurted.

"Ok, Dean," Dad laughed. "I'll 'spill it'. I was talking to my mate Joshua, well, you know him as Mr. Rusu, this morning at the firm, and we were discussing the problems on housing, within our families. He's got two closeted together, and was telling me about these big Victorian houses that 'the state' are auctioning off in, this is a real cracker: Victoria Place!"

No one laughs. We never laugh at his jokes. It's a huge part of his personality. That no one likes his jokes.

"Ok. Tough crowd," Dad says, straightening his collar. "So. His old godmother, a woman named Flo Grant, in her she owns one of them houses, which belonged to her mother, and her parents before her. Proper Victorians. Flo's Mum Lillian died some decades ago, born the 1870s. Flo herself is in her 90s, Lillian's only child. Anyway, Flo's well of, no kids, just cousins and their children. And she's happy to give us the house for free!"

The whole table was in uproar.

The boys were banging glasses, Jason was yelling: "A TOAST! TO NOT HAVING TO SHARE ROOMS WITH DOMINIC!" The other boys were yelling similar.

Mum got up and clasped Dad's cheeks in her hands, kissing him full on the lips – whilst crying spiritedly: "Oh, Anthony!"

Instead of retaining her normally exquisite composure and etiquette, Arlene had COMPLETELY let go and all her mascara was a waterfall down her face.

Me?

I didn't really know how I felt. I'd lived in this house my whole life, and – even though I had a tiny bedroom – it was my room. I loved it. So how did I feel?

Well, as long as it didn't mean leaving school. I didn't like it. There were some horrible people in my year, the majority of them being in my form class – Zoe South and Rachel Leicester were constantly making my life miserable.

But Logan.

Logan is my sweet, kind, goofy, geeky and absolutely adorable best friend since nursery. We were constantly under threat of his parents moving back to Florida, where they come from.

We'd recently gotten something similar to an all clear recently when Logan's youngest sibling (Logan's second oldest, with one older and two younger siblings), Claire, had started nursery (I sympathised completely with this girl. Youngest of a fair few, and all).

Now this?

So, how do I feel?

Ask me later.