Time Change (bxb)

Thirty-Four

Time P.O.V

While the weekend had felt horrifically longer than it should have, the moment the first household alarm rang Monday morning, I was awake. Given that I had definitely never been the 'school rocks yay!' kind of kid, I knew my sudden change of pace was throwing my fo- parents off.

Which is kind of an understatement when I quite literally almost threw them off balance as they headed downstairs, only to tumble into me as I had been sitting on the steps waiting for someone to wake up and escort me down the dangerous steps. Fortunately, they didn't tumble down the steps. Ankles injuries remain at a steady one.

"Goodness, usually we have to drag you out of bed," Janet laughed as she helped me downstairs. "If only you could share some of your enthusiasm with your siblings."

"Let them be stuck at home for two weeks without a phone and a broken ankle and see how long they survive," I mocked. Paige could complain about school all she wanted, but take her devices away, and she becomes... a monster. Which is saying a lot given the type of people I know.

"No, no, no. I do not want any more injuries in the house," Janet disagreed, letting me go once we were off the steps. While I wasn't supposed to walk on the cast, I all but started refusing to have people escort me all the way around the house, using walls and furniture as make-shift crutches. "One is more than enough," She lightly ruffled my hair before hesitantly heading into the kitchen. "Since you're the first one up, you get to call the shot on breakfast, pancakes, waffles, or french toast?"

"Pancakes." It was the only real choice.

Janet smiled at me before turning to get the necessary ingredients to craft the most precious fluffy goodness ever created. Since I was usually the last to wake up, I've never seen how the household functioned when everyone (and their minds) was calm, and less annoying, than usual. Dreams were always easier to tune out than actual thoughts. I usually had to listen to their crude mental comments and opinions about everything and withhold any and all thoughts I had in return, so dealing with their dreams was nothing.

I usually act all nonchalant about the whole mind-reading thing, but people can be really cruel when they don't think anyone is listening. Don't get me wrong; I'm the involuntary intruder into their private mental world, but that doesn't mean that I want to know those things, to hear about people in some pretty horrible ways, myself included. You can learn a lot about a person based solely on how they think compared to how they outwardly appear and present themselves. It's usually the overly kind ones that harbor the most hateful hearts. I mean, at least you can expect that behavior from a typically rude person; it's the last thing you expect to be heard from someone who seems to pride themselves on being the kindest and sweetest person around. What a facade.

It took the sweet smell of pancakes and bacon wafting through the air for my siblings to begin slowly wandering down the steps, with yaws and groans as they did so. They were equally, but less violently, shocked by my ready and awake presence. 'Why... is he awake?' 'I thought he hated school?' 'What happened to dragging him out of bed?' 'Did he really have to pick pancakes for breakfast?' 'I wanted waffles...' 'At least there's bacon.'

"You should have dragged out your ticket to stay at home longer," Gregory said as he walked past the couch, slapping me playfully on the shoulder before escaping into the kitchen. "Now you have to go back to school with a worthless ankle."

"His ankle will get better," Janet scolded. "And if anyone bothers you about the injury, anyone," she side-eyed Gregory, who raised his hands up in surrender. "Let me know, and I'll have it dealt with. Oh, I'm waiting on insurance to send us the knee scooter, so for now, you'll have to use the school's wheelchair." I usually would have thrown a fit about having to use a wheelchair over alternative options, given how it heavily limited the accessibility and freedom I would have otherwise had, but I was on cloud nine in more ways than one; I couldn't find it within myself to really care. At least I'd be able to get around better than here, stupid stairs. At least the school conveniently had an elevator with restricted use. You might as well call it 'Time's Private Elevator.'