~Trista~
"No, that's not a way to approach them!" Johnny exclaimed, climbing out of the passenger seat. He chased after me, knowing that he wouldn't catch me in time.
"I think it is." I snap, and I hear him groan loudly.
I step up the steps at my parents' house, and instead of using the door bell I pound on the door.
"What the ff-- Trista!" George scolded, acting like I was in his life every single day.
"Door bell doesn't work," I say, turning to him, "And if I don't knock loud enough they won't hear me. They are so deaf."
George opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come out. I heard the door open, so I faced it. My adopted parents smiled down at me, then scanned around outside and found Johnny. Their faces turned to shocked faces in seconds.
"Little Georgey?" My mom said, looking astonished at him, "He's not little anymore.."
"Could you just please explain?" I say, not in a violent tone but in a curious struck tone. I walked in, and sat on the couch, and Johnny sat awkwardly next to me.
"Well--"
"Why didn't you tell me I was related to a famous rock band member?!" I start freaking out, thinking that they'd know he was in a band.
"That makes sense now, with all the tattoos.." Mom shyly said.
"Mom!"
"Like I was supposed to know!" Mom said, pointing a finger at George. George just shrugged.
"She has a point.." George said quietly.
"Hush!" Dad snapped, loud enough for all of us to hear.
Everyone became quiet from dad's words. Even George was, which was interesting. My father was always loud, sometimes even strict with things. Boy, if I ever brought home Charlie, he would go bat sh*t crazy. I couldn't even walk out of the bathroom if I was the one to finish off the toilet paper and leave the cardboard roll.
Johnny was quiet, until he choked on his saliva. He inhaled sharply but quickly exhaled, then started to have a coughing fit. I face palmed, while my parents just stared at him while he was dying. After a bit (once I noticed it wouldn't stop) I began patting his back gently, then raising his hand up.
"Oh.." George wheezed, "What the hell.."
I shrugged, then stared at my parents. They nodded, "You are adopted from the Ragan's, Trista." My mother says calmly.
"I wish you guys could've told me I was at least adopted. Hell, I had to find out on my own!" My hands flail in the air, and my mom jumped once I said, "hell". I glanced at her, then rolled my eyes, "I'm not 2 anymore, Ma!"
"I don't give a sh*t if you are 2 or even 27!" Mom snapped.
Johnny looked at us, confused. My father went back into the kitchen. I rolled my eyes at my mom. Hypocrite.
"You two are eating with us, no exceptions." My mom said, walking into the kitchen. I sighed.
"Wow." George chuckled, fixing the beanie on his head.
"Yeah.."
"Do they have no-polar meds? 'Cause damn."
I giggle, and George stood up, looking around the place.
~Johnny 3 Tears~
I skipped down the sidewalk in the most warming neighborhood around the place. My fingers clenched around the small piece of paper. Where was the house?
That's when I saw it; the household had the front porch light on, and the windows gave off a glow from the inside lights. A grin slid across my face, and I opened my hand slowly. I read the little crumpled up paper again.
604 HavenHill BLVD
Call (213) 203-0687
I got too excited. Maybe she looked like me, or maybe she looked like Ma. I ran down the small pathway up the steps, and I knocked on the door. Seconds later I was greeted by a bubbly lady with dark brown hair. She let me come in.
"Oh, Georgey, how are you?!" She exclaimed, giving me a gentle loving hug. How old was I to her? 5?
I was 9. My eyes rolled as she gave me a squeeze, then pulled away to lead me to see the baby.
"Your parents were okay with this?"
I nod, lying about it. She was too gullible to even think about it. It was 9:00 PM. Shouldn't she know my bed time was at 8? That was every little kids' bedtime.
She beckoned me over to a room down the hall, so I followed her. The lady opened the door slowly, revealing a small room with a crib in it. The walls were a very light pink, which gave it a loving environment. She walked over to the crib, revealing my sister.
**
I flushed the toilet and zipped my pants up. With a sigh, I squirted some soap on my hands, then shoved them under the sink. It automatically turned on, and I began to wash my hands. The soap smelt very sweet, and I noticed it was from bath and bodyworks. After drying my hands off, I walked out of the bathroom.
Everyone was filling their plates up with food, and just when Trista's dad was about to complete his plate, he set it down and walked to the bathroom. I took a plate, piled food into it, then sat down. We waited for her father to return before eating.
He returned, and when he did, he held a empty toilet paper roll so everyone could see it. He stared at me. "Did you use the last bit of toilet seat paper?"
"Uh, no.." I say, shaking my head. I mean, I'm not the guest that sh*ts at people's houses. That's just embarrassing and rude.
"You did too. It's written all over my face." He snaps.
What? He couldn't read, "I didn't poop in your toilet" on my face?
"I swear, I didn't poop." I put my hands up.
"I bet you did. You were the last one in there."
"It doesn't mean I took a sh*t in your toilet!" I whined, and Trista groaned loudly.
"Dad! It was me, couldn't you tell?!" Trista face palmed.
"Go put toilet paper in the bathroom, then!" Her dad demanded.
"We're all eating. I will afterward."
"You better not forget."
