The parent project - Chenry

Chapter Two: Nah....

| Henry |

"No, Piper, y can't have my room while I'm gone, out."

"Henry, you won't be here for a whole year!"

Piper stuck her lower lip out and started to work up a fake cry as I pushed her small frame towards the doorway of my bedroom. My sister wasn't the baby of the family, she was the infant. Screaming and whining to get whatever she wanted. Because my parents were getting older and could barely tolerate looking after each other, whatever Piper wanted was handed to her on a silver platter. All except my room, which mom said she would fight for to the bitter end while I was gone.

"Oh yeah? a year? Guess what?"

"What?"

"If you help me find the fucks I give the room is all yours... now get out."

With one final shove she was put into the hall on her hands and knees. I slammed the door shut behind her before she could get back up and launch herself back inside.

"Mom, Henry just said a curse word and he pushed me! Mooooooom!!! Henry pushed me! Kill him! Kill him now!"

She screeched, stomping her feet down the stairs as hard as she could. Something between a sigh and a groan whooshed out of my mouth, which made the throbbing in my head echo. I haven't finished packing, my entire closet was on the floor in front of me and everything else in between (trash) was spread out. Dented soda cans, dirty clothes overflowing from the hamper in the corner congealed into the mess of comic books, and assignments I never got to finish that were long overdue.

"Fuck,"

I muttered, folding my hands and tucking them solidly behind my head. The project was supposed to teach good husband and wife skills, a sense of humility, communication, influential pride and some other bullshit I skimmed over in the study guide. Charlotte of all people to be married to in this class, Ms. Shapen chose the one girl who knew how to get under my skin without even trying.

Later in the night, I finally gave up on packing and pushed everything off my bed to lay down, the screen of my phone lit up.

"Babe?"

"Charlotte fucking Bolton."

The venom in her voice stung even me.

"Bianca-"

"What the fuck, Henry? Is this some kind of sick joke?"

She growled in a low-Arctic tone. It was the kind of sound I've heard my mom give Piper in the store when she didn't want her to touch anything.

"Babe, listen to me... I didn't pick the couples- I mean partners! Shit, I didn't pick the partners. It wasn't my choice, trust me if I could you know who I'd pick."

"You could have spoken up and said you didn't want Charlotte as a partner, you could have lied about being sick, or mentally unstable, or something!"

The sheer stupidity of what she said left a heavy silence swinging through the air between us. I've said things that were racist and disgusting about Charlotte in the past, but it doesn't stop the muddy gray monster of guilt from clawing at my shoulders.

"You heard Ms-"

"-I bet you want her as a partner, I bet you wanted all of this to happen. I knew you wouldn't say anything, I fucking knew it."

Bianca cut me off, becoming thoroughly enthralled in her own conspiracies. Shifting to a sitting position in my bed, I pinched the skin between my eyes, counting how many pairs of dirty and clean shoes were scattered over the floor. 12 pairs of clean, 5 pairs of dirty. Maybe more if I focused.