Not all Blondes do Backflips

18 - Eight Days a Week

Dedicated to live_love_laugh0209 for the banner.

Listen to Eight Days a Week by The Beatles or Young Volcanoes by Fall Out Boy.

This isn't my favorite thing I've written so far. But, meh. Meh is better than nothing.

   

18 – Eight Days a Week

   

I'd never gotten myself suspended from school before – surprise, surprise.

Roll your eyes, gasp dramatically or keel over in shock – keep whatever reaction you may have to yourself because I'm never going to see it and that makes it pointless.

Was I the type of girl who got herself in trouble?

No need to answer the obvious – unless you are morbidly stupid, in which case: yes.

Paul and George – well, George, mostly – had always kept me out of trouble before – or bailed me out, whichever one applied.

But of all the half-αssed moves I pulled yesterday, going into the Principal's office without my brothers took second place in the contest of what-stupid-thing-did-Lennon-do-now.

What's first place in that contest with the excessive hyphens in the name? you've now been led to ask.

First place, undoubtedly, was what happened with Finn Wallace.

Who am I kidding.

That one won the whole shebang – by a landslide.

* * * * *

“A three day suspension,” I repeated after George told me the news the next morning. “And you didn't think to mention this last night? Why wait until I'd already showered and dressed for school before dropping this motherfυcking nuclear bomb on me?”

From behind his twin, Paul pulled down his beanie then raised his hand. “That part was my idea.” The bastard even looked smug.

“Well then, screw you.” I stared at him, my eyes frigid as a bare αssed moron in the middle of Antarctica.

Just to prove that the world was never on my side, Mom walked into the kitchen just then. “Lennon,” she warned. “Language.”

“Yes, mother.” I added an extra layer of sweetness to my voice, hoping it would soften her up.

Fat chance.

Mom looked back at me with her own pair of frigid blue eyes – though in her case, they were narrowed dangerously. “I'm guessing your brothers only now told you about your suspension?”

I nodded.

“Good.” She smiled an evil little grin.

Chucky – that's who my Mom reminded me of in that moment.

She may look like the perfect blonde-haired blue-eyed Barbie doll. Hell, she was even named after said seemingly perfect doll. But right now, Mom was giving out the vibes of a different doll – one that was known for being blood thirsty, murderous and psychopathic.

Well, this explains how she was able to bring me into the world.

“Good? How is that fu –” I stopped myself in time. “Fun. You know how fun things are, uhm, good?” I finished weakly.

Paul and George were not-so-subtly choking on their breakfast omelets. I secretly wished their choking would result in one or two fatalities.

“It's good, Lennon,” she smiled, “because I finally get to tell you about your punishment.”