Leave A Note

Chapter Two

Just as I said that a five-year-old boy - more commonly known as my brother - Sam, poked his head around the corner and excitedly stated the obvious- "I smell pancakes!"

"You most certainly do little man. Here you can have one." Dad said placing another plate on the table in front of the seat across from my own. Sam jumped onto the chair with a spring and cheered, "Thanks Daddy, you're the best!"

"Be sure to tell your mother that," Dad counted in time for Sam to pick up the pancake with his hands and shove it in his mouth, having no regard for table manners. "Shure tha-ng-waddy," came his intelligent response as Sam attempted to say 'sure thing daddy' with his mouth full.

I shook my head, "Ew, Sam, that's gross." This just caused him to tease me further by opening his mouth revealing the chewed up food. "That's just nasty," I commented.

He finally swallowed his mouthful to allow a huge grin to take up his face, "Hey sissy!" he finally greeted me properly. "Hey Broey," I returned the favour of the unwelcome nickname.

"Nah-uh, broey isn't a word, my teacher says so," He crossed his arms stubbornly and shook his head, protesting my statement. "Rats!" I clicked my fingers, pretending to be surprised, "I guess you're just smarter than I am."

"I am!" He exclaimed, looking at me like he already knew this piece of information.

"I'll get you for that!" I rose up, beginning to chase him around the dining room pretending to be the tickle monster as he giggled uncontrollably. We both halted in our step as we heard the front door slam closed. Not this again.

"MELISSA ROSE HUGHES!" A voice came from the front hallway sounding as terrifying as the cry that had left her mouth the day he was born which I could only remember from home videos.

"Sounds like your sister wants you." Dad sent a knowing look in my direction causing me to shrug and claim, "it's not my fault she's lazy."

The kitchen door swung open revealing a very angry Nina. Sam ran to hide behind my leg in fear of what he knew she could do, not that it was that terrifying once you were used to it.

"YOU!" She pointed at me and started to approach, stomping like an elephant, "You said you'd take me home today!"

I shook my head, denying her accusing words and correcting her, "you said I'd take you home today." She obviously didn't take well to my words as she huffed and opened her mouth once again to say, "I had to walk home!"

I rolled my eyes at her dramatics; she could almost make a convincing actress. "It's a ten minute walk and if you're so worried just get your licence already! But you could probably use the exercise anyway."

Her mouth opened and closed a few times as if trying to muster a worth-while response but she eventually gave up and settled for, "B*tch" before she stomped away in a huff.

"Remind me why you had her again?" I turned to my father to ask the rhetorical question that I sometimes wished there was an answer too. Dad shook his head, "Be nice, she is your sister," he scolded.

"Sorry but she's a spoilt brat!" I tried to make my point more clear by adding in hand gestures and voicing the truth. Dad shrugged, "Not really," he pretended he didn't notice her behaviour but the glint in his eye said otherwise.

"She asked for a car for last birthday," I raised an eyebrow, pushing my point. "So?" Dad failed to see the flaw in her logic, so instead I spelt it out for him in simple terms; "She can't even drive!"

Dad lowered his hands in a gesture to say 'calm down' as I had gotten a bit riled up, "Sure she can be a bit spoilt sometimes, but you were like that once too." I argued his point with one of my own, "but I grew out of it when I turned eight, she's sixteen,"