I woke up to silence.
Now, for many this may seem like a normality or even a relief, but to me, it was a promise of death.
Being the only girl in my household out of four men and one child (who was also male), waking up to silence was like someone saying Harry Styles was ugly -- it was unheard of.
Thats why I grabbed my brothers baseball bat before I left my room. I was fully prepared for a kidnapper or a murderer or a cat burgler to be in my house, because thats the only way my brothers would ever be quiet; if they were being kidnapped or tortured or held hostage, and even then I wouldn't doubt that they would be talking the person responsible's ear off first.
I snuck down the stairs in my night gown, making sure to make no noise whatsoever. I didn't want to alert anyone of my presence. I sure as hell did not want to be kidnapped. And if someone was even thinking about kidnapping my brothers, they were going to get a piece of my mind (the talking gene runs in the family).
The first room I checked when I reached the bottom step was the kitchen. I dont know about anyone else, but if I was a burgler the first thing I would do is raid the kitchen for nutella. But that might just be me.
When I went into the kitchen, I realized I was right. The burgler had raided the kitchen first (I guess I'm not the only one). But it must have been one strange burgler. There was flour everywhere as well as sugar, pans and trays were thrown into the sink. But that wasn't the worst part. No, the worst part was that the jumbo jar of nutella; MY jumbo jar of nutella was open, lying on the side of the counter. And it was empty.
Oh, it was on.
Fuming, I stomped into the dining room, not even caring if I was heard anymore. I Iooked up, prepared to --
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALEXANDRIA!"
I screamed, swinging my baseball bat and hitting a lamp.
I dropped the baseball bat and finally looked at the table, surprised at the sight in front of me.
My four brothers and father stood in front of me, gaping at the broken lamp, but what caught my eyes was the huge stack of nutella pancakes drowned in chocolate syrup and whipped cream standing in front of me. I smiled.
"You guys are the best,"
"They made you what?" asked Liza, AKA my Best Friend For Life.
"Nutella pancakes." I said simply, looking to my right and up at my Liza as we walked down the halls of our high school. Liza towered over me, with her height of 5"7', compared to my 5"3'. And she was wearing 4 inch heels (which were totally against school rules by the way, but that didn't stop her).
Now, Liza and I were very similar and very different at the same time. Liza and I were both girly girls for life. Pink, skirts, jewelry, Starbucks. The whole shazam. But I preffered soft pinks and Liza liked hot pinks. I preffered floral skirts and Liza wore black leather skater skirts. I wore lockets and Liza wore studded chains. Liza wore stillettos and I wore low-heeled pumps.
We were like two opposite sides of the same person.
"And you didnt save any did you?" My smile gave me away. "You are a terrible person." Liza said.
YOU ARE READING
The MakeoverTeen Fiction
One word to describe me: Girly. I like anything pink, I wear skirts, I don't wear sneakers; I'm basically the definition of a girly girl. Oh. And I have 6 brothers and a single dad. One word to describe my family: Chaotic. My house is always...