The Girl who Cried Wolf

five. the beehive

The bright sun was hitting every single inch of exposed skin I had, turning the horribly pale mess somewhat tanned before it became itchy and red. I huff, boosting the heavy box up to my chest with my knee then began walking back inside. Get a box from the moving truck, go inside, come back outside, repeat. It was a seemingly endless cycle of aching muscles and sunburnt patches of skin. Considering there was only three of us here to unpack all of our things including mattresses, bed frames, dining table, chairs and more it was taking hours upon hours just to get one of the three trucks cleared out.

Tram, dad and I had each driven a truck here after we had lunch, yet when I turned back to overlook the mountains and city hiding behind the houses on our street I was greeted by splashes of pink and purple splattered across the dimming sky instead of the bright sun. Despite it getting dark it was still unfairly hot, although that could be because I've been moving all day.

"Maybe, if I'm lucky, I will predict my own death soon." I strain out, struggling to carry the box inside. Hours of hard work had turned all 26 bones of my body into a slushy, my muscles snapping as if they were guitar strings. Tram simply laughed, pausing to shift the trolley around so he could better lift the cabinet up the single stair at our doorway.

Suddenly, a loud car horn echoed throughout the neighbourhood. The second we stopped to see where the noise came from was the moment gravity had its full effect on us and we find ourselves sitting down on the ground out of pure exhaustion.

"Ross! What have you done to my beloved grandchildren?" I hear a familiar voice curse my dad out. Tram and I glanced at each other for a second, seeing if the other had heard it too or if it was just exhaustion playing tricks on us. But, sure enough, I lean forward to see the top of my Nanna's usual black Beehive haircut step out of her red convertible, one of her infamous designer bags in hand. I remember calling her the older version of Jeffree Star without all the controversy, Nanna had no idea who that was but it would always make her laugh.

"Our Saviour!" Tram announced through puffs of air. Pushing himself up, his joints popped like popcorn spinning in the microwave but that didn't stop him from hobbling down the stairs with one hand pressed against his lower back, the other reached out so he could wrap it around our Nanna.

"Tram, hello! How is my favourite grandson doing? You remind me of your dear old Poppa John with how you're holding yourself right now." She smiled at him, her handbag sliding down her forearm as she wrapped her arms around him. My ears starting ringing loudly as I stood up, blocking out part of their conversation. I've never been genuinely exhausted before, but lord do I envy the past me for never knowing what this felt like.

"I thought Child labour was illegal," Nanna commented once she pulled back from the hug, sliding on her glasses with a sarcastic smile. She always loved to slyly insult my father ever since he proposed to my mother, her daughter. She didn't hate him exactly, partly because he gave her us, she just never thought he was good enough for my mum. "But, I guess not being able to afford good help will drive you to do moronic things."

"Nice to see you again, Abigail." Dad forced through a tight-lipped smile. He hated her being around which made her presence all the more fun, especially when she would buy Tram and me ridiculously expensive things that were utterly useless, just in an effort to make him look bad.

Nanna ignored him, instead, she narrowed her gaze on me with a loving smile. "My god, you've gotten incredibly thin. Does your father not know how to feed growing teenagers?"