How To Spell Love (Discontinued)

How To Spell Love Chapter 3

This chapter's dedicated to my awesome bestie JLo! She's the awesome-est and she's the reason why I didn't upload in so long. Do you know how distracting that girl is!? smh Anyway, back to the good stuff. I don't know if this is edited right but bare with me. Hope you guys like it... And OH! check out the youtube video on the side! It's a trailer made for me by the amazing WeBFFsMakeStories people! SO go check 'em out and show them the LOOOOOVE!

Anyway... I'll let you guys read now.

Over and out!

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I’m not stupid if that’s what you’re thinking. I know I don’t know how to read, but I have a pretty good excuse why I can’t. I’m dyslexic.

So see when I was a kid I’d never been diagnosed with dyslexia, so I was stuck believing that I was stupid. It wasn’t until I turned -- I’d say 12 that I figured out that I had this condition, and it was too late to learn since I’d long lost interest in the aspect of reading.

It’s not hard explaining how I got through all my childhood, teen years, and now without knowing how to read, it’s quite easy. BS -- you know;  cow cookies, or meadow muffins, road apples, hogwash, bulldust... stuff like that. Basically, I faked my way through schooling. No one ever noticed, so I never felt the need to reveal it.

Honestly, reading’s like math or biology. It’s one of those things that in my opinion you wouldn’t need beyond High School. So all the crap your Kindergarten and First grade teachers taught you about reading was all just a waste, like the other things teachers teach us now.

I’m startled out of my thoughts by the sight of my father entering the kitchen. He’s in his fuzzy, blue robe with his hair styled in a messy fashion. He's trudging in with his feet bare, hardly lifting from the ground. He groans with each step and I try to hold in the laugh that’s threatening come out.

"You look terrible," I notify him as he slides his way towards the fridge.

"Not only do I look terrible, I am terrible." he coughs as he sniffs into the milk gallon.

I squint my eye feeling bad for my dear father. "Here," I stand from my place on the counter. "Lemme make you some breakfast." I reach for the gallon in his hand, but he pulls it away, hugging it in his arms and shakes his head vigorously.

"No," he snaps stubbornly.

“Alright, alright.” I chuckle as I fetch some eggs from the refrigerator. I’m no chef, but I sure can whip up a mean omelet! “How was work yesterday?” I ask absentmindedly.

I hear him scoff as he attacks one of the kitchen chairs with his butt. “Terrible! I had to grade a bunch of extended essays and of course I got a handful of World War II’s.”  As much as my father loved his job, he strongly disliked grading. Sometimes I wished that he were my teacher, but then I’m reminded by the negatives that can occur with having your father be your English teacher.

“I’m telling ya kid, there’s nothing worse you can do to the person grading your papers than forcing them to read more about the Holocaust, or that Diary of Anne Frank crap.” I hear him shake his head as he munches on one of the fruits on display on the table. “Got home and was knocked out!”

I laugh and shush him for being too loud. “Geesh dad, mom’s still asleep.” I gasp and turn around and feel a mischievous smirk make its way on my face. “Speaking of mom, you didn’t happen to speak to her last night now did you?”

He glares at me curiously. “No...” He trails off and before I jump in he asks why I asked.

I switched my smile of mischief to a sweet and innocent smile before saying, “Oh, no reason!” I turn around towards the frying eggs on the stove. I moved the pan around absentmindedly.