I woke up with a jolt as heavy footsteps banged upon the stairs leading down to the hallway. Rubbing my sleep-filled eyes with the back of my hand as I let out a yawn wide enough to swallow the MSG sphere, I slid off my trundle bed and slipped my feet into my fluffy, hedgehog slippers.
The sound of my brother bickering about something to mom downstairs drifted up to my room as I sluggishly dragged my feet to the pole in the middle and swished down into the hallway. I admit, I've done this so many times that I could make a name in the stripper business if I wanted.
Sadly, that's a dream for another lifetime. I already have my hands full with being the school's official mascot(three years now, not to brag) and a very important stage hand. Though, I don't think anyone in this town would appreciate my stripper skills.
What they do appreciate is my handiwork at carpentry, and it usually lasts only until I turn my back to them.
The Smith's-my dear family and I- are a trio of fixers, this generation of us anyway. Mom's the creative genius( never runs out of ideas, that one), Cash's the money-grabbing opportunist, and I, despite many battles of clumsy havocks and warning labels, am the girl to call when your table legs are in disagreements, when your door's ghost jammed, when you can't stand the creaking of your floorboards.
The Smith's hands worked like magic in all things artificial as I had discovered at a really early stage in life.
Accidents happen and I had been prone to them as a kid. I may have cut short one-too-many lives as a little girl going through the learning process of caring for other, much smaller, life forms.
I learned and grew from it.
The entire student body did not.
The reason being our last school mascot, an old and decaying lizard that, in my good opinion, I had done a favor by granting him his death wish. They just wouldn't let him die. Then I came along and ended his misery.
A win-win, I'm sure of it and the lizard-bless his little, unbeating heart-would agree with me if he were here now.
I can still recall the exact moment that pre-teen me had realized that I had now fallen down the dark hole of outcasts at our school.
It had been a dreary Sunday afternoon, and I was out watering the ghost grave of the dead lizard with a hymn playing from mom's phone like a death knell and my black watering can inhand when a kid that I recognized from a higher grade zoomed past on his skateboard.
One look from skaterboy was all it had taken, and, the very next day, I was ostracized from my peers.
Maybe I shouldn't have worn my old Reaper Halloween costume. That could have been what scared skaterboy the most to have him crying wolf for no reason.
With a sigh at the memory, I grabbed my misplaced toothbrush off the washbasin and began my morning routine, keeping my eyes away from my hedge of curly hair to avoid the depression moths that were trying to form in the pit of my mind.
The anxiety butterflies were already making rounds in my stomach.
I wormed my way into my black hoodie with the words Death is the only dream that never ends and took a long look in the mirror. I nodded to myself. Pretty presentable for my first day back at trying to be invisible to other teenagers.
Clicking my tongue in appreciation as I pointed at my reflection, I walked over to my window nook. My books were disastrously organized on my handmade bookshelves just how I liked it and I plucked my journal from the mess. With a groan, I shoved the mountain of clean clothes off the cushion and took a seat.
Downstairs, my brother was whining to mom about some item or other. I rolled my eyes at that just as I found the perfect page to start off my morning on a happy note.
Something That Makes Me Smile, the title read and I actually smiled. The reason?
Hero.
Like every other teenage girl, I too had a very lucky teenage boy that would soon shower me with attention and problems like most teenage boys often do. Except, my experience with this particular boy over the summer had hinted at all problems and zero- and I mean zero- attention.
Could I blame him though?
He is my brother's best friend after all, and, as I've heard through the very thin walls of our house on numerous occasions, sisters were off-limits as stated by the laws of their friendship pact.
Despite this, Hero did give me an ear to confess my interests on the two, very rare occasions we had been abandoned in the same room for but I had folded at the opportunity both times.
I was a massive coward. Still am, in fact. Not that I'm proud of it. Mom told me it's just a normal, teenage phase. One that, apparently, only I seemed to be going through according to my keen observation of my peers.
They all have it figured out and I'm just... well, I'm just Harley, the school's lame mascot by default.
A vibration from my bed pulled me out of my self-pity, and I took a peek at my phone's brightly lit screen. Cautiously, I set my journal aside and went to check out the strange occurrence.
It was a text.
I typed in my password, all the while wondering if I had gotten a life overnight without my knowledge, being added to one of those cool group chats with actual-dare I say it-friends and whatnot.
My Dumpster: Potato
I stared in disbelief for a good three seconds before typing a simple greeting in response.
Donovan, the mystery messenger, was my fat, goody-two-shoes,best friend-emphasis on was-before he moved on to greener pastures in the Middle East, leaving me to deal with matters here by myself.
Similar to the case with me landing the job as our school's mascot, he became my best friend by default. What can I say, he was nice, hung out with the cool kids and actually listened to my garbage talk like they meant something to the world so I ,being the parasite that I am, stuck to him like glue on paper and burned all chances of him ever washing me off. All but the unexpected.
Our parents.
My dad kicked the bucket a little too early, their entire friend group got depressed and Donovan's parents decided to go for a little healing trip around the globe, stashing Donovan off at his grandparents' for the time being.
At first, being as nice as he had been, he had tried to reach out to me as much as he could but I had just lost my role model and he wasn't exactly in the right state of mind either so, as time went on at it's chosen pace, so did we with our lives. Separately, might I add.
Currently, as embarrassing as this is to admit, I have zero friends my age. I know, I know, it's impossible to believe but it's true. There's actually a whole world of individuals out there that have not soaked in my awesomeness just yet.
My Dumpster: I'm back BTW
I just about threw my phone out the window at that information. With shaky hands, I typed out a quick, 'Okay!' and hightailed it to the safety of my mother's embrace, ignoring the state of my room with the excuse of cleaning it later at the back of my mind.
Screeching to a halt at the stairway, I backtracked to my room for my essentials;my backpack and, most importantly, my journal.
Wouldn't want mom finding me a therapist so soon, now would I?
I paused again at the foot of the stairs, my impeccable sense of smell picking up on mom's ghastly celebration dish.
Sighing inwardly, I swayed dejectedly into the kitchen and dropped my bag somewhere in the corner.
And there she was, Mrs Bailey Smith, looking as angelic as ever with her milky brown complexion and soft, raven-colored, tightly-curled locks flowing down her back as she hovered over the stove with a spatula in one hand and the happy-expression magic mug in the other. Her side profile, though gorgeous, was enough of a testament that her work schedule had been piled up overtime throughout this week.
I put on my reserved-for-mom, happy mask and pecked her on the cheek as a greeting before taking my place at our Smith-altered wooden breakfast table. I had added the cup holders at the edge with a space for the handles. With this design, there could be no spills since the cup holders were carved within the table.
This invention of mine, though not as flashy as the others, was one of my absolute favorites and I always took some time from my daily survival to admire and appreciate it a bit more.
On the opposite end of the table sat my brother, my carbon copy, my twin.
Auburn hair tainted with a mix of honey blonde, bow lips that were constantly being assaulted by my gender or, when in deep thought, his own tongue, amber eyes that were fixed on my emeralds as he greeted me and a well-defined jawline that when ticked,out of irritation, could cut diamonds.
Yes, my brother was the ugliest man alive and, although I had been tempted to laugh upon first look at how green his face had gotten from trying to stuff mom's poison down his throat, I snuffed it out when I realized he was wearing my favorite color.
It's hard having to watch my carbon copy mirror my habits. It annoys me that we're so much alike yet somehow he's on the popular end of the teenage spectrum and I'm on the dweeb side.
But that'll all change this year. Donovan's back now and, although, I'd rather claw my eyes out than listen to his excuses of why he had cut me off completely, I'm still just a girl and having a friend to rant out all my frustrations to would be nice for a change.
Even if that friend had acted like a jerk in the past.
I admit, I am a teeny tiny bit nervous to see Donovan again. I've grown accustomed to being alone and I'm scared of what my reaction will be when I finally have someone to talk to again. I'm afraid of having a third party's opinion on my mess of a life. I'm afraid of how he'd react to my journal.
But still...
Someone to ride my bike to school with instead of taking the car with mom and Cash all because I don't want to feel lonely, sitting under the bug-infested tree for lunch to avoid unnecessary drama from mean kids and taking turns kicking my week-old, oval pebble as we walk home until it turns into a perfect circle. Having that would cover up Donovan's insincerity towards our friendship and erase the embarrassment of finding out why he had ignored me for the time he was away.
What's one more instance to add to the long list of 'Harley's most awkward moments'.
I ignored my brother's warm greeting and pushed back in my seat, my fingers drumming against the table as I waited for mom to take the last available chair. Mom set the ghastly pancakes and my apple cinnamon before me, served in the sad-expression magic mug as she took her seat.
I hummed in gratitude and turned my eyes away from the desperate plea in hers that swiveled from me to Cash. Every year she does this and, even though I have no doubt I would kill for her if there ever were such a problem, there was no way I'd let her convince me ever again to do...that.
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"Smile, Harvey." Mom's shouts pierced the neighborhood and I grimaced, shuffling away from my brother. She always acts like she's taking media-worthy photos of us. I was struggling not to faint from embarrassment and, from beside me, Cash seemed to be doing the same. "Harley, you have to hug him exactly like you did on your first day of school."
If we're unlucky, she'd have them framed and placed at the side wall of the stairway of memories as she called it before we got home.
I shuddered at the thought, nearly toppling over as my brother tried for a more natural look, swinging his hand around my neck. I was as rigid as a log and completely out of my comfort zone. I wanted to push him off.
Then mom began to speak.
"Y'know, this takes me back to your first day at elementary," She chuckled and I braced myself for whatever she was about to say.
Not this time, mom.
"Harvey had all two of his front teeth missing and he absolutely refused to smile so you, being mommy's little helper, ran into the house and grabbed two squared cheese from the fridge and you both ended up slapping it onto your teeth." I was fighting back a smile already and I knew Cash was too. Because mom always does this. Every time. She pulls out an old memory from her inventory to make us like each other a bit more and it always ends up making me hate my brother a lot less. "They're still my favorite photos so far. So are you going to finally top them this year or will you let those old pictures take the win?"
Pinning us against our old selves for some pictures was a new low for mom but still, no one could say she didn't know her children. I was taking that win no matter what and the energy shift from beside me told me Cash wasn't going to let our younger versions beat him so easily either.
"Harley just wanted to eat cheese." He teased and I gasped, flabbergasted at his audacity.
"I did not!" I chuckled lightly as I hit his arm and he laughed along. Mom's camera sound was going off like the paparazzi when they spot a celebrity doing some nefarious deed.
"You so did." He argued, a shimmer in his eyes. "You even snuck some onto the-"
Honk!!
"Morning, Mrs Smith." Richard, Cash's teammate and my worst nightmare cut our conversation short as he rolled his old pickup in front of our house. "We have a few freshers trying out this year too and Coach wants us to show them what they'll never be, one of us."
"Every single year, man." Cash grumbled, glancing at me as he went over to peck mom on the cheek and I developed a newfound interest in our grass. "Can we not always start off the year like this? I'm always sore before the day even begins."
He got into the truck, giving a warning look to Richard who looked like he was fighting to keep his opinion of Cash's display of affection to himself.
"Tell that to the coach and our captain." Richard muttered, his eyes glued to my side profile as he spoke. They drove off and I was able to breathe again.
"Daughter dearest?"
I blinked my mask back on as I faced Mrs Bailey Smith, our town's old beauty and the cause for all of my comparisons. It was at my current age that she had been selected to represent this exact neighborhood for the town's annual Miss Beauty pageant. My mom was beauty inside and out so she had been the obvious choice back then.
Now I'm the obvious choice because I'm her legacy.
"I'll walk today." I dodged her questioning gaze and hopped on the sidewalk with a "Love you!" and a little wave as I set out, pushing the image of her disappointment to the back of mind.
A vehicle sounded behind me, fast and reckless as always. Knowing who the driver was, and how little they noticed anything out of their small circle, I picked up the pace and made it in time to the cover of the tree ahead of me just as the lavender pickup whooshed by, it's occupants screeching over the loud music, completely unaware of the person they had almost splashed.
I stared at the familiar five letters on the license plate for a minute longer in disdain before trailing after them.
Someone should really revoke that girl's license before she kills someone. Or after. I mean, as long as mom and I are out of that equation, she can run them all over for all I care.
I wish they'd all just lay off for this year, at least. Then I'd be able to make some actual memories with the one friend that's finally returned to me.
Who am I kidding? It's all just wishful thinking and I know it. I'd be lucky to open my locker today without having to wipe someone's unwanted opinions off of it.
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