“Wake up, Noah!” Mom called.
Let me explain my situation. It’s my first day of college, so I’m freaking out. I mean, wouldn’t you? My mom, being the over-energetic and motivational, turn-everything-into-something-great type of person really isn’t helping me today. My little brother, Kyle, always has it easy off. It’s his first day of third grade! He’s just going to start his x2’s while I’ll be drowning in pure algebra?
Also, let me point out my name is Noah Angeline Sawer, so I could try avoiding getting teased for that.
I threw on a black t-shirt, blue plaid jacket, and ripped jeans. I’m going to make a good first impression and you can’t stop me. After trying to do a cool little stunt of catching the book bag I tossed into the air and tried catching it, I headed downstairs. “What’s for...” I couldn’t even finsish my sentence before Mom shot me the keys and headed of the door.
Yup, I knew the drill. “Hey sis!” Kyle chirped. I could hear his little stomps down the stairs from jumping. “Hey Kyle.” I replied, dropping two eggos into the toaster. While they were cooking, I tied on some blue Converse. They popped out, Kyle grabbed them and threw one to me. “Hey bro,” I said before leaving and shitting the door behind me. I tossed him the keys. “You’re responsible now.” I heard a faint ‘yes!” behind me and smiled.
I knew that sound. It was Jordan, my best friend, and he was once again rushing out of his house. Unlike my family, his isn’t very organized. Well, he is but he has like, 10 siblings. I don’t bother to count or remember the exact amount of mistakes. “Hey Cook.” I said.
Let me explain, once again. When we were little, he would come over to my house and while my parents were gone (they trusted us), he would turn on his cooking skills and he was like Chef Boyardee. Man, he wanted to join the MAJOR competitions. I was the only one who experienced his cooking, because back then, he came over so much, it was like he lived with me.
So now, I’ll always call him Cook, because I miss the little chef he was. Dude, siblings can ruin everything.
I laughed at his panting and nudged his shoulder. “Maybe you should get some adoption papers for your birthday.” He laughed, rubbing his forehead.
Jordan was a pretty tall guy, short brown hair, bright blue eyes, looked kind of like Shawn Mendes. Kind of. I still love him.
Me? A short redhead, faint green eyes, looked like Justine Valentine. Me? Of course I don’t love me. There’s only so much love I can give out.