A/N: Okay the prompt of this assignment was: Write a short story in the P.O.V of a ten year old about an experience that meant the world to them has to include the phrase “But I earned it!” This was our first assignment, so it probably sucks out loud! Be honest and cruel with your reviews. Also there is ONE swear word…so beware.

Of Popularity, Band-Aids, and Rotting trees

“Mom can I have a band-aid?” I ask, looking up at my mother. Her head shoots up at the word ‘band-aid’ and she asks

“Why? Are you hurt? Where did you fall? How bad is the cut?” I roll my eyes, (I saw this girl from my church roll her eyes at her mom the other day and I think it must be some cool teenage thing, I can’t wait to be a teenager, I’ll be so cool) and I sigh loudly and say,

“Nooo, but all the girls in my class are wearing really cool Barbie decorated band-aids and if I don’t wear one soon everyone in the school will laugh at me and make fun of me and hate me and my life will be over. So can I pleeeease have a band-aid?”

“I’m sorry muffinpie but we only have two band-aids left and I can’t waste them, what if Tommy or you hurt yourselves?” My mom says.

“Ugh, use a towel, geeze, you hate me don’t you? You just want me to stay at home and rot while everyone else has a good time! I’m almost eleven mom, when will you realize I’m an adult? Now because of you and your greediness, I’ll lose all my friends! Well, I hope you are happy!”

My mom sighs loudly and says

“Sweetie if you lose friends over something as stupid as Barbie band-aids then you didn’t really have friends in the first place.”

“You just don’t understand!”

I walk out the door into our backyard, slamming it to stress my angriness. I see my eight year old brother, Tommy playing by the old oak tree. Tommy is annoying and stupid but he always does everything I tell him to and he never tattles, so I call him over.

“Tommy, GET OVER here NOW!” I call stamping my foot. Tommy runs over to me, not that he’s fast or anything, Tommy is real fat and slow, he runs as fast as most people walk, correction, he runs as fast as most OLD people walk.

“What took you so long, lardass?” I ask sneering at him (I heard Michael Jenkins, the cute fourteen year old boy down the street say that once and figured cool people say stuff like that since Michael Jenkins is sooooo cool).

“S-s-sorry Bev-Bev-Beverly,” my brother says huffing and puffing as if he ran ten miles instead of ten feet. I roll my eyes and say angrily,

“Do NOT call me Beverly, no one calls me that anymore, it’s ‘Bev’ now, geeze, get with the program Tommy.”

“Sorry Bev” my brother says, no longer sounding like an elephant having an asthma attack.

“Ugh no wonder you don’t have friends,” I say trying to ignore how hurt Tommy looks and how guilty I feel.

What do you want to play, Bev?” my brother asks.

“I need YOU to help ME, fall out of THAT tree and get hurt bad enough to need a band-aid,” I tell him pointing at the oak tree.

“But… Bev, you could get really hurt, you may even break a bone.”

“Shut-up and do it,” I yell at him.

“But mommy and daddy tell us all the time not to climb that tree, that it’s old, it may be rotting inside and weak, that it’s really dangerous,” he says trying to convince me to change my mind.

“They just say that because they want us to be miserable and to be losers who never have fun. They are lying” I say.

“Mommy and daddy wouldn’t lie to us,” Tommy says sticking his bottom lip out.

“Tommy, is Santa real?” I ask talking to him as if he is a baby.

“Nooo…” Tommy says slowly.

“Is the Easter bunny real?”

“Nooo…”

“Is the tooth fairy real?”

“Nooo…”

“And who told you they were real?”

“Mommy and daddy…”

“I make my point,” I say crossing my arms and smiling.

“Huh?” Tommy asks. Geeze he can be a real dirk sometimes.

“If they lied about that, they’ve obviously lied about the tree,” I explained.

“Weeell, okay…” Tommy said not quite convinced but still agreeing to help me.

“Okay, here’s the plan, you’ll climb the tree first, to make sure it’s sturdy, if it can hold a fatty like you, it can hold me. Then once I am in the tree with you, you’ll push me, GENTLY and I’ll fall scraping my knee.”

“Why do I gotta push you for Bev?” Tommy asks looking confused like always.

“Because… I can’t just make myself fall on purpose; I’ll brace myself and won’t get hurt.”

“Are you going to change your clothes first?” Tommy asks looking at my fabulous outfit.

“No! Why would I do that?” I ask angrily. “What’s WRONG with my outfit anyhow?! I look very cute.”

“Well… It’s kinda hard to climb trees in a dress,” Tommy says, “why don’t you wear pants?”

“EWWW! If anyone at school saw me in pants, I’d be the laughing stock! Are you psycho?! Only boys wear pants,” I yell. I seriously doubt Tommy is my brother, I’m so beautiful and fashionable and he… is not.

“Mommy wears pants,” Tommy says pulling on a blade of grass.
“Mommy is an old lady. I’m a beautiful young woman,” I said running my fingers through my hair light brown hair. “Now shut-up and help me.” We are very quiet as we walk toward the oak tree.

“Bev,” Tommy whines, “I really don’t’ wanna do this.”

“So!? Why should I care?! You’re doing it,” I leave no room for argument and watch as Tommy starts climbing up the tree. When he reaches the second branch he climbs over to the branch and sits there.

“I guess its sturdy Bev,” Tommy calls down. Now it’s Tommy watching me climb. I’m having a harder time than Tommy because of my dress but I finally get to the second branch too. I climb over to the branch and sit beside Tommy.

“Now push me,” I demand.

“Bev… I don’t want to hurt you,” Tommy says quietly.

“Push me!”

“NO!”

“Push me!”

“No!!”

“Push me!” I shriek. Just as I yell this I hear a snap and suddenly I’m on the ground lying on top of Tommy who is screaming like a little girl.

“Looks like mommy and daddy were telling the truth,” I say as I push myself up and dust myself off. I feel a slight tingle and burn on my left leg and look down. I have a small cut (probably from a stick). Tommy is still screaming like a girl and now he is crying. By now my parents are outside.

“Oh, Tommy baby, what’s wrong?” my mom asks rushing to him.

“Moooommy, I got hurt too!” I whine. No one ever gives me attention.

“John, take Beverly inside, I’ll try to calm Tommy down, we may need to go to the hospital.” John is my dad, in case you are too stupid to realize.

“My name is Bev mom!” I say.

“Just go inside,” I follow daddy inside. He leads me to the bathroom and sits me on the counter.

“Stay here,” daddy says, “I’m going to check on Tommy and your mom.” Ugh, yeah, leave me here dad, I think in my head but I nod, and dad leaves.

I sit quietly for what seems like forever, feeling the blood go down my leg and onto my socks until finally my mom comes back.

“Where’s daddy?” I ask.

“He’s taken Tommy to the hospital, we think he arm is broken,” she says stiffly. Uh-oh, she’s mad, she always talks like that when she’s mad.

Poor Tommy, mommy and daddy probably blame him for causing us to fall out of the tree and now his medical bills will most likely send us into debt. He is so selfish. And fat.

“Can I have a band-aid?” I ask pointing to my leg.

“Of course, you’re bleeding, you need that band-aid,” she says.

She cleans my leg with that antibiotic stuff and pulls out one band-aid.

“This should do the trick,” she places the band-aid on my cut and I bring my leg up to see which Barbie band-aid I got.

Spiderman greets me.

“But…but… I wanted Barbie,” I say.

“Sorry, all we have is Spiderman,” mom says.

“But can’t you get Barbie on the way to the hospital?!” I ask. “I can not go to school with Spiderman on my leg, everyone will laugh at me, no one will want to sit with me at lunch or play with me on the playground, and I will be hated beyond belief.”

“No, I can’t get Barbie on the way, besides I’m dropping you off at grandma’s house,” my mother says calmly as if she isn’t completely destroying my life. “And if you don’t want anyone to see the band-aid, just wear pants.”

“PANTS?! That’s your advice, pants?! ARE YOU CRAZY?! Only BOYS wear pants!!”

“I wear pants.”

“You’re an old lady!”

“Thirty-five is hardly old.”

“Whatever!” I say angrily. “I earned those band-aids!”

“Earned?! Earned?! EARNED?! Oh you earned them alright, you forced your baby brother to climb a very dangerous tree, causing him to break his arm,” mommy is yelling now, but, I don’t care, she doesn’t scare me.

“That’s why I earned them!” I yell back, and then I say quietly, “I can’t believe he ratted me out! I’ll never trust him again.”

“Do you even care that his arm is broken?!”

“Not really! He’s a fattycake!”

“He is NOT fat! Now, pack your bags, I need to drop you off at grandmas.”

“I’m not going! I’m a grown woman, I don’t need to be babysat,” I say.

“Grown women do not scheme to fall out of trees so they can get a stupid Barbie band-aid. NOW, go pack or you’ll be in even more trouble. You’re already looking at a month of no dessert, TV, computer, phone OR Barbie band-aids.

I glare angrily, jump off the counter and stomp to my room. I sit on my bed. This has been the worse day of my life. I’ve lost my mindless minion Tommy, I have to stay with my grandma, whose house smells like feet and bengay, I’m in trouble and probably will be until my parents die (which may be soon since they are so old, thirty-five is ancient) and worse of all, I didn’t even get a Barbie band-aid.

My life is over, everyone at school will laugh at me and hate me and all my friends will ignore me and I’ll probably have to be friends with Pete “Pee in his pants” Malone and Snaggled-Tooth Johnson.

Ugh.

Maybe I should wear pants and disguise myself as a teacher…