There will always be a time (no matter how confident, cocky, or arrogant you are) when you're cheeks burn bright red with embarrassment and you feel like crying like a huge titty-baby.
I'm having that moment, and I never act titty-babyish!
"MOM!" I wail, getting the evil eye from my baby sisters, "I HATE NEW PEOPLE! DON'T MAKE ME GO!"
"BRAYDEN MILEY JACKSON LET GO OF THE DAMN STAIRS BEFORE THEY HEAR OR SEE YOU!"
I grip the the stairs as she tries to drag me next door, "WE DON'T EVEN KNOW THEM! THEY COULD RAPE ME, KILL ME, OR KEEP ME AS SOME FREAKY SLAVE IN THEIR BASEMENT!"
Then our door opens and a tall, obnoxious, well-built, handsome blonde boy bounds down the stairs easily.
"They live next door, "Brady (my twin) picks me up effortlessly, "and we wouldn't miss your obnoxious ass!"
My mom grabs my sister's hands and they smile at me evilly like the red-rum twins from The Shining.
"Devil's Spawn," I hiss accusingly.
The smile and fluff their black curls happily and I growl.
"You look like hellions," Mom says as we near their huge ass house with it's huge as wrap-around porch, "Put down your sister Brady, and Brayden fix your clothes!"
Brady drops me and I kick him in the shin as I stand up and smooth my clothes and my hair.
The grin on my womb-buddy's face make's my anger fade into sheepish grumbling.
"Smile," He's says pretending to flip his imaginary collar, "'cause when your with a guy with as much swag as me-"
"Shut up," I say dully, "You're so Homo it's not even funny."
Brady smirks arrogantly as the satanists and Mother-Dearest ring the door bell, "That's not what your mom said last night."
"Sarah!" My mom greeted the slender, beautiful brunette with a friendly smile and the cake held out like an offering.
"I'm so glad you could bring one of your delicious cakes!' Sarah pulls my mom through the door and gestures for us to follow, "Your shop is absolutely divine!"
"SAWYER! DAWSON! COME GREET OUR GUESTS!" Sarah yells, 'causing me to hold back a snicker.
The my mom and the satanists disappear and me Brady are standing there like jackass's.
"You wanna sneak back and play the X-box?" We ask each other at the same time.
Stupid twin synchronization.
We both pause considering.
"Mom will probably flip out," I say stroking my imaginary goatee, "and break said X-box over our heads."
"Definitely," Brady nods with a thoughtful frown and strokes his imaginary goatee too, "She'll probably poison us..."
Then from beside us a speaker thing turned red and Sarah's voice wafted out, "The boys are upstairs on your first left in the game-room, the door is blue you won't miss it."
"Yes or no?" I grimace as we walk up the stairs, " Me thinks that they'll be arrogant little pricks."
"Like me?" Brady smirks and gestures for me to go through the door first.
"No," I turn to him and gesture to the door and reply in a prim British accent, "Ladies first."
"I always thought you looked like a man," Brady sniped back as he opened the door and swaggered through, only stopping to pull me in behind him, and had to grip my arm so I wouldn't turn and walk back out.
The room was big, with basket-ball machines, game consoles, flats screens, a movie-selection that took up three walls and huge stacks of games, with comfy looking couches and gaming chairs. It was beautiful.
"Is that a mini-fridge?"
Brady shook his head, "The one next to the bar? Nahh, the one by the Soda-fountain is though."
WTF. Middle-class family is my station in life, and I am now ashamed.
"Where are they?" I peer around the room before turning to Brady, "I hope their not creepers."
Brady shrugged and looked around, "I hope you can run in those."
We both stared at the dark hard-wood floors and my sparkly pink pumps (I like sparkles and glitter FYI) with thoughtful stares.
"You wouldn't protect me?" I asked with narrowed eyes.
Brady leaned against the wall and tried to act suave as he slicked back his hair and said in a embarrassingly crappy jersey accent, "It is what it is babe. The blonde's the first ta die in ta movies."
"Your blonde too," I reply pursing my lips.
He gave me a 'DUH!' look, "But so does the girl who takes her shirt of, so keep on your shirt hoe."
I look at him and snort-
"Who the fuck are you?" A angry, deep voice grumbles.
Brady's eyes widen and then mine.
"Is that a fucking paint-ball gun aimed at my fucking manliness?" Brady chokes out.
"Yes," I nod swallowing, "Yes, Dear twin it is."