NEW STORY!
Don't worry, I'm still working on "First love is a pain" but now I'm doing two KB stories at once. And they both revolve in the TEEN future.
And it just so happens that I have an awesome anime-twist for it.
Kendall's POV
Everyone knows I'm perfect. My life is perfect. My clothes are perfect. Even my family is perfect. And although it's a complete lie, I've worked my butt of to keep up the appearance that I have it all. The truth, if it were to come out, would destroy my picture—perfect image.
Standing in front of my bathroom mirror while music blares from my speakers, I wipe away the third crooked line I've drawn beneath my eye. My hands are shaking, darn it. Starting senior year of high school and seeing my boyfriend after a summer apart shouldn't be so nerve wrecking, but I've gotten off to a disastrous start. First, my curling iron sent up smoke signals and died. Then the button on my favorite white top popped off. Now, my eyeliner decides it has a mind of its own. If I had any choice in the matter, I'd stay in my warm comfy bed all day.
"Kendall, come down," I faintly hear my Mother yelling from the foyer. My first instinct is to ignore her, but that never gets me anything but arguments, headaches, and more screaming.
"I'll be there in a sec," I call back down, hoping I can get this eyeliner to go on straight and be done with it.
Finally getting it right, I toss the eyeliner tube on the counter, double and triple check myself in the mirror, turn off my stereo, and hurry down the hallway.
My Mother is standing at the bottom of our grand staircase tapping her foot, and scanning my outfit.
I straighten. I know, I know. I'm eighteen and shouldn't care what my Mother thinks, but you haven't lived in the Perkins house.
When I was a kid my Mother used to live in another town, so she was absent for the majority of my childhood, but she came back to live with us two years ago and made us move to the west side of MellowBrook—you know— where the more wealthy neighborhoods are, consisting of desperate gossiping housewife's and spoiled rotten kids?
She made us move from our old neighborhood because it was, and I quote: "too loud and filled with commoners." You see, my Mother has anxiety. Not the kind easily controlled with little blue pills. And when my Mother is stressed, everyone living with her suffers. I think that's why Dad goes to work before she gets up in the morning, so he doesn't have to deal with, well, her.
"Hate the pants, love the belt," Mother says, pointing her index finger at each item. "And that noise you call music was giving me a headache. Thank goodness it's off."
"Good morning to you, too, Mother," I say before walking down the stairs and giving her a peck on the cheek.
The smell of her strong perfume stings my nostrils the closer I get. She already looks like a million bucks in her Ralph Lauren Blue Label tennis dress. No one can point a finger and criticize her outfit, that's for sure.
"I brought your favorite muffin for the first day of school," Mother says, pulling out a bag from behind her.
"No thanks," I say, looking around. "Where's Palm?"
"In the kitchen."
"Is her new care taker here yet?"
"Her name is Brenda, and no. she's coming in an hour."
"Did you tell her wool irritates Palms skin? And that she pulls hair?"
Palm's always let it be known in her nonverbal cues she gets irritated by the feeling of wool on her skin. Pulling hair is her new thing, and it has caused a few disasters. Disasters in the Perkins house are about as pretty as a car wreck, so avoiding them is crucial.
"Yes. And yes. I gave her an earful this morning. If she keeps acting up, we'll find ourselves out of another caretaker."
I walk into the kitchen, not wanting to hear Mother go on and on about her theories of why Palm lashes out. I find Palm sitting at the table, busily eating dice peaches, as usual, the food has found its way onto her chin, lips and cheeks.
Palm is my six year old cousin, who comes from the Japanese side of my family. She moved in with us four years ago after her own Mother died from cancer. Since then, she's been like a sister to me. Her real name is Inu, which is dog in Japanese, and because of that she doesn't like her name. So we just call her Palm, because of her little fascination with Palm trees.
My parents are still debating if Palm will stay with us permanently. I hope she does, she's already become more family to me then my own parents. But unfortunately for my parents, Palm has been diagnosed with Autistic disorder. It doesn't mean she's unintelligent, just mute, and extreme difficulty socializing and controlling her emotions, resulting in her acting out. But she has no problem with me.
"Hey, Palm tree," I say, leaning over her and wiping her face with a napkin. "It's the first day of school. Wish me luck."
Palm holds her delicate small arms out and gives me her usual adorable smile with her big grey anime like eyes sparkling extra. I love that smile.
"You want to give me a hug?" I ask her, knowing she does. The doctors always tell us the more interaction Palm gets, the better off she'll be.
Palm nods, and I hold her tiny frame in my arms, careful to keep her hands away from my hair. Palm may look like a fragile tiny like girl with doll like features, but don't let her appearance fool you, this kid could really do some damage.
When I straighten, Mother gasps. It sounds to me like a referee's whistle, halting my life. "Kendall, you can't go to school like that."
"Like what?"
She shakes her head and sighs in frustration. "Look at your shirt."
Glancing down, I see a large orange stain on the front of my white Calvin Klein top. Oops. Palms peaches. One look at Palms drawn face tells me what she can't easily put into words.
Palm is sorry. Palm didn't mean to mess up your outfit.
"It's no biggie," I tell her, although in the back of my mind I know it screws up my "perfect" look.
Frowning, Mother wets a paper towel at the sink and dabs at the spot. It makes me feel like a two-year-old.
"Go upstairs and change."
"Mother, it's just peaches," I say, treading carefully so it doesn't turn into a full-blown yelling match. The last thing I want to do is making Palm feel bad.
"Peaches stain. You don't want people thinking you don't care about your appearance."
"Fine." I wish this was one of Mothers good days, the days she doesn't bug me about stuff.
I give Palm a kiss on the top of her little head, making sure she doesn't think the stain bothers me in the least. "I'll see ya after school." I say, attempting to keep the morning cheerful. "To finish our checkers tournament."
I run back up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. When I get to my bedroom, I check my watch.
Oh no.
It's ten after seven. I'm gonna be late picking up Erin. Grabbing a teal blue scarf out of my closet, I pray it'll work. Maybe nobody will notice the peach stain if I tie it just right.
When I come back down the stairs, Mother is standing in the foyer, scanning my appearance again. "Love the scarf."
Phew.
As I pass her, she shoves the muffin into my hand. "Eat it on the way."
I take the muffin. Walking to my car, I absently bite into it. Unfortunately it isn't Blueberry. My favorite. Its banana nut and the bananas are overdone.
It reminds me of myself—seemingly perfect on the outside, but the inside is all mush.
Kick's POV
"Get up Kick."
I scowl at my little sister, and bury my head under my pillow. There's no escape except the little privacy that a lone pillow can give.
"Leave me alone Bri," I say roughly through my pillow.
"I'm not kidding around with you. Mom told me to wake you, so you won't be late for school."
Senior year. Finally. I should be proud that I'll graduate but honestly I could care less. Since I never liked school to begin with, this is just a minor achievement. After graduation real life will start.
"I'm I'll dressed in my new clothes," Brianna's proud but muffled voice comes through the pillow. I don't even have to look to know she still prepping herself up.
"Good for you," I mumble.
"Mom said I should pour this pitcher of water on you if you don't get up."
Was privacy too much to ask for? I take my pillow and chuck it across the room. It's a direct hit. The water splashes all over her.
"KICK!" She screams at me. It felt like an earthquake was erupting from the way my room vibrated. "These were brand new!"
A fit of laughter is coming through the bedroom door. Brad, who claims himself as the man of the house, is laughing like a frick'in hyena. That is until Brianna jumps him.
Exasperating a sigh, I finally jump out of bed, running a hand through my bed hair as I walk towards them. If their gonna duke it out, I'd rather them do it in the hall and not mess up my room. I grab the back of Brad's shirt but trip on Brianna's leg and land on the floor with them.
Before I can regain my balance, icy cold water is poured on my back. Turning quickly, I catch Mom dousing us all, a bucket poised in her fist above us.
"Get up," She orders, her fiery attitude out in full force.
"Shit, Ma," Brad says, standing.
Mom takes what's left in her bucket, sticks her fingers in the icy water and flicks the liquid in Brads face. Brianna giggles and before she knows it, she gets flicked with water as well, will they ever learn?
"Anymore attitude, Brianna?" She asks.
"No, Mother," Brianna says, standing straight.
"You have any more filthy words to come out of that mouth of yours, Brad?" She dips her hand in the water as a warning.
"No, Mother," Echo's soldier number two.
"What about you Kick?" Her eyes narrow into slits as she focuses on me.
"What? I was trying to break it up," I say innocently, giving her my you-can't-resist-me smile.
She flicks water in my face. "That's for not breaking it up sooner. Now get dressed, all of you, and come down stairs for breakfast."
So much for my you-can't-resist-me smile. "You know you love us!" I call after her as she leaves the room.
After a quick shower, I walk back into my bedroom with a towel wrapped around my waist. I catch sight of a photograph of my old man on the top dresser.
Dad…...
I quickly shake my head as I grab and pull on my jumpsuit. When I reach for my helmet, I hear Mom's voice bellowing from the kitchen.
"Kick, come eat before the food gets cold."
"I'm comin'," I call back. Grabbing my helmet I leave the room. Brad's already chowing down on his breakfast when I enter the kitchen. I open the refrigerator and scan its contents.
"Kick, sit down,"
"Ma, I'll just grab—"
"You'll grab nothing, now sit. We're a family and were going to eat like one."
I sigh, close the refrigerator door, and sit beside Brad. Sometimes being a member of a close family has its disadvantages. But we weren't always close…Not until the day Dad died.
Mom places a heaping plate of bacon and eggs in front of me.
"Thanks…" I mutter, with my head down while I stare at the food in front of me.
Brad stops eating, "Hey! You better be grateful dillweed, Mom works hard for us," Brad points a thumb to himself," And as man of the house so do I, and what do you do around here?" He snarls, challenging me.
My muscles tense. I glare at the so called designated man of the house. "I work too," I say through gritted teeth.
"Oh, yeah. Cause jumping through hoops as someone's grease monkey is really helping out with supporting the family." He spats sarcastically.
I've had enough of Brad's mouth; he's gone too far. I stand, my chair scraping the floor. Brad follows and steps in front of me, closing the space between us. Now that I'm older—and taller—Brad knows all too well, that I could kick his a** just as well as he can kick mine.
"BOYS! Enough fighting for one day!" Our Mother pleads. At that moment, Brianna walks in—wearing completely new attire— she groans when she sees us. Brianna hates the fighting just as much as Mom, and desperately wishes things would go back to how it was before.
But that will never happen.
"If you hadn't let Dad die, things wouldn't be this way!"
"BRADLY!" Mom reprimands sharply. As she comes forward, but I get in-between them and grab my brother's collar.
"…!" I'm at a loss, because I have no comeback for that, I don't even want to think about that. But ever since Dad died, life in the Buttowski house was in chaos.
Mom was depressed, Brianna would always be locked in her room crying, Brad was pissed off at everything, and I …I think I was the worse. But after a while Mom finally pulled it together and got a grip on our lives. We were made into a closer family. In the Process she's gotten a hell of a lot tougher.
What single Mother wouldn't, when you have to juggle work and raise three out-of-control teenagers?
I release Brad's collar. "….." I still have nothing to say. He doesn't say anything either.
"Brad. Sit down." Mom orders from behind me.
"Sorry, Ma," Brad apologizes, than sits back down. I don't miss his expression as he starts to regret opening his big mouth.
Mom turns and opens the fridge, trying to hide her tears. Biscuits. She's worried about us. It's not only my last year in school but most likely at home too. So this year is either going to make us or break us.
I put on my helmet, needing to get out of here. I quickly give Mom a peck on the cheek with an apology for ruining breakfast, then step outside.
My eyes instantly land on my motorcycle; the paint job is the same colors as my jumpsuit. My veins fire up before I straddle on. I'm still peeved with Brad. For his information; I work two jobs. The first is my main priority, my career as a Daredevil is finally lifting off. It's a slow process, but I don't mind working hard for it. The second is just my back-up career plan.
I put on a heck of a show to the outside world, sometimes I even surprise myself.
I try to focus on starting my senior year at MellowBrook High, the here and the now. It's probably going to be difficult, but hey, I've been through worse.
Literally.
How was it? I'm curious to know your opinions so I can see whether or not I should continue.
And for those of you who have never heard of Autistic Disorder, and have no idea what it means. Then go look it up. Because it's kind of hard to explain—or better yet!
Look up this name "Temple Grandin" who is a brilliant woman born with autism and man, she's just amazing. They even made a movie about her.^^ (Palms situation is similar to Temple's.)
