"Kyle!" I heard a voice calling. "Kyle, Kyle!" I heard it again, now closer. It finally kept quiet. Right before I could go to sleep again, something hit me in the stomach, pretty much knocking the air out of me. "What?" I finally managed to groan out, without even bothering to open my eyes. "Kyle, Mom said to wake you up, so you won't miss the bus, and not go to school and get a bad grade, and, and…" As much as I love my adopted brother, Ike and as easygoing as I am, I wasn't a morning person. And being woken up by Ike isn't all that great. When I finally decided to open my eyes, there he was still talking, his dark eyes shimmering with excitement; I also got a glimpse of him holding a pillow. The kid has too much energy, I thought. I don't know if all Canadians talk this much, but at nine years old, Ike was one hell of a talker. I tried to remember how much I talked when I was that age. As I woke up, I immediately fixed my green hat, the only thing I had kept from the elementary days. I picked up random light blue polo, some ripped jeans, and a pair of sneakers. After I changed I looked at the mirror. "Damn" I said aloud as I compared the teenager in the mirror to a picture of a little 3rd grader in an orange jacket with the same green hat, me. I put my hand over my head and slipped off my hat. Now the picture in the mirror looked even more messed up. With the years, part of my reddish hair had straightened out, still leaving some curliness. Now, with the radical haircut I had given my self, mainly to get my Mom pissed off, it looked screwed up. Short, half curly and reddish, great. I put my hat back on, tightly and headed down for the kitchen. When I got there most of my appetite was gone, so I just got two pieces of toast and headed to the door. Before I could even open the door I heard, "Kyle!" it was my Mom. "Yes, Mom?" I answered not turning around. "Don't you want breakfast?" she asked. "Breakfast right here." I said raising the pieces of toast. "But Kyle, you're growing, you need to get more vitamins." "Yeah, I know, but I'm going to be late for the bus." She sighed as if trying to decide what to do. "Fine then, go." She finally said with little approval. Apparently my mother cared more about my education then my health. Late for the bus, I don't even go on the bus anymore! My Mom still believed I went on the school bus, but no. This was eight grades, not third grade. I walked my way over by the train tracks until I stood in front of a green house with broken windows and a wretched car on the driveway. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Just like every single day, I ran and hid behind some snow-covered bushes close by. I knew what was coming next. A few minutes later I heard Mr., McCormick shouting "Get out of my house!" Yes, he's drunk, I thought. After the yelling he threw out a skinny blonde boy into the snow with his backpack. The boy scrambled up to his feet and ran as if trying to escape something. Before closing the door, Mr. McCormick even threw an empty beer bottle at his son, luckily missing. The boy was wearing an orange jacket with an orange hood. Back in elementary you couldn't see Kenny's face at all, as it hid behind his hoodie. In middle school I still couldn't figure out if he had outgrown his hoodie or if he had made the decision, but know you could see his whole face. The boy silently stood in the snow. His blonde bangs flopping over his sad blue eyes. He sighed, as in finally understanding why he had to live such a bad life. He started to approach me, smiling. I finally stood up and greeted him. "Hey, Ky." He said in a low voice. I don't know when Kenny and me became best friends. The only thing I remembered after the incident with Stan last year happened, he was the only one to come up to me and try to help.I don't know if it was a way to thank me for everytime I yelled "You Bastards!" when someone killed him, but In return I let him sleepover at my house whenever he pleased. He never really wanted to go back to his house, but I can understand why. I took out the two pieces of bread that I had, from my back- pack. "Here you go, Ken." I said handing him one of the pieces, since I knew he hadn't had breakfast. "Thanks." He answered and silently started eating. We walked our way to school discussing which song was better, Back In Black or Highway To Hell. We were both into music a lot. Kenny with his drum set me with my guitar. We even played together but didn't exactly have enough members to form a band. We finally stopped when we got to our destination. Much bigger than South Park Elementary, there it stood. South Park Middle School.
