I take a deep breath as my alarm clock begins to buzz. God, Why Can't I just stay home? Nevertheless, I drag myself out of bed and begin to get dressed. Torn blue jeans, a paint splattered shirt, old beat-up converse. Nothing that really sets me apart from others, I think as I look in the bathroom mirror. Oh well. My lips part to create a somewhat forced smile, which does nothing buy deepens the dimple on the side of my face that I inherited from Grandpa Dan. The clock on my wall ticks, grabbing my attention. 7:25. I really need to go down to breakfast.
"Dab, good morning dear!" Mum yells, and jumps forward to give me a hug. I can't help but notice that Timothy The Destroyer is sitting on the countertop beside Susan 2. Mum must have been playing again. "Here, sit down. I made you some breakfast!"
"Thanks Mum" I say, putting on my best smile. "You didn't have to, really." And it was true. And suddenly my chest got this wonderful feeling. My mom loved me so much she made me breakfast each and every morning, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, rain or shine. I slide into my favorite chair at our dining table, the blue one, and took a huge mouthful of savory eggs on toast.
As if he had been summoned by my entrance, Dad stumbled out the door of him and Mum's bedroom, pulling on his labcoat.
Now, I should tell you about my dad, Dill Howlter. He's a bit… strange. He moved to Willow Creek in his early twenties, leaving his dads Dan and Phil behind, although they still visit. Dad used to be a cook, although now he's a scientist. A pretty poor choice, if you ask me. His job brings all sorts of crazy things on our family, like mind control, aliens, and the freeze ray, to name a few. I love him though.
"Dab, how are you today? My dad exclaims, placing his hands on top of my dreadlock-covered head. He then walks over to the bar to make a drink, pausing to adjust one of his treasured MySims Trophies that he digs up in the backyard. I told you he's strange.
"Dab. Dab. Dab, hurry up. The bus is here Dab." Mom exclaims, pulling me out of my thoughts. I jump up and run to the door, grabbing my backpack as I leave.
"Bye Mom, Bye Dad!" I yell as the door slams behind me, and i can just barely hear the beginning of my parents' response. The bus sits at the street-corner, and I run into the pink flamingo in our yard as I start to sprint.
Watching as the owl slide pans out of view, I scan the bus for the one person that I always seem to catch myself looking for. Evan Pancakes