My younger sister's like a nosy neighbor.

Drama begins outside and immediately you hear the squeak of her door opening.

Don't ask me why she is the way she is.

I mean, I've asked her several times.

Okay, not several...

More like fifty-plus times—

The question 'Why are you the way that you are?' has run threw my mind millions of times since the fretful day my parents brought her home ten years ago.

Anyways, I'm going off-topic here.

The reason for the whole drama and opening of the squeaky door, is my mom, although she'll argue and tell you that it was all because of me.

I'll let you decide.

SPOIL ALERT:

My mom doesn't have a nerf gun. But I do. And when I shoot, I never miss.

It all started on Friday. I was at school, acting like a good student (most definitely not daring the student body to expose Mr. Tarson's toupee set on his shiny bald head) when I was most suddenly and surprisingly sent to the principles' office. That's where I met Lucas and Justin, but they aren't very relevant in this story.

I was falsely accused of the prank in Mrs. Dawson's classroom (which was an awesome prank by the way) and set into the cold metal chair facing the principal's 'high and mighty' desk.

No matter how much I enjoy a good prank on Miss Dawson, I promise it wasn't me.

I WAS FRAMED.

I know, who would want to frame moi?

Just about every kid in the school.

Yeah, I admit it. I'm both loved, and not loved at the same time. I'm sort of respected (I think? Maybe?)...but at the same time, I have no friends.

I mean, who would want to be a friend with the sweetest, most innocent, kindest—

You get the point.

It's not like I care anyways.

As I said before, 'sarcasm is my best friend'.

Who cares?

Not me.

So, apparently, it was me, in the chemistry room with 'something that caused a fire' as my weapon.

The principal refused the questions thrown at him and even mentioned something about 'his right to silence'.

Just between you and me, I wasn't really listening.

Would you?

You probably would, if it was your principal. But if you had mine...

I'll just let your imagination run wild for a minute.

Have an idea of what I'm thinking?

Here:

Think of the thing that annoys you the most.

Now, implement it into a fifty-year-old man with a long greying beard, raspy voice, and shifty eyes.

Got it?

Good.

After the long speech and finally the decision to let me go free 'this time'. I was walked to the door.

I would have been home free if it hadn't been for that small, innocent sarcastic comment I just had to make right before freedom.

And that was it. Temporary eviction from the school. Don't tell anyone, but I call in a free vacation.

My mom picked me up, gave me a long speech, brought me home, a few things happened—blah, blah, blah, and somehow we ended up in our heated argument that my nosy sister decided to poke her head into.

Ｌａｕｇｈ

𝐓𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬.

Ｌａｕｇｈ

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞.

I'm grounded for the next month.

Thanks, Mom.

Yup, more sarcasm.

Can't help myself, can I?