Peppa Pig: Escapee

Chapter 4

"George, give the spaghetti back," Peppa yelled from the kitchen. She was making dinner - spaghetti with jarred marinara sauce and frozen meatballs. A couple of cups of salted water were boiling in a burnt saucepan. 

George kept chewing on the dry noodles. "No."

"Why are you eating dried fucking pasta?" Peppa asked, staring at George munching on dried spaghetti. 

"These dried noodles taste better than your cooking," he said, with some crunched dry noodles falling out of his mouth. 

Peppa grabbed the box of spaghetti from George and dumped it all in the boiling water. "Rude. Feel free to make your own dinner." 

George glared at her. "I would get Postmates," he said. "But we're broke. So I'll have to eat your food." 

"My cooking isn't that bad," she said as she put a plate of frozen meatballs in the microwave. 

"Well, let's see," George said frankly, "You overcook your noodles so much you might as well be making spaghetti pudding, you need to learn to put other spices and seasonings, not just salt and pepper, and the meatballs have freezer burn."

"I can't control freezer burn," she sneered while she stirred her pot of spaghetti. 

"You could just buy meatballs that haven't been sitting at the back of the freezer for months," George said, taking out his phone. 

"We're poor, George. Who are you stalking now?"

"Some chick that competed on MasterChef," he said, liking a bunch of Instagram photos. 

Peppa sighed. "You're so weird." 

They then both heard the second floor's floorboards creak from Daddy Pig's room, which meant he was awake. George looked at his phone. 

"It's 6: 37 pm," he said. "And Dad's finally awake." 

"He's probably hungover too," Peppa said, taking the meatballs out of the microwave. "Actually, scratch probably. He's definitely hungover." 

George stared at a 24-pack of beer sitting next to the fridge. 'It's Friday. We, or you, bought that beer on Tuesday. And he's drank 13 beers. 13  cans of beer." 

"His liver is going to shrivel up and die," Peppa moaned. "And we won't be able to pay the hospital bill." 

They both heard the stairs creak under Daddy's weight, and they both stopped talking. 

Daddy Pig reached the bottom of the stairs without breaking or splintering more wood, which was a relief. He was overweight, close to obese, with a huge potbelly, bloodshot eyes, and big circular glasses. 

"Good morning," he said, his speech slurred, and he was walking weirdly, stumbling over nothing. 

"It's 6. 6 pm," Peppa said coldly, not turning around to look at him, while George stared at him repulsively. 

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he said, walking over to the fridge cradling his head in his hands. "Got a headache."

"Maybe you wouldn't have a headache if you stopped drinking so much," George snarled, his voice icy. 

"Shut up," Daddy Pig said, grabbing two beers from next to the fridge. "I work hard. I get drunk sometimes. No biggie."

"Sometimes?" Peppa said incredulously. "You're always drunk - and when have you worked? I'm the one that gets a monthly check for acting. Mom's the one that has an actual job at Jewel Osco. You don't do anything."

Daddy Pig glared at her. "Shut up and make dinner." 

And with that, he walked back upstairs with two beers in his hands.

"He's so useless," George spat. "What kind of father uses their kid's money to buy alcohol?"

Peppa grimaced, took the noodles out of the saucepan, and divided them into 2 paper plates. She put a heaping spoonful of marinara sauce on each and microwaved meatballs on top, and plopped them down on the table. 

She opened the cabinets on top of the sink, and grabbed two plastic forks, and threw them on the table, narrowly missing George's ear. "Bon appétit," she said, sitting down. 

"I don't speak French," he said, chewing on a meatball. "And these meatballs taste like shit, French or not."

Peppa stared at him unpleasantly. "Can you just eat the food and not complain?"

George held his hands up in defense. "Hey, if it tastes bad I'm going to say something."

Peppa nibbled on a meatball and spit it out. "Maybe you have a point," she said, shoving a forkful of spaghetti and marinara in her mouth. "These do taste really bad."

"Mhm," George said, evidently satisfied, while she threw the meatballs in the garbage can. 

George pulled out his phone (again) while Peppa ate her dinner in record speed and threw her plate and fork away. She sprinted up the stairs and slammed the door to her room. 

"You still haven't done any dishes!" George yelled after her. She could hear Daddy Pig blare loud 80's disco music and get drunk from her room. 

She flopped on her bed and started watching a series of Food Insider videos, all of which mentioned restaurants and fairs nowhere close to where she was, which just made her want to move away more. She was at her 9th video - some video about doughnuts - when Suzy texted her. 

U there? 

Peppa sat up in her bed and opened iMessage. Yea, hi. 

Suzy started typing, and she kept typing for a solid 3 minutes, in which Peppa finished her doughnut video and started on a video about deep fried ice cream. 

I just wanted to say that maybe you had a point about running away because I'm really thinking about it now and you definitely made some good points and yea we don't really have that much money but even if we could just stay in some hotel for like 2-ish weeks and escape from our lives for a little that would honestly be amazing it wouldn't be hard to steal the check from my mom if you're still up for running away anytime soon just a thought

She skimmed over Suzy's paragraph and typed a response. You switched up fast.

Nah my mom just passed out on our couch again and I'm kinda tired of her half-dysfuctional-ness I don't think running away would even be that bad you made a point about being sick of being here

So are you okay with stealing your check?

It isn't even like stealing when it's mine

Fair enough.

Gn peppa, glad we're on the same page

Peppa stared at the sun starting to set outside of her house. Her window had broken shutters and bird poop, and a dead plant on the windowsill inside. 

Goodnight.