The Cassidy Boys

Chapter Six: Can you not.

Chapter Six: Can you not.

     You've got to be kidding me.

     I stare back at myself in the mirror completely disgusted.

     My wet hair hangs loosely over my shoulders, and I have huge blue bags under my eyes from sleep deprivation, but that's not why I'm internally groaning.

     I'm groaning because of the huge, swollen, bright red zit occupying the middle of my forehead.

     I lean in closer to the mirror and wrinkle my forehead a little. I will the inflamed piece of skin to go away, but when pain only continues to erupt from the skin around it, I slump back down onto my heels. I share one last defeated look with myself in the mirror before continuing to get ready for school.

     I know acquiring a zit isn't the end of the world. Some people have it worse, some people have severe acne, even on other body parts aside from their face, but when you have a big whopping pimple on the middle of your forehead, self-pity is inevitable when going out in public.

     Once I'm done with my morning routine, I walk back down the hall to my room and shrug on a red and white plaid shirt. The shirt happens to be something Wren left behind, and I use the thought as a bode of confidence as I button it up.

     After grabbing my messenger bag, I lightly tread downstairs because I don't want to wake my mom up with my obnoxious clopping, but as soon as I step into the kitchen I see the action was futile. My mom is already awake and typing away on her laptop with a steaming mug of coffee beside her.

     "Good morning, munchkin," she murmurs as she reaches for her favorite yellow mug.

     "Good morning," I chirp, sounding more awake than I feel, as I pick up the peanut butter sandwich she left for me on the table. I shove the sandwich in a brown paper bag along with a granola bar. "Dad left already?" I ask as I pop a frozen waffle into the toaster.

     "Yeah, he had a..." She trails off and brings a hand up to stifle her yawn. "Sorry, um"—she shakes her head to shake away her glassy eyes— "early conference meeting." She rubs her eyes for a second before repositioning her hands on the keyboard.

     I watch her for a few seconds longer before leaning my side against the countertop. "Let me guess, you had a dream?"

     A smile breaks out across her lips as her fingers freeze in the middle of typing her sentence. "Something like that."

     The toaster pops beside me, and my mom chuckles at the fact that I jump back. My eyes find the clock above the stove, and I immediately rip both hot waffles out of the toaster when I see I only have ten minutes before I have to catch the bus.

     I stuff the hot waffles into my face, pant when my mouth can't handle the heat, and almost choke when I take too big of a bite, but luckily the world saves me from wasting my time on such a task. Instead, the world allows me to throw on my converse, brush my teeth, and put on deodorant in record time. I only stop short when I catch another glimpse of the big zit occupying the middle of my forehead.

     I pick up my hair brush and quickly run it through my now almost dry hair, once again, trying to use the long strands to hide my imperfections. When the zit doesn't magically disappear like I want it to, I hastily spray myself with perfume before leaving the bathroom, refusing to let the ugly blemish ruin my day.

     I run back into the kitchen, grab my phone out of the charger, swipe my bag off the kitchen chair, and kiss my mom on the cheek, before heading towards the door as she bids me goodbye, and wishes me to have a good day.