The Uneventful Life of Harvey Mackler

c h a p t e r | o n e

     "HARVEYYYYYY!"

Great. There goes those extra few minutes of sleep. Those precious, beautiful, much needed minutes of—

"HARVEEEEYYYYYYYY!!!!" Harry calls out again, straining his little 5 year old vocal cords. Was it bad I sort of hope my (albeit adorable) little brother loses his voice? "I NEED YOU!"

I groan.

It's been like this since our parents boarded a jet and fled to the Amazon a week ago. Ninety percent of the time, whenever Harry says he 'needs me', what he really needs is company. Or someone to annoy. Or someone to make him food. And for some reason, that someone is always me. I blame my kind welcoming nature. It's a curse.

"HARV—"

"I'm awake! I'm coming!" I shout back in reply to stop Harry from calling me again. I let out a long groan, intentionally rolling out of bed and falling on the floor.

Fortunately, my answer seems to have satisfied Harry for now, since he doesn't reply. I stay on the floor for a few more seconds, trapped in between the covers which fell with me. I wonder what Harry's huge crisis must be this time. Considering the hour, it's probably food.

I let out a heavy sigh as I finally get up, pulling a face at my mirror as I walk past but not particularly bothering to fix my appearance. I swing my room door open to find an expectant looking Harry staring up at me.

"Morning, Harrybo," I greet the five year old.

I run my hand through my hair, partly to try and get the tangled mess out of my face, partly to stop myself from strangling my little brother from screaming despite being less than five meters away from where I slept.

"Morning, Harvey," he greets on cue. His pout however, remains fixed on his face.

"What do you need help with?"

"D'you, d'you think I can have pop tarts for breakfast?" he asks meekly; a slight stammer appears in his voice, the one he unconsciously gets when he's trying to get a point across.

"What?" I ask, frowning. "Why do you want pop tarts for breakfast? We never have pop tarts."

"B-but, Haydie is having some in the kitchen right now..." he whines.

A dark look draws on my face.

"Come on, Harry," I say, wrapping my fingers around Harry's hand, then I lead him back down the stairs. "HAYDEEEEENNNN!"

We did a lot of shouting in this house.

I pity the neighbors, I really do.

It's a good thing we don't have any at the moment. Living by the seaside tended to have its occasional perks.

By now, Harry and I have managed to march (slowly, with Harry begging me to swing him down the final two steps) to the kitchen, where my older twin is sat on the countertop, eating his way through an entire box of pop tarts.

"Hayden Bartholomew Mackler! Drop that pop tart this instant!"

Hayden turns to face my glare, raising his hands in surrender and in turn, dropping the quarter-eaten tart on the floor. Harry seizes the chance, dashing towards the pop tart. I roll my eyes, pulling him back by the shoulder before he could even get a foot away from me.