I Solemnly Swear That I'm Up To No Good

1-As Long As She's Not Jamming Her Tongue Down His Throat, I'm Fine

I Solemnly Swear That I’m Up To No Good 

1-‘As Long As She’s Not Jamming Her Tongue Down His Throat, I’m Fine’

“WHY CAN’T WE STAY WITH GRANDMA? OR YOUR SISTER?”

“BECAUSE THEY LIVE ACROSS THE COUNTRY!”

“WHAT ABOUT YOUR WORK? CAN’T WE STAY THERE?”

“UNLESS YOU WANT TO LIVE IN A SMALL CUBICLE FOR THE NEXT THREE WEEKS, KNOCK YOURSELF OUT!”

“IT’S BETTER THAN MOVING IN WITH THE SWEETS!”

“THEY OFFERED FOR US TO STAY THERE! WE DON’T HAVE ANY OTHER CHOICE!”

“YOU JUST SAID WE COULD STAY AT YOUR WORK!”

“WE’RE NOT STAYING THERE, CLARA!”

“BOTH OF YOU SHUT THE HELL UP!”

My brother’s voice slices through ours like a knife. If you thought my mom and I were loud, you have to see my brother. He first glares at my mom, then at me. “Now,” His voice is quiet again, “We are staying with the Sweets. It’s final. No more arguments or we’ll stay there longer than we’ll have to. Understand?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Good. Now go pack.”

I reluctantly climb up the stairs, careful not to touch any bugs that follow me. Our house is infested with different types of bugs. Beetles, ants, flies, you name it, we got it. The exterminator told us its going to take him a couple of weeks to get them all out. 

So now we have to go room with the Sweets family. There’s a problem, though. One, they have four kids. That’s seven kids all together, including me and my two brothers. Two, my older twin brothers love playing pranks. And three, I absolutely despise one of the Sweets.

Now that I have everything packed and ready to go, I stand awkwardly in my room, watching two roaches in the corner. My two suitcases are next to me, and I have two bags on each shoulder. To keep the brown hair from flying into my face, I tied it up into a ponytail.

“GABRIELLA GOMER GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!”

I wince. Oh why does she have to use my full name? Why can’t she call me Gabi like everybody else in this house? “Coming!”

I wheel down all my stuff down the stairs and out to the car. My brothers, Parker and Porter, are loading the car. So I hand them my stuff and they shove it in the already packed trunk. Even a blind person could tell that we’re related; we all have the same winter dark brown hair and the same honey eyes. The only differences are that they’re taller by three inches and I’m 17, while they’re 18.

“Everybody in,” My mom snaps. Now she’s in her work clothes; a black pencil skirt and a white blouse. Her blonde hair is up in a swift bun, out of her green eyes. We all got our traits from dad. The same dad that left us five years ago. She’s stressed out today. She works full time at some business place and she’s stressing over the bugs and how we have to live with the Sweet family for a week.