Charlie Whitmen loves sports, junk food, video games, cars and basically anything-if not everything-your average teenaged boy would find interesting. But wait a second, Charlie isn't even a boy! Oh no, she's actually a girl!
Bet you didn't see that...
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A Typical Day at the Whitmens'
Nearly every household on Evergreen Street is up and about on this beautiful and luminous Sunday morning, ready for what the day has to offer them. The keyword being nearly.
While the Verdinands are all rushing about, trying to get properly attired for church, which they are already late for, the Croftons are packing up their car for a nice day at the park with their baby boy of five months, Brandon. The Millers are mowing their lawn and doing their daily chores so that they won't have to worry about them later on, and the Whitmens you wonder? Well, they're all still curled up in bed of course! What else would they be doing on a Sunday morning like this?
Every single curtain in the two-story house, painted a midnight blue, is drawn shut, not allowing even the smallest speck of sunlight to infiltrate the place. Inside, it is dead silent and eerily dark. It seems like the home is abandoned but the occasional loud snores echoing throughout the empty halls say otherwise. Suddenly, a phone starts going off, breaking the silence. The ringtone is a snippet of the bemusing chorus from the hit song Who Let the Dogs Out and the oldest of the Whitmen children groans, more than frustrated that his peaceful rest has been disturbed.
"Nick! Turn that piece of crap off!" he orders angrily as he picks up a pillow and presses it over his head. Strenuously, he tries to block out the irritating noise he has come to hate so much in the last couple of weeks but in the end his attempts are in vain as the stupid and incessant manmade barking continues to play. "I am going to murder you, Nicholas Whitmen!" he shouts with his jaw flexing as he gets up out of bed. Since he's been conscious for more than a minute now, it's practically impossible for him to go back to sleep with ease. A hostile scowl is smeared across his face while he throws his door open and stomps out into the corridor.
"Be quiet, Chase! Why are you yelling?" the youngest Whitmen snaps, standing in the doorway of the room he shares with the second youngest, Alexander. His roommate grunts quietly because the light is on and burrows himself under his blanket.
Chase shoves his little brother back into his room. "Mind your own business, Cam."
The thirteen year-old lands flat on his butt and immediately frowns in distaste. "Dad! Chase is bullying me again!" he tattles loudly. Their father's room is located all the way downstairs.
"You little runt!" Chase takes a step forward but is stopped when someone yanks down on his ear. "Ow," he yelps as the person tugs even harder. The grip is strong, giving him no chance to escape. Hell, he'd have to be a fool to even try.
"You ruined my sleep, jackass."
"Charlie!" Cameron shrieks in joy, grateful that his sister arrived just in time to save his skin.
"You ruined my sleep too, Cam. Don't think you're getting off easy either," Charlie points out curtly, narrowing her eyes at him.
"He started it," Cameron defends while climbing up to his feet. "If he wasn't yelling like a maniac, I wouldn't have had to intervene."
"Me?" Chase scoffs in disbelief, still under the girl's control. "It's Nick's fault! Him and his shitty ringtone, man. I swear I am going to break his phone one of these days. Now let me go, Charlie." He wriggles in her hold, trying to break free, but she does not comply and pulls his ear down harder.
"Don't make me sock you, Chase," she warns and his squirming ceases. He knows she isn't joking because she's punched him plenty of times before. If he's being honest, he's got to admit that his sister has one of the meanest right hooks he's ever had the misfortune of meeting. And if there's anyone who loves their sleep more than Chase in the house, it's, without a doubt, Charlie.
"You are all so annoying." Another boy saunters into the vicinity, dressed only in a pair of boxers but this kind of sight is nothing new to the Whitmens. Then he rubs his eyes and does a double-take on his older brother getting owned by their younger sister... again. What's new? "You're completely hopeless, Chase," he cackles as he clutches onto his stomach and shakes his head.
"I wouldn't be talking, Ian. I'm pretty sure you bruise easier than a ripened tomato when she punches you," Chase snickers.
Finally Charlie releases him and massages her temples. Sundays are supposed to be her sleep in until noon days; therefore she is definitely not pleased with the fact that she is already awake at nine in the morning. "I swear if I'm bothered again while I'm sleeping, you will all pay," she says, shooting the three boys her infamous and bone-chilling death glare.
"What's going on up here?" Mr Whitmen, also known as Charles, pops and dad, questions with an eyebrow quirked. A yawn quickly slips past his lips and he alters his gazes from his only daughter to his sons. "What'd you do to your sister now, Chase?" he sighs exasperatedly.
"Me?" Chase balks, pointing a finger at his face. "I didn't do anything to her, pops! It's the other way around!"
"Pansy." Charlie fakes a cough and when Mr Whitmen says nothing about her snarky remark, she gives Ian a high-five.
"See what I mean!" Chase exclaims as he makes wild gestures towards the girl. "How come when we're rough and rowdy, you ground us but when Charlie declares World War III, all you do is ask if she wants ice cream?"
"Because,"—he places a consoling hand on Chase's shoulder and hitches his lips to the side—"your sister is actually capable of initiating World War III." He pulls back and tucks his hands into the pockets of his robe before he shrugs. "And besides, you boys are much easier to tame."
"Dad, you make it sound like we're animals at the zoo or something," Cameron states.
"Aren't you?" the man counters playfully as he ruffles the boy's dark brown hair. "But since we're all up already, how about some breakfast?" Again it's quiet as the siblings exchange horrified and knowing expressions. Mr Whitmen can tell what they're thinking and sucks his teeth. "I meant at Martha's, kids. The day I can cook an edible meal, without burning the whole damn house down into ashes, will be the day Lebron James decided to go bald."
With the delegated place being announced, all of their faces brighten, even Charlie's. Yes, the girl cherishes her sleep, especially during the hot and humid months where she can easily get sunburned just by being out in the sun for less than five minutes. In her books, however, food always triumphs above everything else. "I call shotgun!" she proclaims before bolting back to her room to get dressed. On the way, she sees Nick, who looks completely out of it, and Charlie flicks his forehead.
He winces and comforts the sore spot. "What was that for?"
"Put your phone on vibra—actually, no. Next time, put the damn thing on silent or else you'll be waking up to a bucket of beetles dumped over your head," she suggests, a cynical grin swinging on her lips as she watches the goosebumps appear on her brother's arms. If there is anything Nick hates more than heights, it would have to be bugs. Just thinking about those creepy crawlers has him shuddering
Now this, this is your typical day at the Whitmens'.
