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* this is the original first draft. The rewrite is now also out on my profile! *
ᴏᴀᴋʟᴇʏ ᴄᴀʀʀɪʟʟᴏ was discovered at fourteen years old, being praised as a musical prodigy by the media ever since. His f...
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ᴏᴀᴋʟᴇʏ ᴄᴀʀɪʟʟᴏ
"You're in trouble," Trisha sang as I entered the living room.
"What? Why?" I asked. My mom didn't sound angry when I called her. In fact, she sounded rather tired. Maybe she was finally kicking me out. I was an adult-ish man with more than enough money after all.
"I don't know. I just heard mom and dad whispering about you and the word 'trouble' came up. More than once, by the way." She then shrugged and turned her attention back to her phone.
"You're such a zombie. Go do something useful," I said, pulling her phone out of her hands.
"Hey, give that back!" she demanded. I held her phone above her head as she tried to attack me to get it back.
"Go play outside or something." I laughed, nearly falling over as she torpedoed herself into my chest. "Ow, stop punching," I complained, pushing her away.
"I'm serious, Oakley! Give it back." She crossed her arms, finally giving up on attacking me.
"Oakley," my mom called from the other side of the living room.
"Hi, Mom," I said, still smiling as Trisha pouted. "Oh, by the way, you wanna hear what I wrote today? Trisha, catch." I threw her phone at her and hugged my mom, simultaneously dragging her into the kitchen where my dad was also seated at the dinner table.
"I burnt my finger today because I was getting some tea. Hurt like a bitch too."
I got some water and sat down next to my dad.
"Hi, Dad." My dad stayed quiet and smiled at me, sticking up a hand as though I was a neighbor crossing the street.
I always hated our next-door neighbors. They were assholes. Their eldest son was the biggest of them all. He 'borrowed' my first telescope for a science project once, but he returned it completely trashed.
"Oakley, can we just talk for a moment?" my mom asked, sitting on my other side.
"Trisha mentioned the word trouble," I said.
"She's not wrong," my dad mumbled.
"Is this about me barely being home lately? Because I'm feeling really good lately so maybe it's just the house bothering me or something. Maybe the orange on that one wall. It's ugly. Like, which one of you decided it would be a good idea to have an orange wall in the living room? Never mind. It must be dad because you're the only one on the planet who likes bright orange."
"It's an accent wall, Oakley." My dad sighed, shaking his head. I turned to my dad. He had this crease between his eyebrows from the life he spent worrying about everything.
