Well, I've finally managed to concentrate on one task long enough to write a story. There's some bad language (used in the name of simulating the teenage male mindset), but nothing too explicit. So without further ado:
Dancin'
Saturday.
Thank God.
Roll over. Hit alarm. Reach for glasses. Parents are gone. Thank God again. Stand up. Yawn. Walk into kitchen. Stumble into wall. Set table. Heat waffles. Wait. Eat. Good. Stand up. Go to bathroom. Turn on water. Take off clothes. Get in shower. Water. Good.
Nice, refreshing, cold cold cold water...
I hate waking up.
After yelping and shutting off the water, I stood shivering for a moment, stunned, before I had the sense to get out and let the hot water run. While I waited for it to heat up, I tried to remember why I was so tired this morning. I groaned as it hit me. Staying up until three did funny things to my head.
I started to brush my teeth after the shower, which wasn't something I got done too often anymore. The last time that had happened was Thursday morning. Right before the science project. God, how I had hated that project. More accurately, God, how I still hated that project. But it was Saturday, and I could put it off a little longer now. Until Mom came home, anyway...
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. A blue-eyed face with brown hair sticking up in every direction stared back. I tried my best to judge my appearance as I carefully combed my long hair into place. Would that freckle make me look better or worse? Was my nose too large? Did I look "handsome", as people put it? I didn't know, and I highly doubted that I ever would.
While changing clothes, I wondered what to do. With my consoles and computer out of the picture, it was all set to be an absolutely boring day. The point of this "brilliant" strategy from my parents was to leave me with no choice but to do my work, and it almost seemed to be doing its job. There was no way to play games left in the house. I thought that over for a minute. No way to play games in the house...
The solution was obvious.
A quick inspection revealed everything to be set. Black T-shirt, black shoes, and long jeans. No one could give me any crap for that on the off chance that I met one of the more "physically active" (a.k.a. “mentally disabledâ€