My Brother - Chapter 3

Is he going to be my brother? I cover myself with the mosquito net. A week. Precisely seven days till The Big Day. Precisely seven days till that little dude enters and sabotages my life. My horrible life. And I bet you, he’ll sabotage it so that it’s worse. The smell of home-made spaghetti wafts through my room. “Mum, what are you cooking?” I shout from upstairs. “What was that honey?” comes the reply. I sigh and trudge down the stairs. The smell is getting stronger. I like it. “What are you cooking?” I repeat. Mum looks at me proudly. “Ah, I’m making some home-made spaghetti; I know it’s your fave”. I roll my eyes. “Who are you adopting today?” I ask. Mum sighs.
“No-one. I just want you to take the whole…situation, calmly. Happily. Proudly”. Great! I’m glad mum’s not a psychiatrist. Fortunately, she’s a dentist. I grunt and walk back upstairs. I turn the fan on, even thought its seventeen degrees outside. Suddenly I shift my thoughts to Luke. Do I have to play with him? Where will he sleep? How does he behave? I fall asleep in the pit of questions.

“Mum! I can’t find my shoes!” I call to mum from under the bed. I shift all the junk I stuffed there away, and make my way out. I sigh. Not in there. “Have you checked the shoe cupboard?” she responds from the laundry. Derr. I walk towards the laundry room. “Honey! I have to leave for work!” shouts dad. You haven’t heard much about dad. He’s tall. Obedient. Warm. Late for work. “Coming dad!” I shout. “Mum, have you seen them?” I repeat, to find her crouching beside the washing machine. “Aha!” she says, holding a pair of dirty shoes enveloped in spider webs. “I’m not even going to ask how they got there”, she says. “I’m questioning myself”, I murmur.
“Pardon?” says mum. Better not let anything slip: she’s quick.
“Ready dad!” I yell, running to the car. He’s already there. “Han”, he begins. Han? “You have to get more organised. You’re in grade twelve-”
“Eleven”, I correct him. “Eleven next year. Exams!” If I get through, and not get held back in grade ten. I’ve kept my luck with me, so I’ve never been held back. Was it that bracelet that Forshar Senkevitch (some really weird psychic lady) gave to me as a lucky charm at the Royal Adelaide Show? I hadn’t really believed it was a lucky charm; I just bought it because it was pretty. When I went back to Sydney after the holiday, I caught some people eyeing it. I wonder if they’d go to Adelaide just to get the bracelet. I shake it on my wrist. “Han! Hannah!” I look up. “Did you say something?” I ask dad. “What lessons do you have today?” he repeats. My eyes widen. Art! I think of wagging art, but then I kick away the thought. It’s been ages since I did art. There’s only one thing that’s slightly standing in my way. Mr Shokhaseen.
“Maths, English”, I gulp, “the usual”. I stare out of the window, trying to make it obvious that I don’t want to speak. I adore silence.