5Title: The Rules of Glory
Summary: A story about a 13 year old girl and her persuasive habits. Watch as she gets herself able to go on a road trip with her brother and her friends for the trip of a lifetime. It will change her life forever.
Disclaimer: All these characters are property to me, and if you wish to use any part of the story or a character, please contact me via AIM, e-mail or any other contact.
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Morning is one of those times when people just want to be left alone. But I'm not one of those people. If you must know the truth, I'm the complete opposite. To bed last, up first. Every morning. But Holden, he's far different. Okay, sure. Sometimes he's up late with me. But he's definitely not up first. If I hadn't woken him up every morning, he'd be sleeping all day if he wanted to. What confuses me though is how does he deal with college? I very highly doubt that his roommate wakes him up every morning. I guess those things are a mystery to us all. His snores echo through the hallway. I'm surprised he doesn't wake up Mom and Dad. Dad's the light sleeper. But then again, I think Holden inherited the snore from Mom. She wakes me up way too often.
The hallway was surprisingly silent for once. A rare event indeed. The carpet was as soft as my bed, a soothing relief to my bare feet. I almost never wear shoes unless I have to. I guess it's just the way I am. There he was, just a lump in his bed. As always. You almost never saw Holden when he was sleeping. It was quite funny. No matter how much you tried to pull of the blanket, you couldn't.
On the walls were random pictures of Holden, the crew, and I. Sheniqua, the nearby college club's DJ, Cody, the professional Cellist, and Penelope, the animal science and journalist extrodinair. Oh what a funny crew it was. No one really had any way to connect to each other. I guess there's a spark. Advancing forward I saw a framed paper on Holden's nightstand. Picking it up, it read:
Reality
The soft kiss of the wind against my cheek.
The bitter air of the winter day.
How the hours play with my mind
Yet there's nothing I can say.
The shackles hold me back,
Imprisoning me here
The words unspoken so they know
The silence of my fear.
How I wish I stayed at where I once belonged,
To listen to my mothers voice,
Her heart enchanting song.
Still the word seems clear to me,
I'm living in reality.
-G.-.-
Ah, my poem. I dedicated that one to Holden, when he was in college. He loved that one. The Mother's Voice one killed him. He broke into tears. Ever since, he had it prized on his finely finished cherry nightstand. I guess that's all the popularity it deserved. Cody liked it as well, as did Penelope. Trust me, its hard to get approval from Penelope, her being a very picky journalist. Setting it down, I turned to catch the wide-awake gaze of Holden. Had he been up all along? I gave a weird smile as Holden held out his hands. I walked over, as he hugged me to his chest.
"Good morning Glory. I see you had been admiring your poem." A chuckle came from him as he released me. His curly black hair looked like a wild animal on his head.
"Yeah... Why are you awake? You never are this early. You startled me."
"I don't really know. One moment I was sleeping, then the next thing I knew, I was staring wide eyed at a red headed monster..."
"Ha ha. Very funny." I took a seat on his bed, smiling up at him.
Holden was always the comedy relief when Cody wasn't anywhere. He always had a smart remark up his sleeve. I think I inherited that from him. It wasn't really a bad trait; it sometimes gave me something to say when I didn't have anything on my own. It was sometimes a conversation starter for both of us. Red headed monster. That's the first time I ever heard that from him. Sure, I had red hair, but I was far from a monster. I peered up at Holden again, finding my gaze on his head. Boy did he need a makeover. First Holden yawned. I couldn't help myself from yawing. There's a rumor that yawns are contagious. Ever since that one day with Vicky in school, I believe that one. But then again, I'm highly superstitious.
"I think you're the one who's a monster, Holden. A mirror would be scared of you." I retorted. Holden laughed again.
"You've seen me in the morning before. I never look good in the morning."
"You're right. Most mornings you're in the shower before I actually see you awake. Sometimes its better that I see you after you take a shower. I think Mom would pass out too."
I didn't mention Dad. He wasn't Holden's real father anyway. That makes Holden my half-brother. It doesn't make a difference though. There's s sometimes I care about Holden more then I do Mom or Dad. I guess we have a really good bond, unlike most brothers and sisters. We don't fight much either. Argue, yes. Fight, no. The longest fight I ever had with Holden was about... 2 minutes. No lie. But then there was that time when I stabbed him with a fork. But I was only 3. Cut me some slack.
"Come on. I'll make us some breakfast." Holden said. He got off the bed, and stretched slightly. He was wearing flannel pajama pants and a sweater. Quite odd due to the fact that it was summer. Sometimes I just don't understand him. The hallway was the same quiet as it had been when I went to wake up Holden. As Holden started to descend the stairs, they creaked loudly. I peered back into my parents' room. Nothing. For what seemed like minutes, we traveled down the wooden staircase. The downstairs hallway was as silent as everywhere else was. Both of us peered into the living room. Neither of us knew why. But then again, we always have. Perhaps a fear of someone jumps out to scare us.
I always thought of my brother helpful. He was always there to comfort you or help you in a way. I just wish he could do it for himself. There's sometimes I wish I could help. But of course, I can't. Being twelve isn't always good. Mom says that's a hard age. Of course. I was five when Holden was twelve. I couldn't observe him and his problems due to the fact that I was too busy with being five. Playing with my plastic "Playskool" kitchen. Dad says I loved that thing. I wouldn't doubt it, really. I love cooking now. That is, if my Mom lets me do it. Sometimes during school I put in a dinner. I don't actually make dinner because almost all we eat is frozen first. You get used to it.
Holder had the stove ready and was cracking eggs into the saucepan. I always love Holden's cooking. It always comes out good... when he doesn't burn it of course. He does that often. The cold air from the fridge made me shiver as I pulled out the ham cubes and scallions. Setting them on the table, I took out two glasses from the cupboard.
"What do you want to drink Holden?"
"Orange Juice if we have any left." I found myself opening the fridge again, taking out a small carton of orange juice. In small letters in the right corner, it read: Made from concentrate. Cheap money-makers. I replaced it after filling both of the glasses halfway. The kitchen smelled wonderful. Congratulations, Holden. You win the grand prize for not burning our food for once. Great job. Boy, did this taste great. I told you he was a great cook when he wasn't burning stuff.
"Wonderful, Holden. You actually didn't burn it. You deserve an award." I joked. From across the table I caught his smile.
"I'd like to thank the acdemy for this wonderful award. I'd also like to thank Mr. Frying Pan for not burning. Oh, and don't forget Mrs. Stove." He held up his orange juice filled glass as in a toast. I raised mine up, playing along. The glasses clanged together as we each took a sip. God, I love Holden.