AN: This chapter's kind of a filler but I promise the next one will get things going and thank you to all those who reviewed, it really means a lot to me.

Chapter 3

Like a falling meteor from outer space, school came hurtling back into my life with a crash. The sudden flush of work pulled me away from my beloved Abett's Bakery and caused unneeded stress to build up. Due to my lack of visitation in regards to Mrs. Abett and her bakery, I had to slice any chocolate cake I had in my possession up into small pieces and ration it out, only taking advantage of the joy their taste brought to me when I was at my all time low. Ultimately I wasn't having the best time.

The same couldn't be said for Charlie, the bastard. I never gave up on my dream of a better future filled with calm, quiet nights, deep sleeps, sweet dreams and a new mattress. My persistent nagging for Charlie to buy me a new mattress went ignored as he continued on in his own dream of an entertainment system that was to be positioned in his bedroom. My dad went along with it after he was promised full access to it whenever he wanted and that was that.

I was a lone ranger left to fend for myself in this steel and concrete jungle of Hermica, full of problems such as lack of chocolate cake, a selfish brother, an indifferent father, a truckload of homework and being misunderstood by everyone. Was I a weirdo or was this just a part of being an angst ridden and rebellious teenager?

Besides the insurmountable amount of homework being assigned to me from every direction by nasty, wicked teachers, school was okay. On the first week back everyone was reminiscing on how they spent their Christmas holidays, talking about awesome beaches, awesome shopping, awesome family get-togethers, awesome food, awesome adventures… yada yada…

I was a little surprised and a lot happy when I found that my school skirt that I had never had cut, which used to reach down close to my ankles, had risen up quite a bit to almost reach my calves. I had grown finally! All the boys in my family were tall, Daddy was six foot and Charlie was only an inch or two shorter than him. I, on the other hand was five foot two—how in the world did that work out? Had my dear mother, may she rest in peace, been a midget? When I had been a wee lil bub—not even a full year old— she had gotten hit by a car while crossing the road, shoe shopping. Curse those evil shoes and that terrible shoe fetish that infected my poor mother's mind. I had seven pairs of shoes: school, flip flops, sneakers, converse, boots and ballet flats. I sincerely hoped that I would never grow an obsession so strong for (shudder) shoes.

Now back to my delightful discovery. Upon realising I had grown, I went to measure myself against my shortest friends and was overjoyed to find that I had grown past three of them. When I got back home, I searched the old tool box under the stairs, pushing back my homework for later, and managed to measure myself. I had grown a whole two inches, roughly five centimetres. Finally, I wouldn't have to tilt my head up as much to address my dad and Charlie.

I ran back upstairs to my room to do my homework, singing "I grew a whole two inches! I grew a whole two inches!" successfully annoying Charlie as he paused in his homework to yell out:

"You're still a midget!"

I huffed and screeched back "And you're still a singing princess, Snow White!" He shut up after that.

The following day at school had me in a good mood. It was Friday and I was planning on visiting Abett's Bakery after school to say hi, help out, talk and restock on my chocolate cake. I hadn't visited the bakery in four whole days. Oh the horror! I also had to run an errand—my old man's birthday was coming up, February 14, he shared the same day as Cupid's pesky arrow—Valentine's day. You'd think he'd be a little more romantic but if you were following that train of thought you'd be deeply mistaken. From what I had seen over the fifteen years I had known him, Pops had not a single romantic bone in his body. He grimaced at romantic movies, tssked at public displays of affection and drew jagged lines down any hearts I drew. My old colouring book from when I was five has enough proof of that. I often wondered why exactly he was so anti-love, perhaps it had something to do with being born on Valentine's Day or maybe he was still hung up on mum. But anyway, it was tradition for me to buy him a chocolate cake for his birthday.

I felt my spirits lift as I heard the all too familiar sweet jingle of the golden bell, walking into Abett's drool-inducing smelling bakery. "Mrs. Abett, is that you? My lord— how long has it been? I've missed you so!"I cried out to an a-little-startled but still smiling Mrs. Abett.

"It's been too long darling." She replied, air hugging me over the register. I wiped an invisible tear from my eye and proceeded to share with Mrs. Abett the cruelty of schoolwork and the joys of growing taller.

"Can you reserve one large chocolate cake for my dear father's birthday?"

The old lady gave me a triumphant grin "Already have, one large chocolate cake with 'Happy 42nd Birthday' written on it in white icing and 42 candles—good luck fitting them all in."

I chuckled in return "Oh Mrs. Abett, you know us all too well and don't you worry, I'll have all those candles in and lit up like a true pro."

The aged lady rolled her eyes before giving me my usual Friday fix of chocolate cake and bidding me a 'goodbye.' I mock saluted her in acknowledgement before heading out to buy a new pair of jeans in celebration of my growth spurt.

I studied the store's display in fascination, cracking my knuckles. I couldn't believe how many types of jeans there were: skinny, straight cut, boot leg, flared, high waist, low waist, mid waist… Buying a pair of long jeans in the middle of summer was probably not the best idea but meh. I finally settled on a comfortable and decent looking pair, bought it, got it trimmed a little, ate half my chocolate cake slice and skipped my way merrily back home.

When I was little I used to absolutely adore wearing dresses. It made me feel like a princess and I loved the feel of air that drifted its way through my legs. However that adoration faltered all thanks to…guess who? Charlie. When he was twelve he, being the evil twit he was and still (I'm sure) is, chose to not only ruin my favourite blue dress but also embarrass me at my own Birthday party.

Looking back at the event now, I can see how all those kids found my misfortune somewhat humorous but I can't see why my own brother, no matter how evil, did it to me. He was twelve and I was turning ten—it was a big day for me, I was a decade old. For my party I had decided (and how lame does this sound now) to have a princess party where I was the main princess and sat atop my stone castle, which was actually a makeshift wooden playhouse Dad had all so kindly made me during my princess phase. So I was sitting in my tower looking all graceful and benevolent when along comes a knight—an evil knight named Charlie who brandishes his sword and using that, his feet and his bullying nature, manages to embarrass me in front of all my friends. This is how things went down:

Innocent little me sitting in tower where everyone can see me

Meanie Charlie scaring me from behind with his ugly face and scary sword

Charlie stamping his foot on my prettiful blue princess dress

Me wobbling around unsteadily, dangerously close to edge

Charlie seeing his opportunity and using his deadly (okay it was cardboard but whatever) sword to push me towards the edge

Me falling out of the window of my tower, hearing a ripping sound, screaming

Me staring at the ground only a few centimetres from my head and wondering why I didn't hit the ground and why my butt felt exposed

Laughter suddenly exploding, especially loud from Charlie while I realise that the skirt bit of my dress had been mostly ripped off and only a fraction was still attached to the bodice, which was why I didn't hit the ground

Me realising I wore my pink, Little Piggy underwear today and consequently blushing furiously

Me hearing Charlie's manic laughter continuing from above and promising myself that I would have revenge

After that dreadful event I came to be known as Princess Piggy and my love of dresses was partially destroyed and replaced with my love of long jeans. They were made of tougher material and thus were harder to rip. I like to think that I've had some revenge on Charlie since then, playing pranks on him when given the chance and being a good sport and trying my best to annoy the crap out of him. Oh and that pair of piggy underwear? I burnt them in the chimney fire in our living room one fine winter evening. I flung them in and sat my tiny arse in front of the burning material, gazing at the fire and willing it to burn faster, attack Piggy full force until she was nothing put a smouldering heap of ash. Dad got really mad and scolded me for it, he seemed pretty freaked and kept worrying if I was going to grow up into a pyromaniac— but look at me now. I'm absolutely normal! I got grounded because of that incident and didn't have chocolate cake for a whole three days but it was totally worth it… ahhh good times.

I sure learnt my lesson though. I still wore the occasional dress but always wore a pair of shorts under just in case. I may no longer have piggy underwear in my possession but that doesn't mean I can't get just as embarrassed with what I have now.