I shove myself away from the desk and spin my chair around so I can stand up.
A glance at the clock reveals it to be seven-thirty and I let myself sigh longingly as my eyes drift over my already made bed. Since its Friday, at least I’ll be able to sleep in tonight and hopefully all through Saturday, if my mum lets me.
Grabbing my school bag, I wander downstairs where the rest of my family dwells in the kitchen, cutlery banging loudly as everyone eats their much needed breakfast.
“There she is,” my mum glares as I walk in.
“What?” I try not to look guilty. “I have half an hour. It’s not like I’m late.”
“You will be if you keep this up,” mum waggles her fork at me before piercing some bacon and sticking it in her mouth.
Feeling defensive, I launch into the same rant I’ve been doing a lot lately.
If I time it right, I can post on my blog and Facebook without it interfering with school and my family life. I go to bed at a decent hour (not, but she doesn’t need to know that), I still go out and socialise with my friends and the biggest one of them all,
BLOGGING IS NOT MY LIFE.
Seriously, the lies you see around on Tumblr and other social Medias about blogging make my life so much harder.
Of course though, as usual, mum doesn’t seem to listen at all.
“School before blog,” she chews loudly. “Now hurry up and eat.”
Sighing and grumbling, I drop my bag besides the kitchen counter and move around to where my sister, Becky, is buttering some toast.
“Move out of the road, loser,” I say teasingly and push her sideways. She of course pushes back.
“Mum, Morgan shoved me over!”
“I did not!” I lie, but no one seems to care.
Standing next to Becky, I quickly slather a heap of butter on the organic bread my mum always buys and top it off with some jam before scooting around my sister to sit at the table alongside the rest of my family.
I have five sisters, including Becky. Teagan, the oldest, sits opposite of me where she gives me a lazy and evil smile before she stretches her arms up and yawns. Since she’s eighteen, she has no school to go to and since she just got fired, she has no job to get to either. Odds are she’ll sleep in all day.
Darcy, who comes after me in the family, sits at my left where she stares out the window and sighs every few seconds or so. At the age of fourteen, she values sleep above all else and doesn’t appreciate being dragged out of bed every morning, literally. She scoops up cereal in her bowl, eats it and then lets out another sigh before catching my eye and glares, the type of glare that says don’t-say-anything-or-you-die.
Tara, the youngest girl in the family, sits next to Teagan and hungrily stuffs food into her mouth without stopping. Recently turning ten, she seems to run on the belief that the more you eat and joke, the easier life is. Usually I’d agree, but as I watch her stick her finger in her mouth and then jam it into Teagan’s ear, I decide her jokes aren’t the type of jokes that I find all that funny.
Billy, the only boy in the family minus my dad, isn’t even eating at the table with us. Instead he’s perched on the couch in the lounge room, eyes trained on the TV as he absorbs some unhealthy cartoon into his brain. Since he’s only five, he doesn’t start school for another year. I feel jealous towards him.
My thoughts of my family are broken when Becky takes a seat to my right, opposite my mum who sits at the other end of the table. I glance down at her plate and smile when I see the sack of toast she has ready to eat, seven in total.
The thing is, Becky has autism. When she does stuff like this, making a heap of toast for example, it’s sort of a clear sign. At the age of eleven, Becky is still trying to find her place in the world and I suppose, when you’re autistic, that’s really hard to.
She can’t relate to anyone and she finds it hard to carry conversations. She has a super sensitive nose and can smell something far off in the distance and she has the hearing of a dog, meaning she can’t handle loud music from the pain it causes in her head.
Still, as she kicks outwards under the table and her shoes clip my knee, causing me to wince, I decide she’s just really annoying. Autism isn’t what should define someone like my kooky sister, but unfortunately it does.
I start to feel saddened as I’m reminded of the time Becky would come to me, asking why no one liked her and why she couldn’t understand their lingo. No one wanted to sit with her at school, no one wanted to have a sleepover whenever she’d ask someone.
No one was willing to accept my sister for the beautiful person she was.
I could literally feel the tears welling up so I cleared my eyes and started to talk before I had a breakdown in front of anyone and probably end up being banned from watching Sherlock.
“I’ve been nominated for the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge,” I announce casually.
Teagan snorts, Darcy shifts and Tara just keeps on eating. I see my mother wince and feel Becky kick me in the knee again.
“You can’t do it,” mum shakes her head after swallowing. “Its winter and I’m not letting you get sick.”
“If I don’t do it, I have to donate.”
“That isn’t law, Morgan,” Teagan teases. “What, do you think they send out private agents to beat up those who don’t dump ice over their head or pay a few hundred dollars?”
“But I want to do it,” I argue. “It’s for a good cause.”
“What’s ALS anyway?” Becky asks as she picks at her toast.
I open my mouth, but quickly shut it. I have to admit, even though it’s been going around for over a month now, I still have no idea what the hell the disease is or does. Still, I decide if it’s bad enough to get such reception now, it must be important.
Luckily, Becky doesn’t seem to really want an answer and mum decides to start ranting about how the ice will just make my feet cold and how I’ll get a cold and possibly hypothermia and die.
When mum’s finished ranting and I solemnly face the fact I won’t be doing the Ice Bucket Challenge, Becky pipes up.
“I want to start something like that, make people stick their hands in hot water maybe and call it the Becky Challenge.”
I roll my eyes at her antics as does the rest of us.
“What would it raise awareness for? It has to have a meaning behind it.”
“Maybe it could be about how awesome I am?” she shrugs. “Maybe it could be for different people like me who everyone seems to hate.”
I meet Teagan’s eye out of the corner of mine and I see her shake her head. Even though my heart hurts at her words, I keep my words light.
“Maybe we could do something like that and I could use my blog to promote it, but Becky, no one is going to be crazy enough to stick their hands in boiling water.”
Becky stands up, plate of toast in her hands, and shrugs.
“If people are stupid enough to put a bucket of ice over their head, I’m sure they’ll be stupid enough to do it with hot water.”