(Help I found an old writing assignment I hate but for some reason I’m allowing others to see this)

“N𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘺!”

“What d’you mean, 𝘯𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘺? Yes way!”

“That thing is terrifying! It looks like it’ll kill me in my sleep!”

“Well, I mean…”

“I can’t believe you actually want it as a 𝘱𝘦𝘵!”

“Oh, c’mon, it looks cool, doesn’t it look cool?” I lean over from where I’m sitting on the soft blue carpet, and shove my phone in Callum’s face.

“How many times do I have to say no before you realize I’m right?” Callum asks, swatting it away and standing up, moving to his bed.

“Well, just, your opinion is wrong!” I reply, looking back down at the picture on the majorly cracked screen.

Callum just laughs in disbelief, picking up his own phone off the wooden stand next to his bed.

“Why can’t you be normal, and want a cat or something?” He questions, unlocking his device.

“Uh, because! Cats are boring!”

“Oh, yeah?” He turns it around, showing me a picture of, admittedly, an adorable black and white cat.

I retaliate by pulling up a picture of a rainbow boa. Callum jerks back, fear etched into his face.

“Seriously? 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨?“ he shudders, shaking his head, “Just get the cat!”

“What?! Rainbow boas are awesome! It’s all snakey, and rainbowy, and, uh, something else.”

“Yeah, it’s 𝘯𝘰𝘵 happening, Jayden.” Callum turns and sits down on his bed, the wooden frame creaks, as if complaining.

“That is not fair! Snakes make really good pets, y’know! They only require food every once and a while, and…”

“So what you're saying is, they’re a good pet for a lazy pet owner?”

“No! Well, yes! But also no! I just want a snake, Callum!”

“Absolutely not.”

“But why-”

“Have you seen that thing? Why would I say yes to having a deadly animal in the house?”

“It’s not 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 dangerous…most of the time…” I trail off, knowing I’ve lost the argument. I head over to my own bed, tossing my phone on the bare mattress while evading the blankets strewn about on the floor as if they were open bear traps. We share a room, though it’s more than obvious we need our own space. The place is so cramped it’s like the smooth white walls are purposely closing in, crushing us. I’ve brought this up multiple times, trust me, but we’re supposed to, according to our parents, ‘make it work’. Which is hard to do when you’re always being yelled at for leaving stuff out in the wrong place, or not being able to enter the room for hours because it’s being cleaned, which boils down to Callum meticulously adjusting everything inside for no reason. He even follows me around while I’m in the room, picking up things I’ve dropped, or just ignored, with impatience painted on his face.

“Maybe we could get a bird. You like birds, right, Callum?” I ask, leaning back against the wall.

“Would you just give up on it already?” he edges forward on his bed, pulling out a binder stuffed to the brim with papers, neatly, of course, from where it was wedged between the frame and the mattress. No clue why Callum keeps it there, but he's weird, and, if you couldn’t tell, very precise about things.

“Is that our homework?”

“No, it’s my homework. We have different classes now, remember?”

I do remember, and am a bit dejected at the thought. Having the same classes as Callum was super helpful because I could just copy off of him. Not anymore, I guess. Leaving him to do his work, I rise and exit our room, making sure to shut the door behind me, as Callum always insists. I glide down the vast staircase, just outside our room’s entrance, and turn a corner, finding myself in the entryway of the kitchen. Despite being the place where food is kept, it almost never smells of it. Rather, the lemon scent of disinfectant. The blinding, artificial glare of the recessed lights installed in the ceiling illuminates the room, and the worn table and chairs in the far right corner, just visible from where I’m standing, have been pulled out from where they usually rest against the light beige walls, thoughtlessly scattered, likely because they were in the way.

“What did he say?” asks a mellow voice from behind me.

Spinning around, my socks catching on the strip of wood that separates the plank floors and the aluminum tiles in the kitchen, I’m face to face with my mother, who raises the thin, white cloth in her hand as a way of greeting me.

“He’s said no.”

“I thought he might,” my mom nudges me to the side, so I’m not blocking the doorway, and heads over to the dining room table, pushing the heavy wooden furniture back in its correct place.

“It’s not fair, though! Can’t I get a snake and just keep it away from him?” I complain, leaning against the suffering door frame, flakes of peeling wood poking the back of my neck. Getting an idea, I add, “This is why I need my own room! That way-”

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you right there, Jayden. If Callum doesn’t want one, you can’t get one.”

I groan, dejected.

“But,” she says, “if you can convince him, then I guess…” she scrunches up her nose in disgust, not finishing her sentence. I decide it’s best to take this as a yes. Now all I have to do is explain to Callum why snakes are the best pets.

“Callum!” I yell, thundering back up the stairs, “Callum, did you know that anti-venom is formed-”

“Jayden, shut up! Seriously!” Callum screeches through the door.

“I will persuade you!” I shout back, glancing at the clock above me, hanging high on the wall, before twisting around and running back down the stairs. I slide forward, past the kitchen and to the front door. Grabbing my backpack, which I had recklessly thrown in the corner next to it the previous night, I fling the front door open, and begin to rush outside, before remembering that there was an extremely important group assignment Mason and Emily had graced me with handling. I had to grab, and, unfortunately, finish it. Doing so, which meant dodging an agitated and scrambling Callum, who, likely for the first time in his life, was messily thrusting what he needed into his blue fabric backpack on his bed, I narrowly avoid falling through the door, distractedly checking the crumpled paper to make sure I didn’t ruin anything, then wading it up and throwing it in my backpack.

((Hjskhjskhjsk. This Isn’t even the whole thing))

(((I use commas way too much)))