My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "Birkenstocks are totally in style this season!" "No, dude. No, they're not." "What?" "They're not in style this season. Or any season, for that matter." "Oh, I'm sorry, Aaron, I didn't know you were suddenly the newest fashion police." "I didn't say that." "Okay, fashion expert." "No." "Fashion poser?" "Shut up, John." "Hey, is that the doorbell?" "Excellent observation." "Yay, the mail's here!" "I'll get the door. ...Emily? What're you doing here?" "Nice to see you, too. You by yourself?" "No, I've got a drunk John. You want him?" "I don't know, is he going to follow me home?" "Hi, Emily!" "Hi, John. Nice Birkenstocks." "Is your girlfriend here?" "No, she's in Little Man seeing f...

"Hey, Ricky! Enough!" He didn't stop. He just sneered at me. "Ricky, who's in charge here?" "Nobody." I scowled. "Try again, Ricky." My little brother stopped bouncing on the bed for only a second. "Fine then. Bitch is in charge." My face went very red. I stormed up to him. I grabbed him by the arm as he was up in the air and pulled him toward me. "Let go!" "Call me a bitch again," I snarled, "and you can sleep in the garage tonight."