Connor by Dormaine G Page A

listening to him yell at me from the hallway.
    “You shut the door in my face with your long monkey arms,” he whined from the other side. He tried to get back in, but it wouldn't budge. The knob twisted and turned as he tugged on it but refused to open.
    Standing there still frozen, unlike the way frozen in the tunnel, not wanting to move but pondering what just happened. From here, I could see the door was clearly not locked, yet it would not open.
    Could I be doing that?
    I took a slow deep breath, allowing myself to relax my thoughts when Kane practically flew through the door. He must have put all his weight into it, not expecting it to open, then tripped over his left foot, hitting the floor hard.
    He scurried off the floor, rubbed his nose, and said, “You alien with long monkey arms! I'm telling Mom you're in this office and that you hit me with the door.”
    He rambled on about something, but I inadvertently tuned him out. Under normal circumstances, I would have laughed myself into hysteria when he fell, but there was nothing normal about these circumstances. All I could think of was the possibility of me shutting the door in my brother's face from the middle of my parents' office.
    Next thing I heard was the front door closing, which brought me back to reality, and Kane whining all the way downstairs. “Mom, Connor…”
    Seriously, that kid doesn't skip a beat. Attempting to put things back where they were, I overheard him whining about where I was and what cruelty I forced upon him by hitting his nose with the door. What a menace, always getting me into trouble.
    “Connor,” my mom said from the front room below.
    “Yes,” I said, slipping into the hall quietly, trying to shut the door.
    “Come down please,” she said.
    Somewhat in a daze, I somehow managed to make my way down to the kitchen. She was fumbling through the fridge, looking for what she was going to make for dinner.
    I don't know why my mom wears heels and a dress suit every day to work when she has to wear a lab coat. If I were her, it would be comfortable jeans day every day.
    “Did you slam the door in your brother's face, and were you in the office?” she asked, pulling out some meat and stared at me.
    What was I going to say—no, it was a figment of his imagination, or the wind did it? So I owned up to it.
    “Don't slam the door in your brother's face, and stay out of that office please. You know we have important papers in there,” she said, pissed.
    Rolling my eyes, I said, “Not to me. I mean, sure.” I tried to suppress a grin, failing miserably. She gave me that look parents give that says, “You're pushing it,” while trying to console the little reptilian who was holding on to her leg for dear life.
    Little brothers are so annoying and dramatic. Thank goodness for kids' rationalization of things. If he were more aware, he would have realized I was about ten feet from the door so I could not have reached it. Also, my hands were holding some files.
    After ten seconds of the stare down, I turned to leave. I wanted to call Tony and tell him the good news when she stopped me first pivot.
    “Where are you going, young lady? Turn right back around and get dinner started, and next time, do it as soon as you get in. You know the rule: whoever is home first starts dinner. Is your homework done?” she snapped at me. She hates it when I roll my eyes, but sometimes they just do it on their own. I cannot control all my bodily movements.
    “Why do I have to start dinner all the time? Queen Precious is never here to do any work, and yes, I finished my homework in free period. It's in the den on the table like always,” I said, frustrated that my parents constantly stay on me about my schoolwork. It's seriously annoying. Well, it is my fault, but still they could ease up.
    “If you were in a sport that ran late a lot, then you would not be here either, but you are, so get started. I will look your homework over in a bit,” she