Living With the Golden Boy

Don't ask why I'm out on the freezing, dark street with my parents on either side of me, staring at the wreck of my house. The three of us, bundled in our robes with our arms folded over our chests to fend off the icy air, scowl at our house - or whatever remains of it. "Bloody house mites," my dad mutters under his breath, his eyebrows drawn down so hard they dig dents between his eyes and across his forehead. "What are we supposed to do?" my mother says with a hopeless sigh. Weirdly, on the coldest night we've had in ages, she picks tonight to wear her silk pyjamas - bad call, mum. I bounce on the spot, trying to hang onto even a scrap of warmth, but it doesn't help when goosebumps prickle over my skin and the hairs at the nape of my neck stand up. Great. For the next fifteen minutes, we unwillingly stare at the wreck that used to be our home while the firemen check that nobody else is still inside. The roof has caved right in, leaving the upstairs bedrooms exposed and smashing the furniture underneath, like our house has turned into some horrible sandwich. Every downstairs window is cracked from the insane pressure of the collapse. As though it wasn't painfully obvious already, one of the firemen comes over just to say the place isn't safe to live in. Brilliant. At least all of us are alive and okay. Before long our neighbors gather to watch, pointing at the concrete and bricks scattered across our front yard. A few go to my parents with apologies while their kids snigger behind their hands. Well, that's just even better. We lose our home to termites and people are actually laughing. I want to swear, but nothing comes out. Instead, I run through every disgusting word I can think of and mouth it under my breath without making a sound. A few hours ago we were tucked up in bed, ready for a decent night's sleep, and then BAM, the roof came down. Lucky for us, we managed to get out with nothing. Shit, my laptop. I rise onto my tiptoes to talk to my dad. "Where are we meant to sleep tonight?" I ask, doing my best not to let the frustration come through in my voice. "Looks like we'll have to book a hotel for now. I'll figure something out, love." He pats my head as if I'm some puppy and I drop back off my tiptoes. I'm cold, starving, exhausted, and I'm pretty sure I have PMS. I really don't want to stand on this street any longer, feeling embarrassed. Carefully, I glance around and see our nosy neighbours have made a semi-circle around the house, with my family planted in the exact centre. Fan-bloody-tastic. If you haven't worked it out yet, I hate being the centre of attention. So no, this isn't helping. Oh crap, my makeup's in there. Focus, Nora. Your makeup doesn't matter...Well, maybe a little bit. My frown stays put, but it loosens a little when I hear Camila yelling over the noise of the crowd around us. I turn my head toward her.