Being 15 years old, Christmas Eve is always so exciting. Tomorrow we get to wake up, get presents and spend time together with my family. I usually hate spending time with them, because my parents are idiots and my sister is a bitch, but lately we've all gotten along.
"Stan, can you decorate the tree?!" I groan loudly and roll my eyes as I hear my mom yell at me from upstairs. Why is it always me?
I trudge my way along to the closet and grab the giant box of tree ornaments, close the door and toss the box onto the couch. I heave out a sigh before opening the box to see a piece of mistletoe on top.
Oh, well, it's kind of pointless to put that up. I leave it in there and grab some sparkly, colorful ornaments, about to put some on the tree when the doorbell rings.
" My dad whines drunkenly from upstairs as well, "Get the door!"
"Oh my God
" I squeeze the ornament in my hand so hard I almost break it. I walk quickly to the door and open it to re