TYOA: Kirsten And Casey

"Kirsten, help me cook dinner," Frederick bossed. I rolled my eyes.
"SURE, Frederick. What am I doing?" I replied.
"The baked potatoes," he replied. I grabbed the potatoes and dumped them into the sink, then grabbed one and began furiously scrubbing it. Why did Mom and Dad always let Frederick order me around? He didn't order VICKI around, and she was almost the same age as me. Come to think of it, Vicki ALSO ordered me around, she was just subtler about it. Sure, I couldn't help in the garden because if I stayed outside to long my grass allergy kicked in. Sure, I had so many allergies it often seemed my family thought I was a burden. Sure, there was plenty I couldn't do. But what about what I COULD do? Why couldn't they just appreciate me for that, instead of demanding, "Kirsten, help out with cleaning more," when I WAS cleaning, or "help cook more," when I WAS, or just ANYTHING. SERIOUSLY, guys.
"You're not attacking the potatoes, Kirsten," Frederick berated.
"I wish you would stop talking to me," I muttered under my breath. Nonetheless, I eased up a bit, in case of further scoldings.
Soon we were sitting at the table, forks at the ready.
"Thanks, Frederick, for these lovely potatoes," Mom said, as if she hadn't had baked potatoes for dinner a thousand times.
Yeah, you don't thank ME, of course, I thought, you just thank Frederick, who only cooked bacon.
"May I be excused?" I asked.
"You haven't eaten your--oh, you did. How'd you eat it that fast?" Vicki said.
"My secret," I teased, sliding out of my seat and exiting. Audios, and hola to my secret hiding space. My secret hiding place was a secret passage in the main closet I'd found a few years ago. I slept with Vicki, so this was the only private space I had.
Oh, look, there are my pencils and paper...