There's a Tamagotchi in my House: Pt.1

**Note:** Titles in this series are not consistent. Each part has its own title, based on the main ideas of the part. So, don't go looking for "There's a Tamagotchi in my House: Pt. 2", because it will have a different focus and title.
I know, confusing. But I don't want to stay stuck with this title. =P
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One day, after a horrible day at school as usual, I found a huge box smack in the middle of my kitchen.
There was no address, no note, no nothing.
What was inside? A washing machine? A chicken? A space alien?
Maybe it was a...person.
Nah.
I slit it open anyway, and peered inside. Instead of staring at a shiny, silver washing machine, dozens of pairs of eyes stared back at me.
Shoot. Perhaps it was people after all.
6 months later
"I'm HOOOME!!!" I holler. It was, as usual, a terrible day at school. I failed my English quiz, got hit in the face with a volleyball during PE, had a Science project due next week, and sat alone at lunch with people pointing and whispering. Typical.
Akahanatchi and Shinshitchi were at their usual Monopoly duel in the living room. From the sounds of it, Akahanatchi was tussling to get Park Place from Shinshitchi, which happened pretty much every day. There was no point in saying hi to them, because they wouldn't respond at all.
Furawatchi was tending to our garden and Maidtchi was shining the silver fastidiously as well. Yup, a typical day at home.
Laughs echoed from the kitchen, and the smell of eggs and vegetables wafted through every twist and turn of the hallways. Following my nose, I turned into the kitchen, where Mametchi was standing on a stepstool, flipping omelettes at the stove, Kuchipatchi was paging through a cookbook, and Kuromametchi was picking out a lazy tune on his guitar.
"What's cooking?” I ask Mametchi, peeking over his shoulder.
“Omelettes, of course,” Memetchi says, strolling into the kitchen with Chitchi nipping at her heels. “That’s the only thing he ever cooks.”
“That’s the only thing he CAN cook,” Meloditchi points out, following Memetchi into the kitchen. To Mametchi, she said, “Can’t you try something different? Cereal, for instance?”
Mametchi waved his spatula at Melodichi. “I made mushroom, which is your favourite. Don’t complain,” he commands.
“Mushroom? Give it to me!” Meloditchi exclaims, grabbing at the plate he’s waving under her nose.
Mametchi yanks it away. “Uh uh. Not until everybody else gets here.”
Meloditchi sighs and plops into one of the many chair at our kitchen table, if you can call it that. The thing stretches from one side of our large kitchen to the other, with dozens of tiny chairs on one side and a long bench pressed against the wall on the other.
Usually, it was normal to have a more or less full table. We always had random Tamagotchi guests drop in all the time, staying only long enough to have a quick meal and a nap before leaving. I’d caught Mametchi and Mimitchi talking quickly and quietly about it last week, but both denied knowing anything about these random guests.
Surprisingly, my parents took it well after learning that Mametchi and Mimitchi were both academically talented, and the others had their own talents as well. They figured that because the Tamagotchis moved in, we had live in tutors, cooks, and maids, and they did their work willingly, without any complaint. They were kind of like Cinderella, now that I think about it.
Kuchipatchi ran from one end of the house to another, screaming “FOOD, FOOD, THERE’S FOOD, COME AND GET YOUR FOOD!”
In less than 5 minutes, the whole tribe assembled in the kitchen, eagerly trying to see what concoction had been cooked up. Some brightened at the sight of omelettes, while others’ faces fell at the sight.
“Omelettes? Again? We had them yesterday and the day before,” Lovelitchi complained, a pained exp
ression on her face.
“If Mametchi cooks, you’ll be guaranteed a fresh omelette on your plate,” Mimitchi replied with a smile.
“Yummy, omelettes! My favourite! Thanks, big brother!” Chamametchi chirped, looking adoringly at Mametchi.
Mametchi smiled. “At least somebody appreciates my cooking.”
Kuchipatchi plucked a few containers from the fridge and counter after everyone was seated and opened them with a grand flourish at the table. “Cookies, fresh fruit, and biscuits!” he proclaimed.
Everybody proceeded to eat ravenously. Some didn’t eat lunch with the others, and others had huge appetites. Omelettes were flying off the plates and soon, they were gone.
“How was school, Natalie?” Mimitchi asked in a sympathetic voice. She was one of my tutors and we often spent lots of time working on homework.
“Same old, as usual,” I sigh. “Mrs. Glip was a pain as usual.”
Makiko giggled. She was fascinated with the horrible Mrs. Glip, who happened to teach Science, my worst subject. It wasn’t exactly a match made in heaven.
Everybody was talking and laughing, the perfect picture of friendship and harmony. Life had become much sweeter when they moved in: they were always on hand to talk with or hang out with. Animated conversations were taking place around the table; Uwasatchi was discussing the perils of grocery shopping with Shimashimatchi, Meloditchi and Kuromametchi were arguing about music, and Gozarutchi was carrying a merry conversation about the latest gossip from Tamagotchi Planet with Shinshitchi.
Mametchi’s tPhone chimed, “8x9 is 72! 5+2 is 7!” He peered at the screen and his eyebrows collided. He stalked out of the room before answering it.
The kitchen fell silent at the sight of this. Shimashimatchi and Mimitchi exchanged glances, Memetchi pressed her lips together tightly and busied herself with her curl, and Uwasatchi stared at her plate, pushing around a last bite of omelette with her fork.
Mametchi came back into the kitchen, a tight, sad exp
ression on his face.
“Who was it?” Lovelitchi asked in a wavering voice.
Mametchi looked around the room before replying in a flat voice, “It was Michael.”