A Night and A Day

Jennie turned the music of her iPod up a few notches louder. The Beatles pounded through her head, almost too loudly, if that was possible. Her father loved the Beatles from his ‘60s, hippies, turn out-tune in-drop-out-drop-in days. She’d had to shower late that night, so she was trying to kill time until her hair dried. She wished that she’d had an iPod back in the days when her parents still fought. Nearly deafing herself was much better than hearing the screaming.
They didn’t fight anymore. At least, not “fighting.” Her parents had moved on to ranting: “I have to take you everywhere! You determine my life!” “You need to work and practice!” “You never do anything to help me!” “Your mother is such a slob!” It was painful. Her mother stuck her head into her room, almost like she’d heard herself being thought about.
“Lights out, honey. Good night, sweetheart. ”Her mother came and kissed her, than walked away and turned out the hall light. The light made her feel safe. She wanted it on.
She jumped around her iTunes playlist, trying to distract herself from the offending light. She finally settled on “1 2 3 4” by Feist. She actually couldn’t remember Feist’s first name. Nancy? Lacey? Who knew? Her father always talked about the way that it was actually a sad song, about lost love. Like the Plain White T’s. All their songs were about a sad, dumped guy trying to win a girl back. Her friend thought “Hey There Delilah” was stupid and idiotic, but she thought it was what everyone wanted to hear. Her friend was probably just upset that her boyfriend had never done that for her.
She woke up, hearing a quiet voice in her head. What was it? And what was around her neck? Her eyes opened, unwillingly. Black cord. Around her neck. What was that voice? It sounded like… John Lennon? NO! Her iPod was still playing. Shoot shoot shoot shoot shoot. She pulled it out, locking it so the probably one minute of battery was left. How did she fall asleep? Jumping out of bed, she ran to her bathroom, where she brushed her teeth for less than two minutes, duped water on her face and ran to her room. Purple sweater, white undershirt, super-flare jeans, height increasing boots, Burt’s Bees Champagne lip shimmer, brush through the hair. She ran down the stairs.
Her father fad a plate of waffles with Nutella in front on the table for her. She sat down, flicking the Style page open, than bit.
“Good night sleep?”
“Yep.”
“Nothing disturb you?” Jennie looked up, into her father’s face.
“Should something have?”
“No.”Her father held her gaze.
“What?”
“Did you see the article about the US women’s softball team?” Her father flicked through the pages.
“What was it?”
“Your mother and I had a little fight, that’s all.”
Little. Right.
“Oh. What was the article?”
He showed her the picture, and she read the story. He made her more waffles and she ate them. He talked and she responded. But it wasn’t important. Not as important as the questions she had. Were her parents fighting again? Over what? Why wouldn’t he tell her? Was it her fault?
“Time to head to school.”
She grabbed her bag and followed her dad out the door. Recently, he mom had been working out at the gym in the mornings. It meant she wasn’t around. Her mom said she missed them, but Jennie thought she saw something else in her mother’s eye. On the ride to school her father played “Revolver.” Eleanor Rigby, Taxman, all the songs filled the empty car. Jennie felt too tired and too full of feelings to speak. Getting out of the car, her father said
“Love you, Jenn.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
She grabbed her bag and headed into the school building and headed right, than another right, than straight to locker number 621.
“Yo, Jennie.”
She turned around to see her best friend, Alana.
“Hey A. What’s up with the long sleeves, it’s almost spring!”
“Plenty of other people are wearing long sleeves. Why are you picking on me? God. It’s a sleeve.”
“Sorry, but take a breath.” Alana leaned onto a locker, tilting her head back.
“Sorry. ”
“But seriously, what’s with the sleeve? Since when did you try to stay pale, Ms. Sun Burn Queen 2006?”
“I’m still red, you know.”
“From the sunburn?”
Alana took a breath, then looked away. “Yeah. That and, you know.”
“Know what?” Jennie had a feeling she knew where this was going, though. This conversation could only lead to the night Alana had showed up at her house, with jeans and flip-flops and a camisole and a bruise on her upper arm. They’d never really talked about it; she only knew that Alana had refused to go home.
“The night. I know you noticed.”
“Yeah. I guess I did. ”
“Alana snapped her fingers: “Yeah.” There was silence.
“Want to go to study hall?”
Jennie nodded, and they set off to their first period class, study hall.
Than she saw him. Drew Harrison. Possibly the only guy she’d ever had a thing for. The thing was, though; the more she saw him the more she didn’t want to like him. He flirted with girls. He picked on Mathletes. Half her grade would do anything for him. It was just so predictable to like hot, edgy Drew Harrison… so why did she? Why couldn’t she focus on someone nice, like Nate Goodwin or Thomas Sharpe? They were both walking down the hall too, along with her best friend in the world. But all she could see was Drew.
He walked right by her, glancing at her. Probably wondering why I’m staring at him and figuring I’m only one of the thousands of girls who likes him, she thought. Finally he turned a corner and could see other people, hear Alana talk about the impossible math homework, until they were in the safety of the classroom.
Alana slipped her an iPod earbud and she put it in her ear. Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was playing. Lonely Heart’s club band, indeed.