Senior
On what most people told her was the most important day of her life, Emily Greene woke up late.
Later than she'd wanted to, anyway. 6:00 a.m. instead of 5:30 a.m., because a power outage in the middle of the night had reset her alarm, and it was only her body's sense of something being wrong that woke her up.
“Oh, come on, really?” she murmured, rubbing her eyes and looking at the clock. “Ugh...”
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and dug her toes into the soft carpet for a moment.
Senior year.
Gotta get ready.
Adjusting the nightcap on her head, Emily stood up and stretched, toned muscles contracting and flexing as she did so. Her outfit was draped over the chair at her desk: a plaid button-down over a Edgewater High School Falcons marching band t-shirt and jeans; the typical Emily Greene ensemble. The beanie inherited from her grandmother – a permanent fixture on Emily's head when she was out in public – laid on the desk. She eyed it for a moment, itching under her nightcap, and left her room, stumbling to the bathroom.
Emily stared at her reflection as she brushed her teeth, groggily going through the motions of preparation.
Is this the time that I should be relfecting back on things and deciding where I'm going with my life? she thought, her half-lidded reflection gazing back at her. Because I don't have the mental capacity to do that in the morning.
Sounds of dishes clanking and her little sister's motor-mouthed talking drifted in from the kitchen, along with the scent of bacon, mixed in with...garlic?
If she's testing out another weird recipe for her blog on us again...
Emily figured she couldn't really complain, however, considering that same blog kept them fed, clothed, and in a decent neighborhood. The Internet is weird.
Spitting out the toothpaste and wiping her mouth, Emily retreated back to her room in order to get dressed. She shed her pajamas, and looked over herself in the mirror. Her abs had receded a bit over the summer with no marching band, though they had been coming back with last week's band camp. She flexed for a moment, making silly faces as she did so, laughing to herself. Her eyes drifted up to the reflection of her bare forehead, however, and her smile faded.
The long, thick scar mocked her whenever she lingered on it. Almost none of her friends knew of the scar – her own mother hadn't seen it in years. The scar served as a reminder of a very, very bad time in her and her mother's lives. It also served as a reminder of her younger sister's gestation.
Emily shook her head quickly, and reached for her outfit, pulling on her signature beanie first. No dwelling today.
The rest of her ensemble followed, shirt first, jeans after, and then the button-down as a final touch. She rolled up the sleeves, buttoning them in place, and smiled. “There we go.”
Breakfast was a simple affair. Her mother, Alexia, was flitting around the kitchen, tablet set up on the counter, attached to an external webcam. Emily noted the extra materials next to it, enough to make another helping of the weird garlic bacon she was having trouble swallowing. One round for the kids, the next round for YouTube and the blog.
Abigail, for her part, was scarfing down the experimental meal much faster than Emily was.
“You're actually enjoying this, sis?” Emily asked. “She's using us as guinea pigs.”
Abigail merely nodded, her mouth full of food. Emily rolled her eyes.
“I heard that,” Alexia responded, her back turned.
“Of course you did, I wasn't whispering,” Emily said, her eyes narrowing.
“No, I heard the eyeroll.” She looked over her shoulder and winked at Emily. Emily responded with another, less serious, eyeroll. “Did you hear that one?”
“No need to be sarcastic on your first day of senior year, dear,” Alexia chided. Emily groaned, and pulled at her face. Her phone screen lit up, the notification showing a text from Heather.
“Heather and Tom are almost here,” Emily said, wiping her hands with a napkin. “Try less garlic for the actual recipe, by the way. I almost died.”
Alexia frowned, looking at the recipe she'd written on her tablet. “Abigail enjoyed it.”
“Abigail would eat dirt if it had flavor.” Abigail responded to this by punching her sister in the arm, and then clutching her hand after it connected with pure muscle and bone.
Emily laughed, and ruffled her younger sister's hair. “For a ten-year-old, you're a bit of a moron.”
A knock came from the door, and Emily dodged Abigail's second swing to answer it. The blush that usually resided on her face deepened when she saw Michelle on the other side.
“Yo,” Michelle greeted, tossing her bag on the couch. “Heather and Tom are almost here. Did you know he spent the night at her house?”
More blushing. “Well, they're dating, aren't they?”
Michelle scoffed. “You could call it that, I guess. I'd call it 'holding hands and going to movies together and then yelling at each other immediately afterwards', but yeah, sure, they're dating.”
“Well, that's their problem, isn't it?” Emily said, shrugging.
The door opened again, and Tom and Heather walked in. Tom seemed fine, though Heather's expression implied that the ride over hadn't been pleasant.
“Thomas Patterson, how many times have I told you that you don't live here, and therefore you can't just open the door and walk in without knocking?” Alexia called out, waving her spatula at him.
“But I'm family!” he whined. Heather elbowed him.
Emily stood up, intending to stop any arguments or conflict before they started. “Okay, are we all ready to go?”
Michelle nodded, picking up her bag, as did Heather and Tom. Emily walked over to her mother, who was tweaking her recipe, and hugged her from behind. “Bye, Mom.”
“Oh! Hold on, let me just – “ She spun around and held Emily out at arm's length, looking her over.
“My little girl, finally a senior,” she said, eyes glistening a bit. Emily chuckled. “Mom, you're taking this way too seriously.”
Alexia pinched Emily's cheeks. “Let me have some fun once in a while. Have a good day at school, and don't take any detours coming back this time, okay?”
Emily nodded, accepting a kiss on the cheek from her mother. She hugged Abigail as well, pinching her nose afterwards and dodging yet another thrown punch. The other three were already in the car as Emily left the house, considering the horizon before her.
“Today's going to be good,” she said, stepping off the porch and into her last year of high school.