This Is How It's Supposed to Be.

The first day of summer. Everywhere in the state of Arizona, teenagers were sleeping in for the first time since at least February. After all, there were parties to throw, parties to attend, drinks to be had, cigarettes to smoke, friends to see. I knew for a fact that at least half of the students from my school would be completely dead to the world until after one in the afternoon, nursing their first hangover of the summer. But they wouldn’t care, because there were no more classes, no teachers, no homework and no obligations for the next two or so months. Instead, there would be trips to California, where parents and aunts and uncles and friends owned beach houses waiting to be occupied. Others would stay home and lay out by the pool, and when that got old there was always some form of mindless television to watch in the air conditioning.

…And then there was me, snuggled into the covers of my bed, trying to enjoy the last few minutes of silence before the day began. I knew I should’ve gotten up, gotten dressed, and made it look like I’d actually put effort into my appearance instead of like I just rolled out of bed. I probably could’ve even taken a shower, because I knew it was quite obvious that my hair needed to be washed. But instead I chose to lie there, basking in the few rays of morning sun that filtered into the one filthy window in my room.

When I did finally get up, it wasn’t by choice, but because I was so startled by a car honking its horn outside my house that I literally jumped out of bed and landed in a heap on the floor. I struggled to get up out of the tangle of sheets and blankets when the horn went off again, for longer this time.

“Sheesh, I’m coming,” I muttered, traipsing up the stairs noisily.

I jerked open the front door, fully expecting for there to be no one there or to yell at some idiot neighbor who let their alarm go off. But instead I was met with Garrett’s fist, raised up to knock on the door. He looked just as surprised as I did and dropped his hand to instead reach for my wrist. He pulled me out of the house, locking the door behind us, and towed me towards the waiting car, which was still running with the windows down.

“There’s a pair of your jeans in the back seat,” he told me, with one hand on my right shoulder and the other of the small of my back, pushing me forward quickly.

He was rushing; something not completely unusual for Garrett, so I went with it, knowing it’d be so much harder to fight it than it would be to give in. He pulled open the door to the back seat, and shoved me in, with one hand on the top of my head so I didn’t smack it. I didn’t even realize that Jared was in the front seat until he started laughing at what I assumed was my confused and disheveled state as I tried to reorganize and get comfortable in the tiny back seat.

“Hey, Jared. ‘Sup?”

He laughed, “I don't think I’ve ever seen Garrett this crazy.”

“Oh, trust me. It gets worse.”

“Worse than you getting kidnapped from your house at 7:30 in the morning on the first day of summer.”

“Much worse,” I laughed, tugging on the jeans in place of my track shorts as Garrett pulled out of my driveway.

Something that was also not unusual for Garrett was speeding, but this time he wasn’t saying anything or joking around, and the radio was off, which only happened once in his entire year-and-a-half of being able to drive. That was the day his great-grandmother had been put in the hospital. He hadn’t said anything then, either, until we were in his bedroom, sitting against the wall next to his bed, with him hugging a pillow while I tried to offer what support I could when he told me he wasn’t sure if she was going to make it.

I briefly wondered if something like this had happened again, but I figured nothing had happened if Jared was in the car and I was changing in the backseat. A few minutes passed, soaked in the awkward silence that no one seemed too eager to break.

“So…” I finally said, stuffing my feet into Garrett’s dingy green Converse. “So, who died?” I realized too late that it probably wasn’t the best thing I could have said, and hoped briefly that no one had actually died.

“Well, it’s going to be me if this idiot in front of me doesn’t start doing the speed limit.”

“Band practice,” Jared explained for me as Garrett passed the car in front of us, flipping it off as we sped ahead. “The guys will kill him if he’s late again.”

I smirked and shook my head, laughing and asked if any of them had an extra shirt because I really doubted that a too-big tee shirt I’d slept in all week qualified as work attire. But they didn’t, and Garrett was already pulling up to the curb in front of the grocery store I worked and telling me to “get the out of my car before I make you.”

Before I could even think about saying goodbye or thanking Garrett for the ride, he was driving away, and I desperately needed a hair elastic out of the center console, so I waved my arms and yelled, trapped-on-a-deserted-island style until Jared’s head appeared out the window. He reached out and flung an elastic, shooting it like a slingshot. I could see Garrett grinning back at me through the back window, instead of paying attention to the road. Barely catching the elastic, I flipped them off with my left hand, holding it up until I was walking through the automatic doors.

Just as I stepped inside, my hair now tied back in a sloppy ponytail, my manager strolled up, holding the apron with my nametag on it. I slipped it over my head and tied it, knowing that he knew I wasn't actually late, but he was going to act like I was. He gave me a disapproving look, probably from my stunt outside the store, and told me I should be on time tomorrow.

“Oh, and by the way,” He added, “You’re on registers today.”