Oh My, My, My

It was the beginning of May and I was sprawled out on my back, my head dangling off the end of John’s bed. My brother, Kennedy, was leaning against the headboard watching the television on the opposite side of the room while John was on the floor, his head right next to mine.

The three of us were the best of friends, though it hadn’t always been that way. I used to be the annoying little sister that Kenny never wanted to have around when he had friends over, but in private we were extremely close. We were practically the same person, although you couldn’t tell from the outside.

We looked drastically different for siblings. I was all of five foot four with dark brown hair, a hint of natural red scattered throughout, and dark gray eyes that I felt were too boring—flat, lackluster. Kennedy, who was a year older than me, was about five foot ten with light brown hair that always looked as if it needed to be cut and light green eyes. I envied his eyes, so unlike my own; they were piercing and beautiful, where mine were lifeless and dull.

Kenny looks more like John than he does me, its actually kind of weird to think about. John is also tall, about six foot, and has the same light brown hair, only longer, and messier. He moved in next door when he was seven and I was six. His dad was offered a promotion at my dad’s company and they coincidentally bought the vacant house next to ours.

Since our dads worked together, our parents became quiet close. We had family dinners every week, alternating at each other’s houses. Our mom’s became best friends while our dads remained coworkers and golf buddies. Because our families spent so much time together it was inevitable for us kids not to become friends as well.

Sitting in John’s room I allowed my mind to wander to the first time I was allowed to hangout with him and my brother.

I was ten. When we got home from school, I followed the boys into Kenny’s room, I fully expected to be ushered out and for the door to be slammed in my face just like any other day, but they hadn’t seemed to notice my presence, yet. I sat down quietly on Ken’s bed, just enjoying the moment of feeling included as I listened into their conversation.

Kenny was talking excitedly as John turned on the television. “So, I think the new girl likes you!”

“What? No,” John answered with disbelief.

“Come on, you didn’t see her staring at us today?”

“Maybe she was staring at you!” John retorted. At this point they still believed girls had cooties. They were eleven-year-old boys after all.

“Are you talking about Emily? I think she’s cool,” I chimed in; belatedly realizing that it probably wasn’t a good idea to make my presence known.

“Grace. What did I say about hanging around when I have friends over? Scram,” Kenny said instead of answering. I begrudgingly began to stand up before John piped in.

“No, man. It’s cool. If she wants to hangout, that’s fine.”

I couldn’t hide my smile. I was finally allowed to hangout with the guys. I think that’s the day we became the three musketeers.

Again, I found myself listening to the boys talk about a new girl in their Spanish class. I guess some things never change. Only now, they don’t still think girls have cooties. Apparently this girl, Amy, is hot. Not that I would know, I’ve never seen her.

I hate listening to them talk about girls, it’s the one subject that I cant contribute to, and its not like I could bring up the subject of boys, I can only imagine how that conversation would go. Its times like these that I wonder what it would be like to have a girl friend or two. I attempt to tune them out as I focus my attention on the plasma screen, watching the latest music video. I guess I’m doing a good job tuning them out because the next thing I know, I’m being hit over the head with a pillow.

I turn my head to look at the culprit, John. “Grace? I asked if your coming to band practice with us,” he repeats, knowing he now has my attention.

“Uh, yeah. I guess.” I rolled my eyes at Kenny’s expression, it was the same one he always had on when John and I were in the same room. Truthfully, it used to confuse me—still does, actually—now I just ignore it.

“Good. I just started a new song and I wanted your opinion.”

“Why, don’t trust the guys to give you a serious answer?” I said with a grin, knowing it was true.

“No, actually, I don’t. Garrett would probably just crack a joke about how the song about Ms. Keith, or something stupid.” Everyone hated Ms. Keith. We all had her for freshman English and she doesn’t like anyone.

I guess I should tell you that John is in a band, along with Kenny. They call themselves The Maine. Kenny and John started the band their freshman year with a classmate of theirs and a couple of kids from my grade. They are actually really good, if I do say so myself, but I may be biased based on my friendship with John.