Violetta (Violet) Jackson has big dreams. None of which happen to include sitting in detention for a week straight for a lab disaster that wasn't even her fault. That's all thanks to Will Hawthorne, his friends (one of whom she unfortunately used to...
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When I finally got home, locked up my bike outside, climbed up three flights of stairs, found my keys, entered the apartment, and went to my room, I did a good old-fashioned full-body-flop on my bed.
The pillows felt nice and cool on my face, the duvet squishy and inviting. Everything smelt like lavender detergent. I closed my eyes for a few minutes as I let my thoughts clash in my head, unable to string together a coherent thought. This day felt like it lasted a whole week; and even within a normal week, I didn't usually get blamed for starting a fire in a classroom, get threatened with suspension, then meet one of the coolest people ever only to find out she was the mother of the very son who was my partner in lab crime.
The unfairness of it all rose like bile in the back of my throat. Had Mr. Stevenson actually paid attention to what was going on, he would have seen Ethan pour his water bottle right into my jar before I could do anything about it. Had Ms. Dunham listened to what I had to say, I could have gotten myself out of this mess.
But I wasn't trying to fix the school's justice system. I was just trying to graduate. Trying to get into music school. Trying to finish high school without causing any need for undue attention.
That plan had now failed, and I hadn't come up with a Plan B.
"Violet? Are you home?" A voice called out from the next room over.
I made a muffled noise into my pillow in acknowledgment.
I heard the pattering of footsteps as they entered my bedroom, walked over to the bed, and sat down next to me, the wooden supports creaking slightly as they did. I rolled over to see my little sister, Willow, staring down at me. Her long, light brown hair fell in neat, patterned waves down well below her shoulders, long enough to tickle the sides of my face. Somehow, she got hair that was straight, smooth, silky, and a beautiful hazelnut color; while I got almost the polar opposite: dark, thick brown hair that got into tangled waves and refused to go much past my shoulders without looking like a total disaster.
"Long shift?" She asked me, her eyebrows furrowed and her expression serious.
"I wish that's all it was," I grumbled, folding my hands on top of my stomach as I looked up at the ceiling.
Willow flopped down beside me, mirroring my position. "So what happened?" She asked, glancing over at me.
"You're not going to believe it," I prefaced my monologue with that disclaimer before plowing on with the rest of my story; Willow fully engaged in every single word I was saying, but not responding unless it was warranted. Willow's always been a good listener, even when she was very young. Sometimes, she would struggle with the talking part herself, especially with those she doesn't know very well. But once I'm finished telling her about the lab incident, Will, the principal's office debacle, pending suspension, and the chance meeting with Jackie, Willow had no problem responding appropriately. "Sweet Jesus."
