totally okay |lrh|

0.1

Indigo's POV,,

I wake up on Monday morning with the theme from Swan Lake stuck in my head. Starring in the play was amazing, but having to repeat the same lyrics multiple times a day makes me want to rip the hair out of my head. I've heard the song so often over the past two months that I could probably sing it backwards in my sleep. A light peaks through my blinds, and I roll over to burry my face in my pillow to shield myself from the beastly sun.

I kick the covers off my clammy body and lay there, staring at the dark brown ceiling fan above my bed. It is spinning so fast, that it makes a loud whirring sound. For all I know, the fan could suddenly fall off, and it doesn't even feel like it is making it any cooler in my small room.

It's barely ten o'clock in the morning and the heat's already pressing on my skin like a heavy blanket. I love Los Angeles, but the heat waves we get in the summer just about kill me every year. Especially right around now, at the beginning of August. This is when it's always the worst.

I want to lie on my bed all day, and stare at the ceiling and try to ignore the heat, but I force myself to sit up anyway. I have rehearsal in a couple of hours. It is going to be a miserable experience in this weather, but I can't miss it, not unless I want my ballet teacher to come to my house and murder me seven times in a row.

Dum, dum ba da da dum, ba dum, ba dum, da dum ba da da dum—the song is still stuck in my head. I'm dying to blast some other music, but I have to see if my dad's home first. He hates my music, well, he hates music in general, and I can't play anything if he's home. Hopefully he's already left for work, then I will be in the clear.

"Dad?" I call. I remember that he came home massively drunk last night, and if he is home, it's probably best not to yell. I leave my bedroom, tripping on my way out the door. I hardly ever clean my room and I've got a ton of junk strewn all over the floor. I walk down the hallway to his room to make sure he has left. The door is closed, and I don't hear any snoring coming from behind it.

"Dad?" I say, much quieter this time. Hesitantly, I push the door open and peek inside. His bed is empty, and the lights are off in his bathroom.

"Dad?" I chance a slightly louder yell this time, wondering if maybe he's downstairs watching TV or something. But he doesn't call back, and I don't hear the TV or any movement.

"Dad?" I call his name one last time, and when there still isn't an answer, I figure that he is definitely not home.

Heaven knows how much orange juice he drank before he went to work. Orange juice is his drink of choice for hangovers. He says it works much better than coffee ever does. I wouldn't know. I have never had a drink in my life, and I don't plan on changing that any time soon. I don't like what alcohol does to people.

I take a cold shower, and go back to my room to get dressed. The shower cools me down a little bit, but not much. By the time I've pulled on my denim shorts and cotton t-shirt, I'm sweating again.

"Rehearsal is going to kill me," I think as I turn on the CD player next to my bed. My dad won't let me have an iPhone, so I'm stuck with this old CD player instead. I've bought so many CDs in my lifetime that I've probably single-handedly kept the CD industry going. It's not that bad, just really annoying. I mean, I look like a total dork walking down the street with my antique Walkman. At least I have the privilege to have something to listen to music with.

The first song that plays when I turn on the CD player is "Heartache on the Big Screen" by 5 Seconds of Summer. I grin as I hear the opening notes and turn the volume up, practically until the windows are rattling. I don't have to worry about my neighbors calling the police to complain because they're all off at work and school by now.