Wading through her underwear drawer, she materialized a flashlight. The power went out just after the sun set on a Friday evening, and eighteen-year-old, five-foot six-inch Maggie Marlot was home, half-naked after just taking a shower, and alone. Her parents were out celebrating their wedding anniversary at a local Northeast Philly bar owned by a friend of theirs, and Merlot--that's what I call her--was losing her mind.
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It was one of the more beautiful days of the year. It was early May. Spring, although it technically started in late March, had finally sprung after an ungodly long winter, and my allergies were killing me.
"Gemstone!" My mother called from the downstairs kitchen. I'm 5"5' brown hair, green-eyed, slender Jennifer. My friends call me Jenny. My brother's name is Ben, which makes our names hard to distinguish when we're being summoned by our parental overlords. My parents were never traditionalists--they never did all the popular things that everyone else did. So, ya know, no diamond rings, no gold anything, strange-colored interior wall-paint, no simply calling me Jenny, like my friends, or Jennifer like my actual name, etc. The wedding ring my mom does have is a custom-made copper ring with an Amethyst gem. I was born in February; Amethyst is my birthstone; thus, my nickname: Gemstone.
"Come get breakfast! Eggs today! Getting burrrrrr!" My mom loves substituting words for sound-effects even though neither of her children have been 3 years old in 12 years.
I sneeze, "Ughhh, JUST BRING IT TO ME. My FACE is exPLOding."
My mom was already upstairs. Part of her morning ritual is leaving her keys up in her room and realizing that fact right after she already closed the front door behind her. She passed by my room.
"It's 7:30am and you're already whining about something? I'm not a very go..."
"Not a very good lapidary." I cut her off, "Yeah, I know, mom, but today I'm your beautifully polished, splendiforous Gemstone who needs your love...and mostly the eggs you made." I put my hands on my cheeks. "My FACE is exPLOding!"
"Sorry, honey, late for work! Allergies again? Just get Ben to help you!" She screams as she runs down the hall to her bedroom.
Before I could even scream "Ben," a flying saucer in the form of a plate with eggs and bacon within its real estate came into my room and hovered at the foot of my bed. It was being flown by a well-manufactured toy-helicopter my brother made last Christmas. He's exceptionally crafty, and even custom-attached a type of grill above the rotor so it could carry objects. He stood at my bedroom doorway.
"Ben! You're the best!" I exclaim. My fifteen-year-old brother Ben stands a couple inches taller than me with straight brown hair and glasses. He sort of looks like a rocker who is also a nerd. Ya know, if you kept up with all of the stereotypes of the world. He's actually just a big dork.
"Just for today Germstone. Just. For. Today." he says with a sardonic smile and dramatic inflection.
I took the plate, ate as fast as I could, since my nose was so stuffed the food was practically tasteless, got changed, and headed out the door to school with Ben sluggishly moving behind me. The one good thing about where my parents lived is that we were in walking distance to me and Ben's high school. Other than that, the Morrel area of the city, designated as such due to a winding road called Morrel Avenue that connects to two major roadways, was pretty boring. Ben and I never walk together so I don't mind that he's sluggish today. It's normally the other way around, and with my face near critical mass, I'm starting to wonder what's going on with him. I turn around.
"Ben! Wait. Ben?" He's not behind me. I immediately feel like he's about to pull a prank on me and start feeling a slight jolt of adrenaline enter my bloodstream. The positive is that my nose isn't as stuffy because of the nerves.
I get to school, and Ben never appears, so for the moment I stop worrying and proceed with my day. He's a smart teenager that does all sorts of weird teenager things nowadays, so I'm not concerned. I look for Merlot.
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