Beep. Beep. Beep.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Ugh.” I groaned, slamming my hand against the blaring alarm clock. Today was the first day back at school. And my first official day of being an eighth grader. 

“Zenna!” my mom called up to me. “Hurry and get dressed! Breakfast is waiting!” 

“Geez, I’m up, I’m up.” I grumbled, throwing off my comforter. I glanced at the clock and sighed. Who in their right mind would get up at six-thirty in the morning? 

Oh right, that would be me because my parents weren’t allowed to show up to work at a reasonable time like nine.

I changed into a pair of blue jeans and a deep blue shirt. I tried to hide my blush as I ignored why I was wearing this color for my first day back. I pulled on my tennis shoes, brushed out my long hair, and slipped on a light jacket. It was beginning to be a bit chilly in the mornings despite the fact it was still August. I collected my book bag from my desk and let out another sigh. 

My room wasn’t extremely big, but many of my friends became jealous when they slept over. It was large enough to hold a queen-sized bed, a dresser, a night table, and a large wooden desk that overlooked the front yard. My closest was spacious compared to others and I suppose the bookshelf I kept hidden inside would cause other parents to ridicule mine.  

It’s happened before. 

My mother was a lawyer and my father was an esteemed doctor. I always bragged about him to anyone who would listen.

I looked a lot like my mom, except for my hair. I had my father’s thick black hair and my mother’s green eyes. I think my eyes are a shade lighter than hers. My mother had unruly, brown hair that was often contained in a professional bun for work and my father had rich, brown eyes. 

I was an only child that didn’t want for a lot of things. I knew I was lucky and I hoped to never forget it was hard work and dedication that paid off—not luck. My parents did a good job of instilling that in my brain. I highly doubted I would forget anytime soon. 

Our house was considered grand and a little over the top. But I didn’t get how a two-story house with three bedrooms, two baths, and a furnished basement was ‘over the top.’ Wasn’t it normal to have these things if you could afford it?

I hurried down the stairs and slid into the kitchen, catching my balance and tossing hair out of my face.  

“Slow down, Miss Eighth Grader,” my father exclaimed, setting his newspaper down on the kitchen counter and revealing his playful smile. Despite his long and busy hours, my father always made it his mission in life to cook us breakfast. He missed lunch and dinner quite often, so mornings were my favorite time of the day.

It brought us all together. 

“Your hair’s getting long.” my mom commented, walking into the kitchen. “You should cut it.” 

I felt a blush coming on, so I ducked down to ‘tie’ my shoe. “I like it long, Mom.” 

My mom sighed. She poured herself a cup of coffee. “At least style it every once in a while.” 

I glared up at her from my squatting position. “I don’t know how. A certain someone hasn’t taught me the proper etiquette of being a woman.” 

My parents’ let out a ring of laughter as I rose to my feet. “What’s so funny?” I demanded. 

My mom shook her head and took a sip of coffee. “I’ll teach you this weekend.” 

I smiled and went to pour myself a mug of coffee. I added in a splash of milk and three cubes of sugar.

I had mixed habits from my parents. I drank coffee and tea how my father drank it and I bit on the end of pens, pencils, anything that I could write with because my mom often did things like that when she was working. 

When I noticed little things like this, I didn’t try to change. I know most kids would have rebelled, but I liked the idea of being closer to my parents. I could tell them anything and knew I wouldn’t be judged, no matter what I did. 

“Princess is getting bigger,” I said, loading my plate with eggs, bacon, and small, round pancakes. I poured syrup in a small bowl to dip my pancakes in. This habit I picked up on from my mom. 

For breakfast, none of us sat down at the dining room table. We stood around the island in our kitchen and ate. It was a tradition that started shortly after we moved here. 

I wouldn’t change it for the world. 

My father gave my mom a pointed look, his eyes crinkling with a smile. “How’s Quinn doing?” 

My heartbeat picked up, but I managed to hide my reaction to his name. “He’s doing the same as always, Dad. Why do you ask?” 

“No reason.” He glanced at Mom and turned his attention back to his food. 

I rolled my eyes, digging into my breakfast. I didn’t want to have this conversation so early in the morning. Besides, I had already received ‘the talk’ from my mom earlier last week and I was not ready to bring it up again, if ever. 

“I’ll be taking you to school today,” my mom stated, flipping through a case file. 

I rolled my eyes for a second time. “You’re not still trying to spy on Mrs. Axon, are you?” 

“No. Can’t a mother take her only child to school?” She sounded too innocent, so I knew she was lying. 

“Mom, you know it’s illegal to spy on someone, right?” 

“I won’t be spying, Zenna. I’m taking my daughter to school and whatever I happen to see or hear is all a mere coincidence.” 

My father coughed into his coffee and I hid a smile. 

“Don’t make fun. One day you’ll understand the importance of reading between the lines when it comes to work.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” I grumbled, finishing off my eggs.