The Literary Misadventures of Juniper Rosewood

12- It's Time that you Love

The football team ran out onto the pitch amidst a scattering of applause and a few wolf whistles. I picked out the members I knew, Dalton with his golden blond hair, Abraham with his tall frame and dark skin, and J.B with his close-cropped hair and rigid face. Dalton looked up into the stands, no doubt looking for Etta, who sat a few rows to the left of us. The opposing team, kitted in black and yellow, faced our team as the referee whistled for kick-off and the game began.

I don't pretend to be familiar with the rules of football. I knew the basic premise, of course, to get the ball in the goal more than the other team, but when Preston began yelling at the other team for being "offside," I had no idea what he was going on about. I cheered when everybody else cheered, I booed when everybody else booed, and I assumed I was doing a good job until Circe hit me on the arm because I was apparently cheering for the wrong team.

"Oops," I said, although I wasn't apologetic.

The game was a close one, and it ended up going to penalties, which I didn't understand until Preston explained them to me. Circe kept rolling her eyes at me as I muddled through watching the game in utter confusion.

"You're so clueless, Juni, honestly," She said, and I couldn't help but agree.

The game ended, and our team had won by the skin of their teeth. Apparently, it had been a nail biter, but I had been too busy looking up the rules of football on my phone to notice. The team rushed up to the front of the stands to greet their friends. Etta bounced uncharacteristically down to J.B and planted a large kiss on his cheek before high-fiving Dalton. What took all of us most by surprise though, was that Abraham waved Preston down from the stands, and they began to engage in very animated conversation.

"Now we know the real reason he wanted to come," Ingrid said, flashing the smile that we only saw when there was fresh gossip to be spread.

"Please don't say anything, Ingrid," Emma pleaded.

"Who is she going to tell though? We're all here," Circe pointed out.

"Fair point."

"I have plenty of other people to tell," Ingrid said defensively.

"I know you think yourself a social butterfly, darling, but really your mother doesn't count," Rashid said, earning a sharp glare from Ingrid which he promptly placated with a kiss.

"Gross," Circe grumbled.

Preston and Abraham were still chatting vivaciously. Dalton spotted me sitting in the crowd, and he waved. I waved back meekly and turned back to our conversation, where Circe was being cruelly mocked for being uncomfortable around PDA. Her argument fell upon deaf ears though.

"Come off it, guys," I said, "We're here to make fun of Preston, not Circe."

"But you were fine when they were making fun of me," Ingrid grumbled, but she didn't really mean it.

"Ah yes, but you deserve it," Rashid said jokingly, placing a gauzy kiss upon her cheek.

"Stop it, you great flirt," Ingrid giggled, and Circe rolled her eyes.

"They're nauseating," She said to me, and I nodded my head.

"We love them anyway."

"Yes, I suppose we do."

༓࿇༓

My parents were both working when I arrived home later that evening. My father had wanted my mother to take a few days of work, but she was insistent that she too needed some normalcy, and there was nothing better that we could do than getting on with our lives, albeit with a black cloud hanging only a few feet behind us. Smiling at the silence, I sat down at the upright piano in our living room. It was an old piano, my grandmother had left it to my father before she died. It also needed tuning, but it cost almost a hundred pounds and we didn't have that kind of money going spare. A ran my hands up and down the C scale for a while, listening to the simple, melodic plunk of the keys. I hummed along with them. Then I let my hands settle on D, my hands tentatively plucking out a familiar, crooning tune. My hands moved from D to G, to A, and then back to D again. I began to sing, and although my voice had never been brilliant, it was good enough for this song. Time, by Tom Waits, had been my favourite for some time. It was the gentleness of the music, coupled with the jarring lyrics that gave it an edge that I couldn't quite describe. My hands moved deftly from D to F sharp minor.