Ignition [h.s]

15

ELISE ROSEWOOD

"Elise, there's really bad weather tonight. Are you sure you can't skip music club this week?" My mom asks, but I can sort of see her pleading me with her green eyes. They're like mine, the same shade and shape, but wrinkled at the edges with her age. Her brown hair is held back in a low bun, and she's whirling around the kitchen in a flail of arms, cleaning away dinner plates.

"No, mom. I told you it's really important I go tonight; we're rehearsing for my show."

"Your show isn't for another four weeks, sweetheart. Surely you can—"

I get frustrated at her. I can't help it, but she knows this rehearsal is important to me. I'm way behind everyone else in the club and I need extra practice, I want the music coach to like me.

"You know what? Dad never takes me to music club either. It would be really nice if at least one of my parents supported my interests." I snap, pausing only briefly in lacing up my Converse. As soon as the words have left my mouth, I instantly regret them. I flash my eyes upwards with an apology on my lips, but she just waves her hands at me, willing me to be silent. She hurries to grab a scarf and wrap it around her neck, giving in to my pleads.

I know mentioning dad always strikes a nerve with her. I don't mean to make her feel guilty, but I know she does. Dad is awful to me and she doesn't want to be like him in any way.

"Get in the car." She says coldly, and I do.

The drive is silent. My mom taps her fingernails on the steering wheel and I put headphones in, listening over and over again to the song I'm playing for my show. I'm not sure if this will help me actually play anything at all, but it's worth a shot.

I watch my mom's lips moving, clearly, she's speaking to me. Saying something to me, no doubt about dad and her parenting to the best of her abilities. She does her best but I don't need to hear it again, I've heard it all before. I press my thumb into the volume button, turning the music up and drowning out the tone of my mom's voice. She looks across at me with a deep frown, one that really emphasises the wrinkles by her lips. I feel bad, but only for a moment. I let my head flop against the cold window until we reach the club.

"What time do you need picking up, honey?" She asks tiredly as I pull my headphones out.

"Half four," I say, grabbing my guitar case from the back seats.

"Okay. Have a good—" But I slam the door on her mid-sentence, storming off towards the school building. I wish they'd take me more seriously.

The sky opens up. Literally—the clouds open up into a cavernous, dark hole. The rain batters my skin. It's cold outside. My clothes are wet through, slick against my body as I exhale a visible plume of cold air. I stand beneath a tree on the sidewalk, but it doesn't provide much shelter as rain droplets from the leaves patter onto my hair, down my body and drop onto my Converse shoes.

I rest my guitar case on the soaked floor—I don't really want to, but I don't have a choice. My arm is hurting from carrying an instrument around and I've already been waiting here in this storm for half an hour. I fumble around in my coat pocket for my phone. I've tried to look at it as little as possible because the downpour will most certainly break it.

My finger tips are so cold I can barely navigate my phone app, calling my mom's contact after a couple of tries. This would be the fifth time it rings through with no answer.

I groan and kick the toe of my shoe into the guitar case, I don't know why she isn't answering. My mom always answers the phone. Of course, the one day she doesn't is the day the God's decide to piss on me.