A Lovely Circle (A Jeff the Killer Story)

Chapter Two

Waking up on Monday morning, I already know it’s going to be a bad day. My whole body aches and my head pounds. Adam’s loud music doesn’t help my mood. Groaning, I get up and leave my bedroom, going into the kitchen. SpongeBob blares from the TV in the living room and I feel like high kicking the stupid thing out the window behind it. But, I have a healthy amount of common sense so I continue my journey to my mom’s room to grab the brush that always seems to disappear into there.

I open her door carefully, making sure to keep it cracked so I can see and keep the lights off, allowing her a few more hours of sleep. Though, between Adam’s music and Max’s SpongeBob, she won’t be sleeping for much longer. Moving quietly on her carpeted floor, I grab the brush from her dresser and speed out of the room as fast as my sore body allows me.

Practice on Saturday was brutal at the Wolverines, a gym where I do my hours for cheer. Most think that all cheerleaders have to do is show up to practice, but if we want to keep our position on the team, we have to get a certain amount of gym hours. I prefer to work with the Wolverines because they are more professional than other gyms. Plus, lots of other cheerleaders from South San also go there so I’ll sometimes run into a fellow teammate.

I go to my room with the brush in hand and, as soon as I get in front of the mirror, start brushing my thin, blonde hair back. Both my brothers and mother had dark hair, so when we go out in public I stood out from the other three. I was always told it was because my father had light hair, unlike Adam’s and Max’s dad. The two boys share the same dad, but the story behind it all is long and complicated. Simply put, Adam’s dad left when he was a kid, my dad came and they had me, then he also left, letting Adam’s dad slip back into the picture long enough for my mom to have Max before he took off again.

Picking my hair up into a simple ponytail, my arms aching and crying out as I did so, I gave my head a shake to make sure the rubber band was in securely. The days were still hot enough that I could afford to wear tighter clothes, but in my pain and soreness, I settled on comfort clothes, which usually consist of a loose shirt and jeans with some running shoes. I get dressed quickly, grab my phone off the charger to check the time, and nearly scream. I was running late.

Now running around the room, I grab my binder and my bag before tearing out of the house to the bus stop. I’m lucky to live close to a bus stop and, when I round the block, I nearly cry out of joy to see the my fellow bus stop members still waiting at the corner of what so happens to be an elementary school. I slow my pace and walk the rest of the way. None of us make eye contact, but that’s just how it was. Most days at the bus stop are spent in silence. I join the others at the corner of the school and lean against the fence blocking the elementary school from our small corner.

We stand (or sit) in silence, a few of them with headphones in. I pat my pockets for my own headphones and feel my heart drop to my stomach. I forgot my headphones. Hoping that I could be wrong, I open my bag and see that I not only left my headphones but my iPod too, which I usually made sure to put in my bag on Sunday night, otherwise I’d forget. Like I did today.

I groan, my hopes for a good day dashed. If I still had my iPod, I could have asked Oliver to bring me an extra pair, but without my iPod it would be pointless. A day without music was like a year without sun. Tapping my feet against the ground, I debate whether I should run home really quick and grab both my iPod and headphones, but I didn’t want to risk missing the bus.

Speaking of the bus, I take out my phone to check the time. The bus was already several minutes behind schedule. My foot tapping becomes increased and agitated, showing my irritation. I look to where the bus is supposed to come and see nothing. The tapping becomes more intense.