𝖋𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 𝖕𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 ⋆ 𝕶𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖓 𝖉𝖆𝖞

𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖞 𝖘𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓

╔═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╗

The alarm is blaring. It's dark blue, with Mickey Mouse's arms pointing at the twelve and the five, his little face smiling at her and promising it'll be a wonderful day. The room is dark blue too, walls plastered with posters from magazines and polaroid photos and those glow-in-the-dark stars that she'd gone insane over and made Dad buy her like, eight packs of them.

 
Her hand reaches out to smack down hard on top of the clock. It wobbles a little on the night stand, but comes to a stop on all four of it's legs. The girl scrubs at her eyes, rakes fingers through her knotted waist-length hair, and yawns so wide she might have swallowed a cow.

 
Noise downstairs shakes the fuzz from her mind, and she just about gets her feet into slippers before bolting down the stairs, the streetlamp outside barely lighting the stairwell, and skidding to a halt outside of the kitchen. It already smells like coffee and burning bread, and she grins.

"Hey Dad," she greets with a beaming smile. He looks back at her, illuminated by the open fridge door on one side and the exhaust light from the stovetop on the other; he's larger than life right now, six feet of grizzly grey beard and slicked back hair and rectangular glasses always about to slide off the end of his nose, a shirt buttoned up to his throat and perfectly pressed pants. She can smell the grease he uses to shine his shoes every morning, can feel the warmth of his hug even before she slides into his arms.

 
"Hey Flower," he responds. "How did you sleep?"

 
She shrugs, finds a seat at the breakfast bar and starts swinging her legs. "I was too excited about today to sleep good. But I had a dream that I fell into a ball pit that was full of snakes, and then I made friends with them and they joined together to form a mega-snake that carried me to Disney World."

 
"That sounds awesome," Dad agrees. "You know, snakes represent creativity and transformation. You've got big things in you, kid."

"You always say that," she snorts, throwing her arms out. "But Miss D says my art sucks."

"She says it lacks depth and vision," he quotes back at her. "That doesn't mean it sucks."

She shrugs again. "Whatever. Can you drive me to practise?"

"Ah, I can't this morning," says Dad. She frowns a little, but keeps her lips pursed. "I have that appointment, and then they need me at the shul to do some paperwork. I'm sorry, Flower."

"It's okay. I just thought it would be nice to spend this morning together."

Dad sighs, ignores the bubbling pot of coffee on the stove, and comes around the table to sit beside her. "I'm sorry. I love watching you practise, but some things I just can't get out of. You'll get it when you're grown up--"

"--I am grown up--!"

"--when you're as grown up as me, then," Dad finishes. "I'll come next week, huh? And I'll come the week after, and the week after, and I'll come to every high school game and every college game and every professional game, and I'll be there when you win the world Exy games, or whatever it's called. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like you're trying to suck up to me because you know you promised to take me to practise," she says, although it's taking a lot of effort to hide the smile from her face. "You owe me."

"Oh, pah," he scoffs, throwing his hand back. "I gave you life. I think that's enough, huh?"

She stares at him for a moment, analysing his sparkling eyes trying to get her on his side. Then she sticks out her hand. "Jelly donuts for dinner. Take it or leave it."