Laura was woken by her father; something that he had not done since she was a child. As her thoughts slowly swam back into focus, she was suddenly sure that she had slept naked and he had seen her, but to her relief she was wearing her baby-blue pajamas. God, what was he doing in here anyway?
"Come on, you," he said brightly, opening the curtains and letting the sunlight in. Outside, she could hear a lawnmower running, perhaps in the next street, and what could've been birdsong. "It's Button Day, remember? Get dressed, put something nice on. We're leaving in an hour."
Laura stirred, her voice groggy. "Dad, what the hell? Couldn't you just knock? What if I'd slept nude?"
He didn't look at her; he was too busy admiring his garden from the window. "Oh, you've nothing I haven't seen before. I'm your bloody father, I've wiped your ass many a time before now."
"Not the point, Dad." Squinting, Laura sat up, rubbing her eyes, and remembered what he'd just said. "Dad, did you just say 'Button Day'?"
"Well, yeah. What, did you forget?" He laughed as he crossed the room to the door. "You were only talking about it last night."
"Wait - what?" She frowned, not understanding. Something was wrong here. A fine way to start the day, really. She hadn't even gotten out of bed yet, and she was already getting weird shit. "What are you talking about?"
He shook his head, still smiling as he left the room. "Get dressed. Breakfast is ready."
He left her sitting up in bed, holding the covers to her breasts, a look of confusion on her face. Eventually she got out of bed, and began to pull some clothes on that were to hand. Familiar sounds floated up to her from downstairs: pots and pans rattling, the TV on low, the muffled tones of her family talking to each other, a short, harsh laugh - her brother. No doubt laughing at the TV.
She did her zipper on her jeans, and stood for a second before finally saying out loud, "Button Day?"
Downstairs, her mother was washing the dishes, humming to herself. Sunlight filled the room, making it warm and fresh. Her father and brother were sitting at the table, eating toast. There was a plate set for her, and she sat down, pulling it towards her. Her brother was wearing a crisp white shirt - and he never wore shirts. She doubted that he even owned one. This was one of her father's, she recognized it.
"What's with the shirt?" she asked, picking her toast up. His eyes never left the TV, which was typical of him. A year younger than her at fourteen, he was arrogant and know-it-all to boot. "It's Button Day, isn't it?" he mumbled through a mouthful of toast. Her mother turned around, and tutted loudly at him.
"Mark, don't talk with your mouth full." She saw Laura and sighed. "Laura, you could dress a little better than that. At least make an effort."
"What for?" Laura said, then looked at the ceiling, irritated. "Oh wait, let me guess. Button Day. Am I missing something here?"
Her mother shook her head, turning back to the dishes. "Don't be so childish, Laura. It doesn't suit you. Please make sure you get changed into something else before we leave."
"I wanted to see Michael today. I'm not going with you, sorry."
A hush fell over the kitchen as everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at her in surprise. Warily, Laura said, "What?"
"Are you crazy?" her brother asked. "You can't go out today, you're coming with us!"
"Laura, you made plans? Today, of all days?" her father asked, and she pushed back on her chair as a dull anger rose in her.
