Phantom [h.s]

Sixteen

I lay flat on my back on top of my bed, staring at the ceiling.

It's Saturday night and I've been grounded this entire week. I can't go anywhere, and I'm bored out of my mind.

Earlier I tried sweet talking my mother into giving me my car keys, but she wouldn't have it.

"Jane," she had said, shaking her head as she chopped a clove of garlic for dinner. "You went out without telling your father and me and didn't come home until midnight. Not to mention you skipped out on half the school day." She gave me a look. "Yes, I know about that. The school called inquiring about your absence. You're not as sneaky as you think you are."

So here I am, following the cracks in the ceiling with my eyes and listening to the muffled sound of the TV coming from downstairs. Boredom at its finest.

I hoist myself out of bed, deciding I haven't done much exploring of this house since I moved in. My hair sloppily falls over my shoulder in a low ponytail and I feel like a sleep deprived mess, but my sleep pattern is too jacked from school to try to go to bed at ten.

I venture down the hall, stepping into the parlor. It's a small room that my parents haven't fully furnished yet. A sofa is pushed against the wall and some unopened boxes are stacked next to it, but other than that, the room is bare.

I remember sitting in Nate's parlor at the party not long ago. His house was so nicely furnished. I wonder what this house looked like when Harry's family still lived here.

I walk over by the window. This room also faces the backyard, paralleling my bedroom. There are fewer trees obstructing this view though, so I can see the top of the willow tree in the clearing from here.

Movement catches my eye and I look down to see Harry crossing the yard, his white sweater and black jeans sticking out against the green of the grass like a sore thumb.

I open the window and call his name out softly, his head snapping up to look at me instantly.

He stops walking to squint up at me, a grin crossing his face.

I know for a fact that my parents have drawn the curtains in the living room by this time at night, so I let out a breath of relief that Harry won't be seen by them.

I lean slightly out the window, resting my palms on the sill.

"Why do I feel like we're reenacting Romeo and Juliet with you up there and me down here?"

I laugh at Harry's remark. "A ghost Romeo and a sarcastically pessimistic Juliet, what a story that makes."

"Come on, say the line."

"What line?"

"You know what line," he says. "The line."

I roll my eyes, letting out a dramatic sigh.

"Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?" I say in the most melodramatic and girly tone I can, pressing a palm to my chest and leaning against the side of the window. "Deny thy father and refuse thy name, or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet."

Harry clears his throat and puts a hand to his chest, mimicking me. "Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?" He quotes.

"'Tis but thy name that is my enemy. Thou art thyself, though not a Montague," I reply, struggling to remember the rest of the lines. "What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face. O, be some other name belonging to a man."

Harry bursts into applause and I laugh along with him at the cliché nature of our quoting.

"I can't remember anything after that line," I admit.