Things always seem to get worse before they get better. Scarlett's biggest problem is never being able to see when things are going to get better instead of worse.
Sometimes you just have to keep your head up and hope for the best. And most of all...
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"We picked up your jacket from the cleaners." Eric says as he and Letty walk into the house through the front door. "And apparently that's all someone could carry." He shoots the brunette behind him a pointed look.
"Hey, I thought you were being very gentlemanly by offering to carry everything else." She smiles innocently at him, and he shakes his head as she passes his dad's jacket to his dad. The truth, however, is that her side is pretty badly bruised and she's in a lot of pain; she didn't want the box putting pressure on her ribs.
"So, you guys actually wore those?" The teenage boy asks as he returns his attention to his father, who's looking at his old band jacket.
"Oh, yeah, this was our look." Mr. Matthews tells him, and he chuckles.
"Did people laugh?"
"Don't listen to him, Mr. Matthews. I like your jacket." Letty says as she stands beside her best friend, who's leaning against the amp that his dad just bought at a garage sale.
"Other people were impressed too. Especially your mother." Mr. Matthews tells his oldest. "Her name's sewn right in the sleeve."
"Yeah. Hey, what's with the other names?" Eric asks, looking inside the right sleeve near the wrist. "Paula, Bethany, Ashley?"
"Uh, those are small towns we played in Northern Pennsylvania." He says, and Eric looks up at him again.
"You're lying?"
"Yes, I am."
"Alright, come on." Letty nudges Eric. "I have an hour before my shift at the store and I have got to finish my English homework."
"Yeah, okay." He reluctantly nods. "Let me just go get my stuff."
He goes up to his bedroom, and she leaves her own school stuff at the kitchen table before going upstairs to the bathroom. She locks the door behind her and looks at her side in the mirror.
The teenage girl has a huge purple bruise from the other night surrounded by a yellowing bruise from the night that Miller tried to stop her dad from hurting her. Her left side is always some nasty color that it's not supposed to be; sometimes she's surprised that he's never broken a rib.
But her side has been incredibly sore all day, and it's hard to move certain ways. It's been making it hard to do certain things. She pushes lightly on the yellowing skin and it doesn't hurt too bad, but the second her fingertips even graze the purple, she groans and grits her teeth.
