Wildest

Straight A Student

"Babe?" Brock gently shakes Jenny who had fallen asleep in the passenger seat, leaving a streak of drool on the window. Not even the murmur of the radio could distract him from her snoring. They've been driving the whole day, as Brock kindly offered to take Jenny back home for their Fall break.

"Mm.." she didn't budge.

"Jenny?" he parks the car smoothly, chuckling softly, tugging at one of her pigtails, "we're home."

"Wha...?" Jenny looks at him, yawns a yawn full of fangs, then wipes the sleep from her mouth, and eyes, "Oh, that was quick. You drive like a maniac."

"And you sleep like one." he smirks. It was alarming how quickly Brock got over his brother's death. He only wore black for a week, and out of respect for the societal custom of mourning if anything. It was even more confusing for Jenny whether to support his mourning or agree with his denial of it. Pierce was a terrorist mastermind, after all. She adjusts the pigtail Brock had tampered with defensively, opening the car door and letting the crisp air protrude her pale face. It was starting to smell like winter. Just looking at her old-English style home made her feel cozy on the inside. She looked up to her bedroom window; Jones had left her fairy lights on to give the impression that the whole house was anticipating her arrival. She smiled gently, her heart filling up to the brim and holding itself from bursting into song. She had yearned for this break. Going back into education had not been an easy transition. Brock seemed to understand everything going on in the course, and Jenny ended up questioning her ability to understand anything at all. She would stare at a blank document on his computer screen for hours, letting her brain tangle itself into knots over assignments, and then just being puzzled at her confusion for the sake of being confused. It was bringing her down; she didn't have any room left to think for a while. The fact that the memories of home strung the perfect four chords of her heartstrings resonated with her brain reassuringly; she could finally think again.

"Thanks, Brock." she tipps him with a kiss for bringing down her suitcase. The second thing she missed hollowly was her guitar. Jones forbade her to take it with her, knowing she was bound to ask her music for advice when she didn't know the answer, then getting lost and forgetting her sense of purpose. He was right, but as much demerit as it served, Jenny was clinging onto its idea of an escape, and the comfort that was bringing her was certainly a merit.

"See you in a week then?" he calls from the car.

"Something like that, yeah." I just got here and now I have to think about when I leave? She asks herself, rolling her eyes at Brock and blowing him a late kiss. She trudges her suitcase to the wooden door, performing a knock so rhythmic Jones could have mistaken her for Rox.

"I'll be there in one, love!" she heard her father's voice from the other side of the door. He sounded like he had been baking again. That was never a good sign. She tried to gulp at the ball of guilt swelling up in her neck, not given enough time as Jones promptly swings the door open. Their house already smelled like warmth and Christmas. Jenny snickered. Jones had forgotten to take off the frilly pink apron he wears while cooking.

"When I say that women belong in the kitchen, I would never mean it in a sexist way you see. They just so happen to have far more dexterity than us men! I ought to channel this femininity if I ever want anything out of my eats." he winked when Jenny first interrogated him about his fashion choices. She flinged herself into his arms, getting past the frilly mask to the library smell of his green pullover.

"There she is..." Jones laughed, "How's my little detective?" Jenny rolls her eyes yet again, but finding herself blushing just a little bit.

"Never been better, dad." she mutters, "can I come in now, to you know, my own home?"