TV in Black and White (A Justin Timberlake Fanfiction)

Chapter One

I get up. I go to school. I laugh with friends. I do work. I eat lunch. I do work again. I go to work. I eat dinner. I pracitce guitar. I do homework. I take a shower. I brush my teeth. I go to bed. 

Every. 

Single. 

Day.

I know I shouldn't be complaining. After all, as my dad likes to say, "There are kids in Africa who-". But just because they have bigger problems that doesn't mean my problems aren't still problems. It's all relative. Granted, most of my day-to-day problems are boy troubles, typical high school boys sending mixed messages and expecting me to interprut them like a detective. But at night, when it gets quiet and dark, and I just sit in bed, trying to sleep, that's when I let my true issues out to myself and God and the silence. 

Since this is the beginning of the story and we aren't that close yet, I won't tell you all of my issues now because frankly, you'd lose interest. But my main problem now is that my life is as dull as TV in black and white. No variety. No drama. No nothing. At this point, I would pray for drama to come my way, just to have something happen to me, but I am not that lucky. 

My parents think they are protecting me by not letting me go to friend's houses or go places with them, but I am sixteen, almost seventeen. Oh, and yes, I am not allowed to drive. Apparently, I'm "not ready" and even if I was, I don't have a car. The original plan was for my sister and I to share a car (even though we certainly have enough money for another one), but she is eighteen and allowed to go whereever she wants, whenever she wants. It's not that she's the favorite, but I feel like since she expresses her enthusiasm for doing something (basically whines if something doesn't go her way) more than me, she gets to do more. I'm not a confrontational person, and I hate fighting with my parents. So I'll put up a battle for a few days before finally giving it a rest. 

My more popular and unprisoned-by-her-parents friend, Brooke, is throwing a party in a week, and despite my constant begging, they still refuse. 

"We don't know Brooke's parents."

"We don't want you getting hurt."

"High school parties always end in disaster."

It isn't like the party is going to be one you see in the movies where five hundred kids from school show up unexpectedly with beer before the cops catch them. She is having about twenty kids come total. But, no, that proves too insurmountable of an obstacle. 

As I am learning some chords on the guitar, I hear a knock on my door. Before I have time to answer the request, my door is already opened.

"Yeah?" I ask, looking up from the guitar and placing my pick between my teeth before biting down in it to stablize it.

"Hey, you need to clean up your room," my mom tells me, motioning around the room with a single hand. 

I nod, replying with an "Okay". 

She then starts to roam around my room as if she's doing any good by picking up some books and laying them in a different area. 

"Why do you have so many glasses in here?" She asks, picking one up before setting it down.

"I don't know."

She leaves after a few minutes, and I go back to playing my guitar. 

I feel guilty about it, but I don't really have a relationship with either of my parents. My dad and I bond over football, and conversations with my mother usually entail me saying as little as possible until I can leave. I'll admit, some of it is my fault, but my mom only comes in 75% of the time to tell me that I need to clean something or do something for her. 

I look at the clock. 

10:34. 

With a sigh, I prop my guitar against my bed before covering myself up with layers of blackets (it is unusually cold for fall) and turning off the light. Sleep couldn't come fast enough and usually, it doesn't. I toss and turn, thinking about boy problems to try and distract me from my real ones. And by the time the clock strikes midnight, I am finally asleep.