Telescope

These Nights

Juno

The campfire spit flames into the dark sky, dissolving into sparks falling onto the sand like miniature fireworks. I was sitting on an upside-down bucket, one leg tucked under me to balance the guitar on my lap. My guitar is covered in stickers, worn from all the years of use. I was plucking the strings lightly, humming instead of listening to the bright conversation around me.

Mitch, a long-haired hippie, was lying in the sand propped on his elbows, eyes heavy. Dylan was sitting on another bucket, talking loudly about some football game. Bea was sitting with her legs crossed on the ground, a cigarette between her lips, unlit. Andrew had his arm draped across her shoulders, his leather jacket crinkling every time he moved.

These nights were where everyone could come to sit in the smoke of the fire, together, and everyone forgot about high school cliques and cliche pressure. The hippie, jock, stoner, bad boy, and me. Sure, we were all friends outside of nights like these, but without the dim light and sand blowing into our hair, there was always something off. 

We would pass each other in the halls and nod at each other, then return to whatever group we were supposed to be a part of. 

"Guys," Dylan said. "You should come next time."

"Why would I ever want to go to a football game?" Bea asked.

"Cause you love me, obviously," Dylan replied, earning him an eye roll from Andrew. 

"Football games perpetuate a false narrative of masculinity equaling strength," Mitch said.

"Or," Dylan said, used to Mitch, "They show awesome school spirit and are kinda hype."

Andrew collapsed in the sand, with a lot of crinkling, sighing loudly. "I'll go, Dylan," He said, grinning at the sky fakely. "I'll even wear a cheerleading bow. Juno?"

"Nope, gotta earn that shit," I said. I did cheer for two years before I quit. I loved the sport, not so much the coaches. 

"Then I won't wear a bow, I'm so sorry Dylan. Some people don't have school spirit," Andrew said, waving his ringed hands around. 

"Your comedy is top-notch," Bea said, rolling her eyes. But she smiled when she looked back at Andrew. We all knew she had a soft spot for him. He pulled her next to him, hooking an arm around her neck. 

By the time the campfire died down, Mitch was passed out in the sand and Bea and Andrew had left to go make out with each other. 

"What time is it?" Dylan asked, yawning. I grabbed my bag from a few feet away and dug through it to find my phone. 

"One," I said. My house was walking distance, but both Mitch and Dylan had to actually drive home. 

"Yikes," Dylan said. "Well, considering we have school tomorrow, I'm gonna go home. I should probably take him too, huh?"

We looked at Mitch, who was covered in sand and drooling. I kicked his shoe. "Probably." 

"Mitch," Dylan yelled. Once he finally got him up, they left and I walked home, my guitar on my back and my shoes in my hand. 

Alarm clocks suck. 

Especially when they go off when you've only gotten three hours of sleep. I rolled over, burying my face in my pillow. The problem with my particular alarm clock though, is that it gets louder the longer you leave it going. The other problem with my particular alarm clock is that it sits on the floor across the room from my bed so that I have to get up to turn it off. 

I groaned, stretching and rubbing my hands over my face. I stood up and squinted, trying to find the button on top of the blurry green numbers. I trudged to my full-length mirror, taking in my appearance. 

My light hair was falling out of the loose bun I had put it in, my cheeks were pink and my freckles looked like someone had splattered paint across my nose, but my skin was smooth and clear and my light brown eyes were bright. I was wearing a big white t-shirt with some red logo which was falling off my shoulder and running shorts. I trudged to my closet and pulled out a pair of high waisted jeans and a very cropped black tank top. I grabbed my big, chunky flannel and put it on, then braced myself for the chaos outside my bedroom door. 

I have an older brother who graduated last year but was taking a gap year to work, which meant I still had to deal with him in the mornings. I also have a fourteen-year-old brother who likes to sleep in and then rush for ten minutes to leave the house on time. And we all share a bathroom, so, you know, chaos. 

I washed my face and was in the process of brushing my teeth when Noah, my older brother, pushed me aside to wash his face. A second later, Aaron ran in, running his hand through his hair in front of the mirror frantically and crashing around for his tooth brush. 

"Move," I said around my toothbrush. They ignored me, so I shoved my way in to spit and put my toothbrush back. 

"I need to shower, get out," Noah said.

"I have to get ready!" Aaron said as Noah pulled off his shirt.

"Ew gross, boundaries, god!" I went back to my room, sitting down in front of my mirror and pulling out my makeup. I just swiped on mascara and ran a brush through my eyebrows. I pulled my hair out of the bun, using my straightener to give loose curls, which I pulled apart more so they were soft, ending just past my shoulders. 

I grabbed my bag, a colorful shoulder bag with orange and red threads, my books still inside. I ran downstairs, shouting for Aaron as I grabbed a pop tart. 

"Aaron!" I grabbed my sunglasses, orange with big frames that I had gotten at a thrift store. "Hurry!"

"I'm coming!" He shouted, clearly annoyed as he thudded down the stairs, papers falling out of his open backpack. He looks nothing like me, with dark brown hair and green eyes, definitely taking after his father. 

When we got to school, he went off with his friends and I went to my first class, only two minutes to get there. My first class is art, but it's part of this program where you have to apply and stuff so it's so serious. Most schools cut art programs, ours cuts academics. Our math classes are shoved into portables in the back of the school, the English rooms don't have air conditioning, and the history teachers are basically forming a war force against the admin. 

Even our art has crap funding, but at least we have it. 

I slid into my seat a minute after the bell, ignoring the stares. I'm always late, I don't know why they act like this is new.

I didn't even know I was falling asleep, but when I woke up at the end of class, my head on my open sketchbook, I knew I was fucked.

"Juno," My teacher said, sighing. I felt my heart sink, feeling the familiar sting of being a constant disappointment. I wished she didn't have to lecture me. I already knew I shouldn't have fallen asleep. Sometimes it's just so hard to try your best, give everything you've got, and still fail. "You need to stay awake in this class. I don't know what else I'm supposed to do."

"I'm sorry," I said. I was going to explain, tell her about how hard it is for me to fall asleep. Talk about me laying in the dark, my mind a mess, thinking about absolutely everything no matter how hard I tried to sleep. But then, I realized it didn't matter. 

"I need this to change, so," She handed me a detention slip, which I took. Because punishing me was going to cure my insomnia. 

"Thanks," I said. I said it how one normally says thanks, sincerely, even though I had nothing to thank her for. I left, not knowing what else to say.