Elementary [n.h. au]

three | trainwrecks on main st.

Saturday was the kind of day that was made for someone with a job like Rolly Marshall's.

Friday was usually a buzz and hum that didn't quit from before sun-up until Rolly hustled like the Devil was on her heels to get to her car by no later than 4:30 P.M. Fridays were not for staying at school any longer than that—by Friday, she was fried, and her brain capacity was limited to watching a few episodes of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air in her favorite sweatpants while shoveling handfuls of chocolate-drizzled kettle corn into her mouth.

On Fridays, she went home, she turned her mind off, and she became a hermit and didn't speak to anyone for the entire evening (with the exception of an occasional call to her mom and dad, or her brother, Darren).

On Saturdays, however, she woke up of her own free will rather than the alarm that ruined her life every weekday morning at 5 A.M. Granted, her version of "sleeping in" didn't usually wander past 7:45, but a 7:45 wake-up gave her nearly three more hours of sleep than she got on any given workday, so she was always grateful.

She was even more grateful to be able to cook herself a proper breakfast, shimmying around the kitchen humming along to Missy Elliott's "One Minute Man" while browsing through anchor charts for suffixes on Pinterest. That was exactly what she was doing the Saturday morning of Niall's gig, which was the main reason for the extra pep in her step. Niall had a gig. That he'd invited her to come see.

Well, he'd invited her and a few other members of the WCE staff, but she was going to take the invitation more personally if she damn well pleased.

Still dressed in her pajamas, Rolly ate her French toast and scrambled eggs while standing at the counter, enjoying every bite as she shuffled her bare feet across the kitchen tile along with the '2001 Hits' Pandora station. French toast and scrambled eggs were certainly something heartier than the protein shake she usually downed in the car on the drive to work because it was honestly too early for her to even think about eating. Despite the demands of her job, Rolly was not a morning person. She never really had been, which begged the question: why did she enter a career field that required her to rise before the sun did the same? Even 8 A.M. classes in college had nearly killed her.

Yet there she was, more often than not driving to her place of employment in the dark, blasting music in an attempt to wake herself, running on at least one cup of coffee, occasionally a Red Bull.

Saturdays, however, gave her plenty of time to wake up hungry, which meant she could think about breakfast, and did, and usually whipped up something that made her stomach growl obnoxiously while she was cooking and she'd eat right there in the kitchen when it was finished. Rolly didn't have a true dining area in her apartment—it was small, plus she lived alone and rarely had guests, so she'd never bothered to spend money on a table and set of chairs. Her coffee table in the living room served more as a dining area if she didn't just eat her meals at the kitchen counter.

As she got herself dressed around 9:15, Rolly fussed with her outfit in the mirror, annoyed that she was putting so much thought into her clothes when most Saturdays, she was still keen on wearing sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt for at least an extended period of the day. That Saturday morning, however, she had to see people she knew, which meant she had to look decent. Especially considering one of those people was Niall Horan. And it was too early in their friendship for Niall Horan to see her in her sweatpants that were becoming so threadbare in the thighs it was appalling she hadn't thrown them away yet.

Sick of over-thinking everything, she finally settled on a comfortable pair of jeans, her favorite scarf (big and loopy and warm), and a chunky knit cardigan layered over a simple shirt. The weather was finally starting to cool down, just enough for the wind to whip through the thinnest of her garments, and she agreed that the cardigan she'd decided upon was a good choice as she stepped out into the morning, tugging at her uncooperative curls with a few fingers as she hustled to her car, keys in the opposite hand. It was just thick enough to keep her warm in the wind that was growing more prominent the further they got into November.