"Becca. Becca. Rebecca. REBECCA ANNE DAVIS, GET YOUR BUTT OUT OF BED!"
I bolted into an upright position, my heart beating a mile a minute. "You jerk! You took fifteen years out of my life span," I said, chucking a pillow at my cousin, who was standing at the foot of my bed smirking.
"Good, that's my goal in life. Now get up. Aunt Maggie wants you to clean today," said Danielle.
I glanced at the clock. It read 8:00 am. Was my mother insane? And more importantly, what was Danielle doing up at this ungodly hour? "A, why are you up this early? And B, why aren't you at the dorms?" I asked, rolling out of bed and onto the floor. Danielle attends UCLA, which is about two hours from her home. However, it's just under a half-hour from mine, and many a weekend Danielle has found her way here.
"Because A, I wanted to beat the traffic. And B, I feel like eating real food this weekend," was the response.
"Oh, well, thanks for the wake-up call."
Danielle grinned. "No problem." She turned around and left as I began a desperate search through the disaster area I call my room for something to wear.
Fifteen minutes later I made my way downstairs. Since I was up so damn early and track practice started in two weeks, I figured I might as well go out for a run. Normally, I'm not this motivated. However, my biggest competition graduated last year. The thought of not only making states, but winning as well, is enough to make me hit the pavement.
"Come on Virginia, show me a sign... Send up a signal, I'll throw you the line... The stained-glass curtain you're hiding behind never lets in the sun... And only the good die young!" my mom sang into the spatula, waiting to flip the pancakes. I laughed to myself as I tied the laces of my sneakers and put on my UCLA hat. My mom is a HUGE Billy Joel fan, and believes he is the guardian of hers and Dad's relationship. They met at one of his concerts and the rest, as they say, is history. Normally, I'd think my mom was nuts. On the other hand, my parents HAVE been married for the past eighteen years, and, well, who am I to argue?
"Mom! I'm going out for a run! I'll clean when I get back, 'kay?" I shouted from my post in the hall.
"Sure, honey. Just let Ebony in before you go. She hasn't had her Friskies yet this morning."
"No problem," I said as I made my way to the screen door.
"Take me as I am... Put your hand in mine, now and forever..." sang Peter Cetera, my mom having replaced the Billy Joel CD with Chicago's Greatest Hits. She has a thing for easy listening music. I don't mind really, though I'm partial to The Eagles myself. Most of the ballads are played at my high school dances. However, it's this newfound mini-obsession of hers with Yanni that has me slightly concerned.
I took a look out the screen door and observed the scene before me. There was a camera crew in the middle of the street, and my Aunt Tamara was giving out orders. Two teenaged boys were talking to a man holding a video camera. Another one was petting Ebony, my cat. "Hey, Mom, Danielle! Get a load of the yokels!" I shouted.
"Rebecca!" my mother scolded me.
It really wasn't necessary, though. I had already hit the deck, realizing how loud I had been. My father had always warned me, 'THINK before you speak, Rebecca.' Thank God he was in the shower and unable to witness 'this poor display of judgement.' Then I came to an awful realization. I still had to go outside and get the cat.
"Hey, Danielle," I said, entering the living room where my cousin was engrossed in her cell-molec book. "Can you get Ebony? I'm just gonna sneak out the back and go for a run."
"YOU'RE not gonna sneak anywhere," my mom said from the kitchen. "YOU'RE gonna go out there, get the cat, and apologize, too."
"Apologize!?! Mom, they probably didn't even hear me," I defended my case.
Danielle snorted. "With your mouth, they probably heard you in San Diego." I shot her A LOOK.
"If they didn't hear you, why do you want to sneak out the back door?" Damn, my mother's good! "Get out there, Rebecca Anne. NOW."
I made my way to the front door. Never before, in all sixteen years of my life, have I felt more embarrassed than I did at this moment.