Music is a part of life, a part of who we are. You can go anywhere in the world and music will follow you. You can't escape it. Whenever you hear a song, it makes you wonder, is this song meant for me? Is this the song that represents who I am, shar...
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"Ethan Ethan Ethan Ethan!" I call out as I speed walk towards the tech shop, both of us having just finished our shifts. He had literally just stepped out of the store when I started speeding towards him. This couldn't wait.
"What's wrong?" he asks, concerned.
"Mum and Dad are coming home."
There's a pause, Ethan taking in the bomb I had just dropped.
"Oh, shit!"
Not giving me a chance to catch my breath, he grabs my arm and pulls me towards the car, any sign of his previous limp gone.
"Slow down! I... need to... grab... the keys!" I huff out between breaths, struggling to keep up with Ethan's fast pace. I may be fit, but not Ethan level fit.
Thankfully, he slows his pace down enough to let me grab the keys out of my pocket. Once he sees they're in my hand he rushes off again, dragging me behind him like a ragdoll.
He quickly gets into the passenger side of the car, gesturing for me to do the same on my side. I roll my eyes at his urgency, sliding into my seat behind the wheel.
"Drive quickly. We have a lot to do at home."
"Yes sir," I mutter back sarcastically, receiving my own eye roll in return.
The first few minutes of the journey are quiet, neither of us being bothered to turn on the radio.
"When are Mum and Dad letting you retake your driving test?" I ask Ethan, hoping the answer is soon. What can I say? Driving him around everywhere becomes annoying very quickly.
"They, uh... they never replied to me."
I feel anger bubbling up inside of me when I hear Ethan's dejected tone. They just ignored him? What good could possibly come from that?
"When did you ask them?" I ask, my voice deceptively steady.
"I've asked a few times over the last month but they just left it on read."
My hands involuntarily tighten on the wheel, my knuckles turning white from the pressure. "Have they replied to your messages at all?"
"Not since the meagre "Well done" I received when I sent them my grades." (Which were pretty damn impressive, might I add).
The way Ethan says all this, with such defeat, makes me even angrier. Sure, our parents were never the most involved, but to ignore their child for over a month? That's just crossing the line.
"I'll talk to Grandma about it. I'm sure she'll help you," I say confidently, trying to cheer him up a little. I know Grandma would do anything to make sure we were happy and being treated well.
He gives me a silent nod, a small smile playing at the edges of his mouth. Looks like Ethan isn't the only sibling in the family with an overprotective streak.
"What's the plan for when we get in?" I ask, changing the subject. I hope he says he'll cook. I honestly cannot be bothered.
"I'll cook, you clean," he answers without hesitation. Thank God.
"We won't have much time to do stuff tomorrow though," I point out.
"Actually, I have time. I have nothing after school so you clean tonight, I clean tomorrow. But you're cooking when you get home."
"Deal."
***
Cleaning at 20:30 wasn't how I had planned to spend my Wednesday evening, but unfortunately I had parents who had an obsession with their status within the town. That meant a squeaky clean house, image and family. Lucky me.
"Jess, dinner!" Ethan calls up the stairs.
"Coming!" I shout back, picking up the polish and hoover to put back in the utility room. Yes, we have one of those. Along with five bedrooms, five bathrooms, a living room, kitchen, dining room, study, garage and large garden. One of the perks of having parents high up in the cruise ship workers rankings was the substantial salary that came with it. That, and the fact that they spent barely any time at home, too busy working (or going on holiday without us, but that has nothing to do with it). It was a shame that majority of the time there was only two people living in it.
"OK, so I've done the bathrooms, and hoovered and polished upstairs. You just need to do the downstairs minus the bathroom," I explain as I walk into the kitchen. The delicious smell of food hits me the moment I step through the doorway. "What did you make?"
"Spaghetti bolognese," he replies, picking up two plates from the counter. "Can you please grab the parmesan and cutlery? Thank you."
"Sure," I shrug.
We eat in a comfortable silence, each of us in our own heads. "What are we going to do when Mum and Dad get back?" I ask out of the blue.
He gives me a sad smile. "We just keep doing what we normally do. Stick to the routine. Well, as much as we can anyway."
I nod in reply, looking down at my plate. It was a stupid question. Of course we would do the same as we usually did when our parents came back to town. They ignore us, too busy with their afternoon teas and golfing trips, we continue to do what we do every day and we all live happily ever after.
