Community Service

Community Service | Part Two

Community Service | Part Two

            When my mother offered to teach me how to use the sewing machine in third grade, it must have been a sign that I would later need to use those craft skills.

            "Google how to make a voodoo doll for me." I grumble at Eliza, pacing my room as she texts somebody on her phone. My hair still smells burnt, even though I spent an hour in the shower, and I can nearly see the hardwood floor beneath the carpet from my frantic pacing.

            "Don't be so dramatic." Eliza replies, hoisting herself up from my bed and crossing her arms. When I first told exactly what had happened, she had thrown her head back and laughed for at least five minutes. Not exactly the most supportive groupie of the I Hate Ross Alderman club. "It's not like you know how to sew and you're not of those creepy witch people that actually believes in that shit."

            Shaking my head, I cease my pacing by falling back onto my bed, burying my head into a pillow. "I hate him so much. So much.

            "Wow, really? Says the number one fan girl of Ross since sixth grade?" Eliza's tone is gentle mocking. "Come on Jenn, we both know that your crush on Ross is insubstantial. You barely know him."

            "I don't like him anymore." I reply hotly, my voice muffled by the pillow. "I hate him. More than I hate spiders, and the dark, and needles. That is a lot of hate, I tell you."

            "I would tell you I told you so, but I think you're just going to slap me if I do. I've never understood why you've liked him for such a long time." Eliza's talking as my mind flashes back to several years ago. Pushing those nostalgic thoughts back with the image of the dean yelling at me, I bite my tongue and listen to Eliza ramble on about the illogical, romantic notions I used to have about Ross.

            "Eliza," I groan once she finishes, lifting my head from the pillow just enough to breathe, "He's ruined my life. I have community service. That's going on my record. Forever. How am I supposed to go to-"

            "Brown, Stanford, or Dartmouth. I get it. You've said this so many times already, Jenn. You're going to be fine."

            I don’t reply, staring up at the ceiling. It’s painted a dark blue and there are glow-in-the-dark stars pasted in the shape of constellations, attributed to my astronomy phase back in middle school. I’ve had a lot of phases, whether it be my occasional consideration to go into cake decorating or my stint with the circus freshman year, but one thing that’s never changed is wanting to go to Brown College. Or of course, my oh my god I-love-Ross phase. Until now.

            “You know how my parents are.” I finally say dully, hoisting myself and let my feet dangle from the edge of my bed.

            Eliza scotches closer to me and crosses her arms, a sympathetic look on her face. “Of course I know, Jenn. But you’re going to be fine, okay?”

            My shoulders droop, all my angry emotions running out and leaving me drained. There’s no pointing in thinking about it anymore. I’m stuck having community service for blowing up the school.

            “Do you want dinner?” I ask, throwing on a cardigan and buttoning it up. “I’m making enchiladas and mom’s not coming home tonight so somebody’s going to have to eat it with me.”

            Eliza nods and we head down the hall to the kitchen where all the ingredients are already out. As I rinse a pot and boil the chicken, Eliza cuts up the tomatoes and onions and opens up a can of green chilies. We work silently.