OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

six.

TWO WEEKS HAD passed since the momentous event of Richard getting fired. In that span of time, Reagan had indeed been working more hours at Wilson's. With every passing night, she had exhaustively climbed into her bed, dragging her arms first and then her legs into the sheets while contemplating if she would regain feeling in those appendages.

Working the counter at Wilson's was not hard. Reagan would admit that readily to anyone who might have noticed her tired eyes. Yet, standing on both feet all day had taken a toll on her physical and mental endurance. When she would come home after her shifts, not even the glazed, passing stare that she gave her father's drum set was enough to coax her into playing.

Her life had simply become work.

On the rare occasion that Reagan did have a day off, she usually spent it tending to her family members. There was always someone in need of picking up or a grocery list meant to be fulfilled so food would be placed on the table later in the evening. She had almost forgotten what the concept of free time was even like.

It was now even more laughable when Tommy asked her on a date, or Chris proposed that she come over and jam. All the spare time Reagan had ever harbored to herself had dissipated into thin air. Richard had involuntarily stepped out of the role of primary caretaker and passed it on to his daughter.

With her lips sealed shut, Reagan quietly accepted this fate. She did so out of the love she ultimately had for her family, no matter how much they tended to crawl directly under her thick skin.

On the afternoon following a routine school day, Reagan's current predicament laid with Robbie, who sat at the kitchen table with his head stuffed into his hands. Beneath him was a math textbook and homework sheet. Seventh grade pre-algebra was hitting him hard.

Reagan wasn't working that day, and as resident big sister, she was trying to help Robbie solve the rows of math problems he had been assigned. The only problem was that she herself despised math and could barely figure it out.

"I don't think that's the right formula," Robbie complained, his voice layered with stress.

"Robbie, I seriously don't understand this. You should be asking Kate or Dad for help. Not me."

"I would, but they aren't here right now."

Robbie was pointedly right, acknowledging his sister's ignorance for the fact that the only two family members who were efficient in math were not present. It was just Robbie and Reagan in the house that day. The twins were in daycare, Kimberly was at work, Richard was out scavenging for jobs and Kate was spending time with her friends.

That left Reagan in charge of ensuring her younger brother did his homework.

She scowled at the math problems staring up at her from Robbie's worksheet. Her thick curtain of auburn hair fell onto the table as she leaned over them, scrubbing out her wrongly guessed answers with a pencil eraser. Robbie had not stopped huffing with displeasure.

"This is not junior high math. This is rocket science," Reagan grumbled.

"It's a bunch of bullshit," Robbie replied, folding his arms across his chest.

Reagan looked at him with disbelief, dropping the pencil she held as she felt her jaw fall open.

"Did you just say 'bullshit?'"

"Yeah," Robbie said nonchalantly. "So?"

"You can't say that! You're twelve!"

"But you say it all the time!"

Reagan groaned and bowed her forehead to the kitchen table. She had always perceived herself as a good influence on her younger siblings, but after the cigarette debacle with Kate and now Robbie's sailor mouth, she was discovering that she was quite the terrible role model.