Jemma tromped along her room, stuffing odds and ends of clothes into her dad’s duffel bag. And, of course, a couple books. Or seven.
As much as Jemma was excited to go to Jurassic World with her friends, she was not a morning person. And as their plane left at five in the morning, she was up pretty early.
She could hear her mom downstairs, making her some breakfast. She, also, wasn’t a morning person – but Jemma’s father was, so he had made sure that the two of them were all up on time.
Jemma’s duffel bag was now full to the bursting – probably with twenty shirts and only a single pair of shorts – and Jemma was scrounging around for her glasses. She was pretty sure that she had left them on her bedside table…
Something crunched beneath her booted-foot. Jemma cringed. She probably should’ve turned on the lights…
Doing what she should have done from the beginning, Jemma made her way to her room’s lightswitch and flipped it on. Her room was a mess – just as she had left it the night before – and sure enough, there her black-rimmed glasses were on the floor, one lens in complete absence of glass.
Her parents had made sure that every day Jemma had worn her glasses – even though she could see half-decently without them – and Jemma had, in return, taken very good care of them. How was she going to tell them?
Well, no time to dwell on it now. In one leap, Jemma arrived at the crunched glasses and shoved them into a pocket of her duffel. Tackling her bag like a pro wrestler, Jemma managed to get it zipped shut and slung it over her shoulder. Which nearly proceeded to drag her down to the chaotic floor.
Jumping down the stairs two at time – something that still scared Jemma’s mother when she saw her doing it – and stooped down to pick up her worn Converse from the bottom stair. There wasn’t any room left in her bag, so she just plopped the pair of shoes and bag by the front door.
“Jemma, is that you?” Jemma’s mom voice sounded really tired still.
“Yeah, I’m just putting my stuff by the door.” Jemma glanced up at the clock in the other sitting room: half past four. “We need to meet Angela in fifteen minutes.”
“Hurry up and eat breakfast, than!”
Jemma jogged to the kitchen. “Coming!” Jemma hoped that, while she was already waking up, her mom or dad had made coffee.
She sat down in her seat at the island, and looked from her mom to her dad. They looked funny this morning … as if there were a fog about them.
Her dad looked up from his book. “Honey, you’re not wearing you’re glasses.”
Immediately, Jemma’s mom snapped around from where she was starting the coffee maker. You would think that that would’ve been the first thing that she had done. “Jemma?”
Shifting under their critical gazes, Jemma lied. “Uh, yeah. Um, I have them in my bag. I had a earache, so I’m not putting them on until we get into the car.”
After another second, her dad said, “Okay. But make sure that you do put them on.”
Moments later, Jemma was finishing up chewing her breakfast of cereal, and she was gulping down coffee from a travel mug in her hand.
Her mom had given her a tearful goodbye, but had promptly gone back to bed. Jemma’s father, however, was caring her stuff and leading Jemma to his truck.
Hopping into the front seat and buckling her seat belt, Jemma cast a final glance at their house. She squinted as she thought that she saw some … shadow slinking across the road next to their home. It looked like a person … just … made of shadows.
“Jemma, are you okay?”
Maybe she really did need glasses more than she thought.
“Yeah, I’m just tired.”
The figure waved, and then disappeared.