Passing college is a difficult task on its own, but imagine what it's like when your final grade rests in the hands of the worlds' favorite rock-star.
As graduation from her local community college approaches, Reese Taylors yearns for some answers...
{ money shot } - a climatic revelation, image, or moment that gives the audience "their money's worth"
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Not once in my nineteen years of life have I ever been in a rush to get ready in the morning.
Always the early bird - even before my biological clock woke me up at seven-thirty, I never had an issue waking up in the morning. I've always waited for my siblings to get their butts dressed and out the door so we could make it anywhere on time.
Maia's bed is warm and fluffy with a cool breeze sweeping over my face, emitting an odd smell. My head snuggles into the plush pillow, feeling the morning sunlight cast its soft rays into the small space. I release a sigh, not wanting to even think about moving and revisiting the fight I had with Lennon last night.
Until Logan's voice smashed through my dreamy haze, sending me into a wave of panic.
"Hey Maia, she's still in bed," Logan had yelled, his voice obnoxiously cheery, "wow. I was up before Reese and Lennon. I've gotta write this shit down in my journal. Maybe blow it up and tack it to the fridge for everyone to see it."
Logan's next words send a wave of shock through my body; he might as well have dumped ice cold water over my head. "We have to be out the door in five minutes for pre-show rehearsals. Tick tock."
My eyes blink open and in a rush to climb out of bed, my feet tangle in the hundreds of blankets Maia has on her bed. I fall to the floor, landing on my stomach amidst a pile of blankets and a mouth full of carpet. Letting out a grunt, I disentangle myself and roll onto my back.
I get dressed in a record time of three minutes, tossing my hair into a high ponytail rather than fussing with a brush. The regret will come later, but my main priority is not missing the Emma James train as she carpools the band to rehearsals.
She always rides the bus with them.
We make it to the venue on time. I'm busy setting up my camera, my second cup of coffee running through my veins as I bounce slightly in my spot. The band's busy setting up their instruments with all the chords and equipment that'll take ages to put away.
I sneak a glance at Lennon, who looks more put together than I do. He overslept, too. Boys have it easy. He slapped a cap on his head - backwards, might I add - and threw on an old band shirt with a pair of jeans and viola, he was out the door ready to go.
He's busy tuning his guitar. I planned on double checking this morning if I could tag along to rehearsals, but things still feel tense between us. We've barely looked at one another, yet spoken to each other since our fight last night.
And I'm sure I'll be the bigger person and crack first. I'm only in California for five more days and I still have a documentary to finish.
My heart drops. Do I really only see him as my project subject?
