° ✦ YOU'RE ON

             "You know, hoverboards always rubbed me the wrong way. They’re advertised poorly.” Maybe because in the future she had gone to (and coherently experienced for a grand total of five minutes), they actually hovered off the ground. It was interesting to see how everything ended up panning out, if not a little unnerving, but she didn’t dwell on it much; usually it was Marty doing that much. Regardless, she finishes filling out the form, sliding the pen and clipboard over to the surgeon. 

                                                    “Anything else you need from me, Dr. Harris?”

your fave is problematic: blythe edition

              “He’s not REALLY building a DEATH RAY – is he? Doctor Brown seems more like.... I dunno. Like he’d make getting mail slightly more convenient, but in a really elaborate way.”

WALK IN ON JEN CHANGING: ACCEPTING

              They’ve been at it for hours and it’s time to take a break – personally, she’s so mentally exhausted from trying to make sense of her calculus homework (the extra credit assignment, anyway) that it’s almost reached a point of physical exhaustion. How pathetic, she thinks as she reaches for her unopened Tab, it’s barely 6:30 and I’m ready for bed. She stifles a yawn as she goes to open the can – and curses under her breath as soda squirts out, spilling down the front of her shirt.  

                                Well, guess it’s the motor functions that slip first.

              She pokes her head out the door and looks down the hallway to make sure Marty’s not coming back from the kitchen, before ducking back inside her room and pulling her shirt over her head. With one effortless toss, the fabric is deposited in the hamper, and she’s striding over to her dresser, searching for a suitable replacement. 

                                                                                                          “Ah – Jen?”

               Her body freezes for a split second – and then she’s snatching the first shirt she can grab ahold of (a promotional Pepsi one) and pulling it hastily over her head. Never mind that she’s pulling it on backwards – she manages not to fall over as she straightens the hem and leans as casually as she can manage against her dresser, blowing stray strands of hair out of her face. 

                 “Spilled some Tab on my other – must’ve been a faulty can.” And she smacks her hands together, posture straightening. “ANYWAY! We’d better move on to English, unless you feel like swinging an all nighter.” 

WALK IN ON JEN CHANGING: ACCEPTING

              It’s a relief to be done for the day – something she reflects in her mind as she pulls the sweater of her practice uniform over her head and dumps it in her gym bag atop her skirt. Hands reach into her locker and procure her jeans, sliding them on with certain ease. The locker room itself is quiet – and aside from the slight creepiness of it (because hey, it’s a high school locker room), it’s tranquil. She’s alone with her thoughts. It’s probably the most peaceful part of her day. 

              At least, until she hears the clicking of footsteps on the tile floor. She doesn’t react to it at first. Dana probably forgot her walkman or something – we’re all girls, she reflects to herself as she pulls her hair out of her ponytail and starts running a comb through it, doing her best to return it to its original body and bounce before she throws on her blouse and heads home for a riveting evening of homework, improved only by the fact that she can listen to Marty’s new mixtape. 

                                            “Hey, Dana, what’d you forget this ti–”

             She turns to address her co-cheerleader in arms and is instead met with a distinct surprise – she almost screeches from it as she reaches into her locker and snatches her blouse in question, throwing it on as quickly as she can and wrapping the fabric around her torso protectively. Are her cheeks burning from embarrassment? RAGE? She’s not quite sure. 

           “This is the GIRL’S locker room, genius!” Oh, she’s mad. It doesn’t take a detective to decipher that clue – and when she catches his smirk (does he have any other facial expression?), she reaches out a hand for one of her pom-poms and tosses it as hard as she can at his face.