2012: Teenage Girls

2012: Teenage Girls

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Read after White Night 04.

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Point of View: Sandra
Featured Characters: Sandra Hollinger, Jeremy Hollinger
Word Count: 445

Jeremy Hollinger really hates Kesha.

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The chair legs screeched across the kitchen tile as he scooted his seat back and rose to his feet, his hands slamming down hard on the tabletop.

“That’s it. They have to die.”

Jeremy stalked over to the kitchen island. He plucked a knife out of the block, examined it with narrowed eyes, and determined that it wasn’t big enough to do the job. He put it back in exchange for the next in line.

“This is what teenage girls do, sweetie,” Sandra responded, raising a slender eyebrow at his chosen weapon as she glanced over her shoulder at him. She was at the stove, stirring tonight’s dinner. Technically her husband had done all the work of putting it together; her job was just to watch it and make sure it didn’t burn. It was probably for the best that she’d taken over, considering that Jeremy was obviously losing his mind.

Case in point. He was now gesturing at her with the knife like a lunatic. “I don’t care, Sandra. They’ve played that fucking song six times now. I don’t know who Kesha is, but I’m going to find her and murder her too. I’m DONE.”

“You realize that if you go up there demanding they turn it down, they’re only going to play it louder? As soon as I knew my father hated something, I always made sure to do it as much as possible.”


She smiled as the knife went back into the block with a soft shhhick. But then…

“You’re right. This requires a different tactic.”

Before Sandra could ask what he had in mind, he’d disappeared through the kitchen door. Curiously, she moved away from the stove and crossed her arms, leaning a hip against the counter and tilting her head. She counted the stomps of his feet up the stairs and down the upstairs hall.

A male voice suddenly broke out in loud baritone, drowning out the more synthetic tones playing from their daughter’s bedroom.

Jeremy was singing along to We R Who We R.

The high-pitched giggling of two fourteen-year-old girls almost immediately followed. After a moment of eerie silence, the heavy footfalls of her husband heralded his descent back down the stairs.

Jeremy reentered the kitchen with the darkest of expressions.

“How did it go?” she asked him.

“They laughed and begged me to sing another one,” he growled. He snatched his keys from the bowl on the kitchen island.

Sandra just barely kept a straight face. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to throw myself in Lake Glass. I’ll be back when they’re asleep.”

When the front door slammed she erupted into laughter all her own.

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