It sounds like bells or chimes and maybe a violin or flute playing the same five notes over and over again. I sit up in bed and rub my eyes. My mom has always listened to stuff like Barry Manilow, Lionel Richie, songs from the ‘80’s. The song playing downstairs is more like what you might hear if you were in the dentist’s office waiting to get your teeth cleaned. I slowly get out of bed, stretch, and sigh. I’ve got football practice at one o’clock, and I’m dreading it. Coach is going to bust my balls about missing so many practices and most of my teammates will hate me for being able to skip so much time and still be first string for the game tomorrow. Not to mention that I’ll have to see Brody. Brody, who thinks he’s so superior and special and deserves whatever he wants. Including my girlfriend. The music downstairs swells to a new level and then the floor vibrates below me with a few loud thumps. Shit. My mom’s probably hammered, and she might have fallen down or something.
