“Hey. Hey. Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup-”

It feels as if someone is shaking the bed. I try to remember what I had just been dreaming about. It had been a happy one. I believe that it had something to do with Ashley, but the details are slipping away now…

“Hey, you gotta get up, Zoe. Mom’s about to finish breakfast!”

I give up and open my eyes. There, at my bedside, is my younger brother, Collin, no doubt sent here by my parents.

“I’m awake,” I tell him to calm him down.

He grins. “About time! I’ve been here for like a minute.” He then proceeds to jump to his feet and take off out of my room in almost a run.

Collin is only one year below me in school, but somehow through the years he has yet to lose his youthful spirit. You can tell we are siblings by our matching blonde hair and blue eyes, which are also shared by my mother and my two older brothers. His is getting to be almost as long and curly as mine, which is something I expect our parents will put an end to soon.

So, I arise from my bed, get dressed as best as I can, and head downstairs.

My mother is indeed already setting the table with plates of scrambled eggs. My father is sitting on the couch, holding a newspaper in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other, as is his typical morning routine. My second oldest brother, Derrick, is setting his backpack on a chair by the front door. (My oldest brother, of course, is not here; he is beginning his first year of college at Texas A&M.) Collin is mysteriously absent. (Where could he have wandered off to since waking me up? Perhaps he is washing his hands.) And finally, our own golden retriever, Shadow, runs straight up to me for attention.

I’m Shadow’s favorite. I was the one who convinced Mom and Dad to take him home. They wanted to get a dog who was younger. But I just fell in love with Shadow as soon as I looked into his literal puppy dog eyes. The vet said that his previous owners abused him. It was hard to even take him on walks at first. He would take a few steps and then just stop, worried that he was about to be punished for something. It just broke my heart.

“Who’s a good boy?” I croon at him, as I pet him along his back.

My petting of him is interrupted by my mother, who had finished setting the table and is now letting him into the back yard. Afterwards, she turns to me, and subsequently puts her hands on her hips. For such a thin woman, she could, when desired, create quite a foreboding presence.

“Why, surely, you do not intend to wear that to school today?” she asks me sternly.

I feel a stab of shame. I had dressed in my favorite pair of jeans, and a red t-shirt from the junior high I attended last year, Bynum Intermediate School.

“You’re a high school student now,” she says. “You can’t be walking between your classes in a regular old t-shirt. You’ll be outdressed.”

This is not necessarily the case. Based on what I observed yesterday, most students seem to dress at about the same level as I am currently. Ashley was even wearing sweatpants.

“I will change, then,” I tell her, turning back to my room to do so. Satisfied, she hovers away to begin rounding up the boys for breakfast.

It is not my place to question my mother on these things. Being the only daughter of four children, my mother and I always had a special one-on-one relationship. Growing up, she was my teacher in all feminine matters.

As I am walking back to my room, Collin suddenly bursts out of his, as the doors to our rooms are right next to one another. So, he was not washing after all.

“Why did you go back into your room?” I ask him, curious. “What were you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says, seeming annoyed with me for asking. Without further ado, he takes off for the breakfast table.

Ah, his evasive manner is not unusual these days. I’m afraid he is going through quite the rebellious phase.

My first class after lunch is Pre-AP Biology. Unfortunately, Ashley is not in this class with me, though she does have the same teacher the period after me. Fortunately, I have other friends in this class: Terra, Diana, and Yonca.

As I take my seat at our table, they are already in the midst of chattering about something.

“I heard a rumor that he only got into Symphonic Band because his dad is friends with the band director,” Diana is saying. Diana is close to my height and has straight, dirty blonde hair that she usually keeps in a ponytail. Her sweet-looking, dimpled face masks a vicious gossiper. Many of her sentences begin with the words “I heard a rumor that…” and it seems as if now is no different.

“Who are you talking about?” I ask curiously.

“She’s talking about Mason,” Terra explains. Terra is the tallest of our group and has a cool and in-control temperament. She has brown hair which is very neatly kept; there’s not a single loose hair sticking up. “Diana, are you sure you’re not just jealous that you didn’t get into Symphonic Band?” She asks.

“I’m not jealous!” Diana replies, going a little pink in the face. “I’m just saying, think about it. We all knew Ashley was going to get in, the showoff that she is. And she-” she gestures towards me- “Got in because the other bassoon player quit. But why him? What’s so special about him?”

“Well, he is a very good player,” Yonca argues. She has olive skin and long, dark hair, as well as being very short; I’m not even sure if she’s five feet tall. Despite being unusual around here for being a Turkish immigrant, she’s a very sweet person. “Remember how he made first at the all-region tryouts in 8th grade? He might be good enough to be in Symphonic Band already.”

“Yeah, well, that was junior high. High school is a whole different ball game,” Diana insists.

“Well, it’s possible that Mr. Castro let him in to keep Ashley’s ego in check,” Terra theorizes while giving me an odd smile. Mason and Ashley have a notorious dislike for one another.

“Hmm… yeah, maybe,” Diana says.

“How’s your first week of school so far, Zoe?” Terra asks me.

“Oh, it’s been going pretty well so far,” I say. “I made some new friends yesterday during lunch!”

“Oh, well that’s good to hear!” Terra says. “Just make sure that you’re not getting involved with anyone of the wrong sort.”

“What do you mean by that,” I ask.

“Oh, you know… Anyone who’ll drag you into doing something you shouldn’t be doing,” she explains. “Anyways, I think class is about to start…” Indeed, I can see Coach Everheart standing up from his desk to address us.

I’ve been friends with Terra and Diana for years, as we all go to church together. That said, when Ashley moved in, even though the two of us got along really well together, she never seemed to gel well with Terra or Diana for some reason.

Yonca moved in back in fifth grade. When we first met, she was a super shy girl who could barely speak English; but we decided to show her kindness and invite her into our group, and since then she’s adjusted pretty well. Even if it’s a small thing, I’m really pleased that we were able to make a difference for her.

It’s a warm summer afternoon. Alyssa and I happen to be free for a few hours, so we’ve decided to drop by on a local politician’s rally. I strongly feel that it is necessary for a democracy to function that the citizens keep a close eye on what their representatives are doing. We can’t stick around for too long, however, as we need to pick up Ashley from school a little over an hour from now.

The public servant whom we are checking in on today is the local Justice of the Peace, Timothy Pavia. “Justice of the Peace” is a somewhat odd and archaic political position. Most states have done away with it entirely; however, Texas still continues to carry them. (Not surprising when you consider that this is the same state that still has a “Texas Railroad Commission,” which is actually responsible for energy regulation.) Even more unusually, the Justice of the Peace position here actually has a fair amount of duties; for example, he resides over some civil cases.

The rally is a decently sized crowd of people gathered under a pavilion that is next to a line of soccer fields. People are seated at picnic tables eating various home-cooked food items, mostly barbecue and mashed potatoes, and chattering amongst themselves.

“Think we should introduce ourselves?” Alyssa asks me, gesturing towards the front. Near the speaker setup, I see an older, balding man with tiny circular glasses. He would look rather like an old priest, except he’s dressed himself in flannel and jeans, clearly trying to fit in. That is most likely the man of the hour.

“Yes, perhaps we should,” I say in agreement. “It appears as if we still have a few minutes before the thing starts.”

We walk over to him, and Alyssa catches his attention by asking, “Good afternoon. Are you Justice Pavia?”

“Hmm? Oh, why yes I am,” he says, turning his gaze towards us.

Alyssa extends her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Alyssa Cooper.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he says, shaking it. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“No, we haven’t. This is my husband, Gregg Davis,” she says.

“I’m glad we could make it out here today,” I tell him as we shake hands.

“And what do you two do for a living?” He asks us.

“Oh, we’re musicians,” Alyssa explains, grinning at him cheerily.

“I see. Well, we’re going to start pretty soon, so feel free to take a seat somewhere.”

“Will do,” I say, and we walk towards the picnic tables set up under the pavilion to do so.

Hmm. Our reception felt lukewarm to me. Sure, we are mostly nobodies around here, but I feel like that is no excuse for a politician to not try to be friendly. A while back, we had the pleasure of meeting our state representative, Andrew Casey. He seems like a very nice man, gave us the time of day and everything. Ah well. Pavia has been in office for quite a while, from what I can tell, and politicians who are in office for a long time have a tendency to become out of touch.

We are scanning the tables and are pleasantly surprised to see a couple of friends of ours sitting near open seats. The people in question are Abram and Marie Parker, who we know from church.

The Parkers have a few children, one of them being a girl about Ashley’s age named Zoe. Ashley and Zoe seemed to have developed a very special bond. I think it’s been very good for Ashley to have such a good friend, as she’s been very reclusive since we moved.

“Oh, why hello there!” Marie says in greeting as we sit across from them. “Fancy meeting y’all here!”

“Indeed it is,” I say.

“Well, it’s funny we ran into you two, since we were going to ask you something,” Abram says. “Since you got a lesson with her after band anyway, would you mind giving Zoe a ride home from school today?”

“Oh, no problem at all,” Alyssa says. Alyssa has been giving Zoe lessons on saxophone for a few months now. Zoe wanted to be in jazz band, and there aren’t exactly a lot of opportunities out there for jazz bassoon players. The timing worked out pretty well; bassoons don’t appear in marching band either. Now that she plays saxophone, she can play that for both ensembles.

I feel a bit hungry, so I take a look at some of the food that the volunteers brought. I pick up a rib, but something looks funny about it…

“You think these are fully cooked?” I ask Alyssa.

“Yeah, of course it is,” she replies.

“The meat looks rather red.”

“That’s barbecue sauce, dear.”

She turns towards Marie. “He’s still getting used to the way things are around here,” she jokes, putting on a slightly southern accent for effect.

She’s referring to the fact that Alyssa actually grew up here in Texas, so our move a few years ago was a return to somewhere familiar for her. However, for me, it’s been quite the adjustment, given that I lived in California my whole life up to that point. It somehow gets even hotter here during the summer, for example.

“So, how is Patrick faring at A&M?” Alyssa asks.

“Oh, it sounds as if he’s been doing well so far,” Abram says.

“He’s gotten himself into a good faith group up there!” Marie says excitedly. “I’m proud to see him spreading the gospel to others his age. It’s upsetting to see so many of these Millennials rejecting faith.”

“Yes, it is,” Alyssa agrees. “Though I think that some of what’s been going on in mainstream religion is partially responsible for that…”

“If you ask me, it’s what’s happening in Washington D.C.!” Marie says, visibly starting to get worked up. “It’s bound to happen when you have a Muslim in the White House…”

“Come on now!” I interject. “There’s no evidence of that. And even if it was true, it’s the policies that matter the most.”

“I mean. He clearly hates America,” Marie insists. “And if it’s policies you care about, those have been a disaster too.”

“Well, I can’t dispute that much,” I say. “The Affordable Care Act should have never been passed… Congress passing a bill so long that its members didn't have time to even read it was bound to backfire. And his foreign policy has been far too similar to…”

I am then interrupted by the horrible sound of microphone feedback. Justice Pavia picks up a microphone that was connected to a set of speakers and begins making opening comments.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” he says in a southern accent that sounds somewhat forced. “It sure is a pleasure to see you all- er, to see y’all here. I’m Tim Pavia, your incumbent judge. I just want to thank all of you for coming here in support of my re-election effort.”

I suspect that he has other motivations for holding this rally than re-election, since he’s only facing token opposition. The Democratic Party isn’t even bothering to run a candidate against him. His only opponent is an independent running from the right of him, who has no chance of gaining traction due to his previous ties to white supremacy. It’s more likely that he’s using this rally as a chance to connect with constituents; or, more likely, find new high dollar donors, given our reception a few minutes ago.

“I have been truly blessed to serve the people of Enchantment City for the past few years,” he continues. “It says in Romans 13:1, ‘There is no authority except that which God has established.’ So I will uphold my personal duty of being the hands of God’s morality in this world.” Applause from the crowd. “The righteous in society will be blessed with riches; that is what is written. And so you have all gathered here behind me…”

I kind of zone out about this time. It’s pretty normal for politicians around here to invoke religious rhetoric, but the way he’s doing it sounds quite egotistical. Well, I’m still glad we came here. This is the kind of look into a public servant’s mind you can’t get any other way than listening to how he addresses his supporters.