As the sun set to close out an already long week, I reclined on my bed and put my ear buds in as Katy Perry sang about a teenage dream. It’s ironic that my iPod shuffled to that song since I hate my dreams, but the melody and Katy’s voice relaxed me enough not to think about them.
The door slammed louder than usual and startled me from my rest; then Morgan, my twin sister, started yelling.
“Megan, Megan, you home?” Her annoying high-pitched voice sent my name throughout the house. I exhaled, knowing that my rest was over. I loved Morgan, but sometimes she drove me crazy, and I knew she would occupy the rest of my evening.
“Here I come,” I grumbled as I sat on the edge of my bed. I stood up, stretched, and started toward the doorway, then stopped. I could feel someone looking at me. I peered over my shoulder at the window and the half-opened blinds, then went to shut them. I sighed with relief as the feeling dissipated.
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