Chapter Five

If you were to google 'sleep statistics' especially for teenagers, you would find numerous web sites and articles arguing that teenagers sleep too late and wake up too early for school. Some schools in Minneapolis changed their school hours to start at eight-thirty in the morning.

You know what time my school starts?

Seven fifteen...AM.

Chyeah.

One website also said that additional sleep on the weekends would not make up for the lack of sleep during the weekdays.

That sucks. But, I'm sleeping in anyway.

It's Saturday morning, and although I usually work at both the local library and the Stop&Shop in the next town over, I get a day off from my bagger-boy (or girl) work. I don't need to be at the library until three anyway. That's just community service anyway. I only work for two hours. The school requires seventy hours of if before you graduate. I'm a little jealous though. The suburbs around here only have requirements of about fourty hours. Plus their schools start at eight and their bathrooms smell nicer. Keisha Dolan told me that when her soccer team had a game in Winchester, an extremely high class town.

I plan to sleep until at least noon. If I wake up then, I can give myself enough time to get ready and walk to the library. I don't really have any other plans so I might rent myself a movie and invite Alyssa and Vicky over to watch. Knowing Sam or Mike, they might get word and crash our little gathering and bring someone like Logan Verani too. They were cool so it didn't matter.

Thinking about it in my half-concious state I smile and close my eyes to drift away in my Saturday morning freedom.

Well...until...

"Milana!" Bang, knock, knock. " 'Lana?" knock, knock, knock, knock

I groan and lift my head up lazily. I can read my little analog alarm to seven fourty-three. It's early for the weekend. Can't I sleep more?

" 'Lana, I'm gonna come in." My mom is continuously banging on my door. What does she want.

"Whaaaaat, Ma?" I whine back.

"I'm takin' your brothers to the library. There some breakfast if you want, downstairs. I'll be back," there's a pause. "Maybe..."

"S'aright." I yell. "Take your time."

"Okay then hun. Your father is doing an errand for me. He'll be home sooner than me."

"Okaaaaaaaay," this is tedious. Let me sleep!

"Bye, love."

"Bye, Ma, love you."

"Love you too." I can hear the sound her shoes make as the footsteps begin and slowly fade away. She's wearing sneakers. I can tell. The sound is lower and softer than if she were wearing heels or flats. I fall asleep to their rhythm and nothing wakes me.

For at least a half-hour.

That's when the front door slams and it's so loud I almost jolt up in bed, even though my bedrooms on the second floor of our house and my door is closed. It's not any better than when we lived in that two-bedroom apartment, before my twin brothers were born. I was around eight when we moved to this house. A couple of streets over from that same apartment building.

Assuming my dad's home I glance at my clock again. It's eight-seventeen. Ugh, what happened to noon?

My dad is a naturally noisy man. He doesn't speak that much. But when he does, he's pretty funny. He even has a couple of good blonde jokes. Everything else, however seems to translate whatever volume he keeps down inside him. When the door closes, it slams with the force of an angry drunk. When he's in the car, he blasts whatever music is playing to the highest volume level. It has potential against the annoying twenty-something year olds in their souped up cars that act like a neighborhood hip-hop radio. Whenever they drive by, you always hear some rap artist like Weezy (Lil Wayne) or whatever. The problem is the television though. He loves to watch it late at night and does not cut down on anything, noise-wise. It's hard to focus on schoolwork or sleeping when it's on.

My dad decides that today is also a pleasant day to bum around the house watching anything from Saturday morning kids' cartoons to local news reports. It'll be impossible to 'make up' any sleep at this point.

I start my plans a little early. I take a shower, brush my teeth, put on some comfy clothes and walk downstairs to the kitchen and pour myself a double-sized bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, my favorite cereal. With my bowl of breakfast in one hand, my spoon in the other, and sweetened cereal in my mouth, I trod over to the living room, where my father has made himself quite comfortable, laying across the sofa. There's no room for me so I sit on the love seat.

He sees me and smiles. "Good monring, angel moy." That's Russian for "my angel". My father was always busy working when I was younger that he never made it a point to teach me or my brothers any of his native language. However I still could count and say some phrases.

"'Mornin' Daddy." I'm sort of a Daddy's girl. Except I'm not spoiled. I just like hanging out with him, a lot.

My dad then starts asking me about school and how my classes are. I tell him about Mrs. Stone and her attitude towards me. He laughs and shakes his head, telling me what he always tells me about her. "She's crazy, moya dorogaya (my darling). You just have to deal with them sometimes."

I wonder if I should tell him about the Kevin situation. I refrain. I don't want to keep stuff from my father, but I can tell that he's tired. Plus I shouldn't really spread this around before I know completely eveything.

Daddy gives off a big yawn and I smile. He worked overtime again. He always does, since the day he came to America, he's always been working. He only rests on Sundays and sometimes Saturdays, including today. My mom works too, but he works a lot more overtime so she won't have too.

By this time, I have finished my food. I go to my dad and give him a kiss on the cheek. "Sleep," I tell him. "I'll get a blanket."

He thanks me and asks me if I would like it if he took me and my brothers out to dinner, while my mom helps her sister pack for a trip.

"Sure," I say. "Where?"

He starts describing this nice semi-fancy restaurant in a far-off suburb. "The drive is nice, you'll like it." He says the twins can occupy themselves with their gameboys on the way and that there's a shopping center around too, so that one day my mom and I will go there.

He always says things like, "One day, we'll take you to this place." "I have to show you here." or the one that was somehow the sweetest and most disappointing. "I'll take a day or two off of work and I promise to take you, moya lubov," (my love). It never ended up happening, whatever they promised. I was never too upset though. I thought how hard life is for them so I thought I shouldn't complain. Even though I did sometimes.

With my dad finally asleep and the house finally quiet. I take a little nap in my bed and wake up around two-thirty. I curse under my breath, wondering if I can walk to the library by then. I grab my purse and at least make sure that my phone and keys are in there before I leave.

Information gathered: Another promise yet to be broken is made and sleep is interrupted.
Information inferred: Life is hard, especially when you're tired.