...This is the story of Rachel's mother...
Bad eighties music filtered through my open window. My neighbor was blasting the same song for the fiftieth time in a row. “Damn you, Jennifer!” I yelled, getting up and slamming the glass shut. Yet as I sat down at my desk to study for finals, something inside of me made me yearn for the fresh June air. I needed it so badly that I went back and re-opened the pane.
“Jennifer, lower your damn music!” I shouted again.
I wasn't sure if she did, but the air was so sweet, I finally placed earplugs in my ears so I could continue my work.
Then Mom came shuffling in. “Hey, Lena, we have a cake for you for later.”
Pulling the earplugs from my ears, I wondered if I'd ever actually get to finish my studying. “Mom, thanks, but I still don't know why I can't have a party for my eighteenth birthday until two weeks after.”