At 2 AM in the morning, Jess is wishing she had never opened the fatal Facebook page two hours ago. She had meant to go on SchoolLoop to check the day's homework assignment, but her fingers had a life of their own and were already straying to the “F” on the keyboard. Before long, she was browsing through her News Feed, homework a distant memory of the past. It wasn't until she glanced at a wall post left by someone else on a friend's page did she remember her original intention of homework-checking. Oops. A quick glance at the clock told her the time: 1:53 AM. Jess fell back into her chair with a groan.

The next seven minutes were spent watching the clock rhythmically count away the minutes. Seven minutes, because it was almost 2:00 AM and she might as well start on the hour. She drove away the small, insistent voice that reminded her, on a subconscious level, that she was only trying to further delay the inevitable- the small mountain of papers on her left and the ever-towering Calculus textbook on her right. She thought about mountains and towers, fairytales and Rapunzels, and unconsciously patted her hair down, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. How did Rapunzel wash her hair? Jess couldn't even begin to imagine where she would get that much water from. Or shampoo. Rapunzel could probably use up a Costco-sized bottle in one go. Herbal Essence-- the pink one because it smells better.

The sudden electronically-manufactured sound of a door slamming startled Jess out of her thoughts and she watched owlishly as the little notification popped up on the bottom right corner of the computer screen: ________ has signed off. With a sigh of resignation, she glanced up at the clock again and cringed at the sight of the ever-sneaky minute hand that was now pointing to 2. Seven planned minutes of wondering about Rapunzel, and she had instead spent ten more than that, wondering about shampoo. A fleeting thought about changing the starting time to 2:15 AM whirled through her mind but she quickly suppressed the urge, reaching lethargically for the Calculus textbook instead. Flipping open to the latest chapter, Jess yawned, staring blankly at the integrals and functions adorning the page. She wondered if she would ever need Calculus to save her life, like her math teacher had. Apparently, he had also used Calculus to save his job. Jess didn't think she could use Calculus to save anything, and that unfortunately included her grade in said class.

Finally sitting up, she scribbled down one problem and mused it over, ignoring the urge to stop, drop, and roll. It was Jamie who had come up with that catchphrase; stop the work, drop the pencils, and roll to sleep. Or roll while sleeping. Does Rapunzel roll while sleeping? Jess faintly wondered how tangled Rapunzel's hair would become if she rolled excessively in her sleep. Or if she slept with her hair loose. It could quite possibly strangle her in her sleep. Then she really would be stopping and dropping. Not so much rolling, though. Jess scribbled down the next problem. Multitasking had always come easily to her, and thinking other things while coherently doing homework was no exception.

Her thoughts flitted back and forth between freshman and senior year, realizing they were more similar than different. She remembered imagining doors to the places she had now been to, and imagined doors to places not yet within her reach. They were beginnings and endings that hung like pegs on a clothesline, each peg's ambiguity marking possibilities for the next stretch of clothesline.

Jess boxed the last answer and tapped her pencil thoughtfully on her chin. She--

“Wait, this is stupid.” Zack said, pressing the red button to stop the recording. “She hasn't really done anything.”

“She finished her Calc homework...” Amy rolled her eyes, slamming the Calculus book shut. Playing Jess was a lot more tiring than it seemed.

Zack pursed his lips. “I think we should edit that scene... present her thoughts in a different way.”

Amy glanced at her cellphone-- 1:53 AM, and scowled. “We have five hours!”

“Let's take a short break and start at two.” Zack cleared his throat at Amy's dubious silence, undermining the ticking sounds of the clock on the wall. “Exactly at two. For real.”

With a sigh, Amy leaned back in the chair and looked out the window at the clothesline that wasn't there. She thought about beginnings and endings, Jesses and Rapunzels in towers, and smiled. Inwardly, she added another peg to the clothesline that wasn't there-- it was their last film of the year, after all.

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