Double Take

Chapter 1 - A pair like mine

My eyes struggle to stay open as I huddle in the very back row of my classroom. The lecturer drones on in his monotone voice, trying to draw our attention front and centre to his impressive PowerPoint presentation. The content is important, and I should be listening. A part of me should definitely be taking notes, but a combination of exhaustion and information overload has my mind fogged over. At this point, the lecturer may as well be speaking another language. I squint at the screen, deciding it must be Pig Latin as the slide dissolves into pixels. Watch out; someone knows how to animate slide transitions.

A yawn escapes me for the umpteenth time, and I wonder if I'm setting some kind of Guinness World Record for yawns per second. Surely my YPS's must be up there. Grimly, I wonder if that'll be the only record I ever achieve. This is my third week at this whole working full-time and studying at night thing, and I'm persuaded I'll die of sleep deprivation or have a mental breakdown before escaping minimum wage.

When class ends, a collective sigh of relief escapes the room. Finally, my heavy exhale blows against my blonde fringe as I quickly shove my fresh notepad into my bag. Following the mass of bodies, we all seem just as eager to escape. Emerging out of the TAFE building, the crowd disperses, scattering off into the night like sprites at sunrise. A light rain welcomes me as I wade outside, and I realise that, of course, my umbrella's still leaning against my work desk.

Checking my watch, I discover it's 9:28 pm and groan aloud. Damn it! I'll never make the train in time. Lately, it seems, I'm running late for everything.

Dashing through the drizzle, I swiftly make my way to the train station through the dodgiest part of town. The loveliest thing about Northbridge is that even in wet weather, the pungent smell of urine still permeates the air.

Safely under the station's canopy, my sodden dress clings to me as I sit down on a metallic bench. The cold metal bites the backs of my legs, making me shiver, but at least the rain and my scurry through town has woken me up. The same can't be said for the homeless man sleeping on the other end of the bench.

I fish my phone out of my bag and fiddle with the device; it's completely dead. Of course. With nothing else to do, I stare at the departure clock, which annoyingly informs me there's a 25-minute wait for the next train. My stomach whines and I silently pray to any god listening that my leftovers are untouched when I get home. Shayne, my flatmate, has an awful habit of eating my food. Labels may as well be written in the same language as my lecturer's slideshow. It's gotten so bad I've taken to hiding things in the vegetable crisper under bags of wilted spinach, but surely that won't last long. If only I could afford my own place, but that won't happen anytime soon. Without my phone to distract me, I pull my notepad, flicking towards my hastily scribbled budget on the back page.

Another day, another dollar. Or so they say. But each dollar of mine seems to have another two places to go. I strike a bold line through another item on my list. Cancel Youtube Premium. At this rate, I definitely won't afford a car or my own apartment anytime soon. The bills are mounting, and I've barely saved up enough for a house bond, let alone a car. Whoever said adulting was easy is either a trust-fund baby or clearly on something.

Speaking of trust fund babies. I frown as something shifts in my peripheral; looking up, a girl with matching blonde bangs walks past. Her clothes are much nicer, and she takes a seat on the bench diagonally across from me. I huff as she stares intently at her phone, which obscures her face. Well, of course, her phone's charged.

After gazing down again at the angry-looking budget, a shuffling sound startles me. I'm greeting my two brown eyes, the whites of which are tinged in yellow. Other than observing the colour, my first thought is they're close, much too close for comfort. Gripping my pen tightly, I hold it up like I'm brandishing a weapon, and my notebook clatters to the tiled floor of the station.