*Slow updates*
After agreeing to be the focus of a college article,
senior Charlie Murtaugh gets more than he bargains for when he's assigned a clueless sophomore who knows nothing about the sport.
...
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When my alarm wakes me up the next day, my head feels like it needs to be cracked open and I realise that happiness truly is drinking and waking up without a hangover. Thankfully, the curtains are shut and I don't have to deal with LA's blinding morning sun as I sleepily drag myself out of the sofa.
Bad idea because my feet land on Shade's sprawled out hand as I stand. If my head wasn't feeling like a bag of bricks, I probably would have laughed. However, it does and nothing's going to be funny for the next couple of hours. Thankfully, Shade is out like a light and will most likely wake up wondering why there's a dull ache on her right hand.
Holding my head in one hand and my phone in the other, I tip toe around the warm bodies sprawled on the floor and wobble to my room in search of some painkiller. Drinking is not my strong suit yet every once in a while I indulge myself. It has never ended well and I doubt it ever will. After popping two Advil tablets despite my head protesting that I in fact need three and finishing an entire 500ml bottle of water, I have a shower and brush my teeth. The action I'm certain only took a few minutes of my time felt like it was done in hours.
"I'm never drinking again." I murmur to myself as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes look like death—in all honesty, I'd rather be dead than having to feel like this for an entire 2 hours of statistic lecture.
"You look like crap," Shade stifles a yawn as she walks into my room. I want to roll my eyes because talk about pot calling kettle black but I'm not sure I can even manage the gesture.
"I feel like crap. I'll have to hide this monstrosity under layers of a good concealer." I admit, turning to my dresser. I rummage through my makeup and pluck out the CT concealer that Elle swears by. I eye her from the mirror as she gets under my cover. "Are you not going to class?"
"Cancelled." She replies, closing her eyes and getting comfortable.
"Lucky."
"Wake Sam up on your way out, she's got a 10 o'clock."
"Okay."
In less than 20 minutes, I've put my hair in a neat middle part bun, concealed my under eyes and even went up a notch with some eyebrow gel, mascara and cherry lipgloss. I get in my comfortable grey nike joggers and a white tank top. Just as I add some jewelry so I don't look as dead as I feel on inside, my phone dings from where its sitting on the charger.
It's Charlie.
My heart skips a beat for no reason when I catch his name on my screen and I can't help but wonder if that's ever going to change.
Charlie: I'mhere now babe, u ready?
The bottom of my belly squirms at the word 'babe' but I have no time to analyse his choice of endearment because I have to pack my bag in a rush. I shoot him a 'I'll be down in a minute' reply and dash out of my room, leaving a snoring Shadè to sleep in peace. It's only half past seven when I exit my room so I set a timer on our TV that will surely wake Sam up at 8.30 so that she has time to get ready for class.
