Smoke And Mirrors

•Three•

I slowly woke up to the sun beaming through my window, heating my blankets. I groggily sit up, sighing out air from my tired lungs. I could taste how bad my breath was, I remember throwing up, and drinking, and being on that stupidly loud motorcycle.
I glance at the clock—

Oh good, it's only Twelve o'clock.....TWELVE O'CLOCK!

"Shit!" I stumble out of bed, throwing on clothes, brushing my hair and teeth and running out the door with my bag. I had slept through almost my entire class and I had to run across campus.

I run through the doors of the building and up the stairs, then as I went to grab the handle to the double doors, the other side swings open and my classmates flood out into the halls.
I missed the a test...the test I had studied for the night before.

I run in, and down to my professor—
Mrs. Shannon—She looked at me, "You missed class."

"Can I retake the test? I didn't set an alarm, and I really this to do this test. Please?" I beg.

"You may retake it, but 25% will
Be knocked off your grade."

I cringe at the idea of a lesser grade because of a late night. "Of course."

"Just come in tonight at 4:00, that's when people can retake it."

"Thank you so much." I smile.

"Are you sick? You look ill," the professor asks, her face worried.

"No...I'm not of illness."

"Oh, then forget I said anything-" she presses her lips in a straight line and walked to her desk and starts grading tests.

Do I look that bad?

I grit my teeth and leave, slowly walking back to my dorm so I could wallow in self-pity. I sat on my bed and pulled the covers over my head. I didn't want to cry, crying was weakness, so I fell back asleep. If I slept, I couldn't cry.

I wake up from my hour long nap because the sound of my door opening and—Jake's voice asking, "You in here?"

I pulled the sheets over my head quickly. "How did you got in my dorm?"

"Jane let me in."

"Fucking Jane," I growl—still under the covers.

He walks over and pulls on them. I yank them back over my face. "How bad could you look?"

"My professor asked if I was sick."

He inhaled sharply through his teeth, "Yikes, you must look horrible-"

"Hey!" He reach out and slap whatever part of him was next to me, it was his hip.

He giggles, "Fine, I guess I don't want to see your gross face." He walks over to the left side of my room—where my bookshelf is.

I peek my eyes out over the covers, his eyes skimming the titles. He looked at my dresser, seeing The Great Gatsby laying flat on top of it.

"I have actually read that, maybe five times."

"Why'd you lie?"