Pushing Up Daisies

Chapter Four: Jacob

|ＪＡＣＯＢ|

I splash water on my face, but it does nothing to cool me down.

This morning I woke up with such a throbbing headache I could swear my head was splitting in two and now I can't seem to lower my temperature. Like an internal fever that doesn't quite reach the surface of my skin.

What the fuck did I do?

I take the comforter off my bed in search of my phone but it's not there. And no matter how many times I comb my brain for the answer, I don't know where I put it.

Everything this past weekend is a haze. Almost like I lived it without physically being there.

I know there was a party.

I know I got ready for the party.

I know I went...

Did I?

I drink occasionally, but whenever I drink it's never to the point of blacking out. I'm the sober type of drunk. The type that can remember every detail no matter how much I drink.

But I guess not.

I quickly change and get ready for school. I pass some yellow tape along the front of the house as I make my way to the side of my car, but ignore it. I'm already running late without stopping to question it.

The digital clock in my dashboard lets me know that I have exactly ten minutes to get to first period. There's only so much money can do before your last strike actually becomes your last strike.

I rush through the yellow lights and pull up to the school. My usual parking spot is at the front and I'm forced to do a double take when I see it's already occupied.

And by none other than Mike's red Jeep.

The grip on my steering wheel tightens as I turn the wheel to park a couple cars down.

He knows better than to park in my spot, but I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe I did something to piss him off and just don't remember.

I pick up my pace and reach the double doors as soon as the last bell rings.

Of course, I still managed to be late.

The hallways are empty as I move past the closed classroom doors and the navy metal lockers. Looks like the only one getting a late slip today will be me.

I pick up my pace when I see Mr. Welch round the corner, maybe if I beat him to the classroom he'll take pity on me.

Ever so graciously I manage to find my assigned seat, mumbling a quiet good morning to Heather and Mike.

I'm anxious to talk to Mike and figure out what happened this past weekend and why I have no recollection of it, but figure it's best to do it when we're alone.

I don't need everybody's nose in any of my business.

I risk a quick glance towards them but their heads are hung low, casting their gaze down at the notes and books in front of them.

Silent treatment?

I peer down to get a better look at Heather, but all I'm met with are tears rolling down her face and bags that not even the most expensive concealer could fix.

Maybe I did break up with her?

I go to ask her what's wrong, but before I'm able to Mr. Welch walks in, his heavy footsteps vibrating throughout the classroom. He stands in the front, as if waiting direction, while rubbing his sweaty palms over the fabric of his cotton pants. He has an almost morbid look about him, a complete one eighty to the boisterous man that usually starts his lesson plan with a joke or two.