Near Touch

Chapter 5: Running Late

"FOR THE LOVE OF JESUS, WHY DOESN'T ANYONE IN THIS HOUSE EVER WAKE ME UP ON TIME?" Amy cried out from her room. Mr. Irvine looked up at the ceiling where a series of bangs and loud curses were pouring from. Smiling to himself, he folded his copy of The Telegraph and placed his palms over his younger daughter's ears. Leigh gave him a thumbs-up to indicate that she couldn't hear a thing.

"Any thunderstorms for today?" Anne asked her husband, placing his morning coffee in front of him. She tickled Leigh under her earlobe and the little one laughed. The pronounced exhaustion in her face that stretched across her cheekbones was what made her beautiful. "Or is it just the Irvine residence?"

Christopher's eyes shimmered as he laughed. Amy resembled her father in more ways than just her eyes, but he was sure the fractious temper and the swearing were from her mother's side. Through the gaps between her father's fingers, Leigh impishly tried to absorb most of the funny words and phrases Amy was using. It really was a testimony to the noise her big sister was generating, seeing how much Leigh could learn just by pretending not to listen.

While up in her room, Amy couldn't find her lucky exam hoodie. Books were strewn on the floor, the bed looked like the nest of a vicious bird of prey and a bewildered Caleb stood in the background – wishing that the wallpaper on the walls would swallow him. Amy couldn't have cared less about him.

He had thought of assisting Hurricane Amelia; by smartly getting out of her way, that is. But the second Caleb had opened his mouth to make his intentions clear, moving a millimeter from his refuge; she shrieked bloody murder at him, "You don't get to talk to me. You don't get to look at me. Hell, you don't get to breathe near me!"

Amy really didn't want to hurt Caleb's pretty face that early in the morning. Then she remembered that she couldn't. She could still be mad at him. The only thing that rivalled her aversion towards those creepy-ass Teletubbies, was unnecessary tardiness. All because Amy saw no point in getting out of a perfectly warm bed, panicking, hurrying through the basic pleasures of life, and running all the way to school; just to get yelled at for effing being late in the first place.

One day, Amy wished she would wake up late, and reach even later, but simply be content that she made it.

But that day was far from becoming an immediate reality, and Amy did not have the luxury to lounge around. She had a very important French test and if she failed this one, she would have to kiss the car she was promised goodbye.

Amy upturned the contents of the drawer that she had extracted from her favorite antique cabinet and poured them on the floor, discarding the drawer beside it with a superfluous thud. "Found it!"

She grabbed her bag, crammed a few books inside it and thundered down the stairway. Jumping the last three steps, Amy bulldozed her way into the dining room.

"Good morning, you lovely people who don't bother waking me up on the one day I have to!" Amy said, with a sunny smile. "May all the chocolate chips in your cookies turn out to be raisins."

Caleb followed slowly behind her. He wasn't sure if this was the same Amelia he had spoken to last night. No one noticed him or his baffled, arched eyebrows. He sat on the chair opposite Mr. Irvine's. The family didn't seem disturbed by the procession. This destructive, one-woman parade. Amy continued to make as many bangs, crashes and thuds as humanly possible in the kitchen. Caleb was in awe of how normal all of them were.

Slowly, he began to relax. He was beaming, entertained by the gentle comedy that was enfolding in front of his eyes. Mr. Irvine was discussing the national news with Leigh. Mrs. Irvine was dressed smartly in a navy-blue pantsuit.

Amy wolfed down a buttered toast and chased it with orange juice. Sirencester High was just fifteen minutes away from her house. Ten, if she was feeling flighty. She knew she won't get any rides to school nor would she be allowed to take the damn Corolla, so she would have to inhale sustenance or go without breakfast.