FAUX REAL

26

God, I hate the sound of my own voice. Why is it so squeaky? Do I actually sound like that? This can't be accurate. It can't. Maybe a voice recording is like a camera but instead of adding ten pounds...it adds ten octaves? Wait, what did I just say? What was the qualifying age to be a representative in Congress? Twenty-five?

Shit. No. Focus.

A deep grumble slips past my lips and penetrates the silent hallways as I rewind the recording of my US Government notes back one minute.

"Elected every two years. Must be at least twenty-five years old. Must be an American Citizen. Must live in the state they represent."

Okay. Got it. I got it.

I take a sip of lukewarm coffee as I continue to pace back and forth, mindlessly strolling down the empty hallways of Hilton, hoping that my brain soaks up every statistic, every fact, every single boring piece of information. I need to ace this midterm. Need. But it's only 6 am, which means I have two and a half hours before my test. Plenty of time. Plenty.

As I get to the end of the third recording on the Senate, a thud coming from the emergency exit door draws my attention. Pausing the voice memo app, I squint at the rattling handle and take a calculated step towards the noise. What the... Before I get a chance to investigate, the door swings open and slams against the rubber stopper.

Seriously? Again?

"Jennie!" I whisper in a harsh tone, peering down the idiot sprawled on the floor.

"Lisa!" she snaps back, mimicking my tone.

I scowl at her, suppressing a grin. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Opening a door, obviously," she slurs, pulling her limp body up to her feet. She runs a hand through her messy hair as she leans against the frame to keep herself upright, no doubt. "That's what doors are made for," she continues, wiggling her brows, "Opening and closing." she arches closer to me, the scent of her cologne dizzying my senses. Asshole. "Next week, I will go over windows with you; same concept but slightly different uses."

She pokes her index finger in the middle of my forehead, snapping me out of a momentary daze.

"What?" I mutter, swatting her hand away.

She snorts, tossing me a smirk. "You're losing your touch, love. You're what we call book smart. Not a lot of basic day-to-day knowledge, yeah?"

I roll my eyes at her. "Midterms start in two hours." I sniff the air around us, narrowing my eyes as I astutely point out, "And you're drunk."

"No? Really?" she gasps sarcastically, covering her mouth as she takes a step into the hallway, gait swaying. "What will I ever do? How will I ever be anyone or do anything of importance or value if I don't pass this standardized high school test? What will become of me?" she feigns crying. "What will my parents think?"

"Oh God, we need to sober you the fuck up," I say, clicking my tongue as I grab her wrist and drag her towards the bathroom. "This way. Let's go."

"Bossy lisa Live at The Globe Theatre!" she proclaims, her voice far too loud for my liking. Globe Theatre, though? Huh. Nice reference. I stop in front of the sinks and set my phone on the counter as she continues, "Get your tickets, folks!"

"Jennie!" I state, holding out my hand. I only know of one way to sober up a drunk person. If it works on Rosé, it'll work on her. "Give me your phone and wallet."