College Ruled

eighteen

| 18 |
__________

WHEN I wake up a few hours later, the room is empty and there's a sticky note plastered to my forehead.

at practice
p.s. if I really snored that bad you could've shoved me to the floor; have fun with the achy back

— gray

     I groan and sit up, annoyed to find that he's right—pain immediately snaps through my neck and threads down my back. My shoulders stiffen, and when I go to turn toward the window I halt with a tired wince.

     Picking the loveseat? Not my brightest moment. Especially not when I have a shift at the coffee shop in—I squint at the clock blinking on Grayson's nightstand—twenty-four minutes.

     I groan. Again. Then, I stand and realize, with great regret, that my knees also ache from spending the night bent at an awkward ankle.

    I feel ancient. And insanely irritable.

    Chanting calm words into my own ears, I shove on a pair of jeans and a black graphic tee, attempting—with each sluggish movement—to remind myself that despite the number of obnoxiously needy costumers I'm bound to face today, murder is firmly off the table. 

    A boundary that immediately gets pressed the moment I grab my flannel and make my way downstairs.

On the last step, my foot hooks on a lone shoe some idiot decided to leave on the middle of the stair. I lurch forward and try to correct myself by reaching out for the banister, but instead of a graceful save, my thumb smashes awkwardly into the railing and I flail onto my ass.

Thankfully, the house is void of any and all men, so no one is there to witness my humiliation. Well, besides Leyla—who spares nothing more than one minor, blank glance toward the loud smack of my tailbone hitting hardwood before turning back to glare at the black TV.

"You're up?" I ask around my wince.

She pivots her glare to me. "You try sleeping on this couch with a stampede of giant men rumbling down the steps and into the kitchen at five a.m." Her eyes flutter shut. "Oh. They made pancakes, by the way. Something about a welcome breakfast."

A welcome breakfast? "That's nice I guess—"

"Don't eat them."

"Why?"

"They wouldn't believe me when I said all you have to add to the mix is water. They insisted that they needed milk and since they didn't buy any milk, they used chocolate milk instead. Because the only thing these guys know how to buy, apparently, is anything chocolate." The rant collapses in a croaking heap. Leyla takes a drawn out breath. "And you'd think it would work, but it doesn't. So, just—don't. Don't eat them."

"Okay," I say slowly, shaking my head. "Whatever. I have to go anyway, no time to eat."

A dismissive hum comes from the couch.

Rounding the coffee table, I grab the remote from the top of the entertainment center, switch on the TV, and toss it onto the cushion beside her.