The Boy Who Lives In My Garage > jariana (COMPLETED)

four

"Ariana. Come on. Time to get up."

My eyes have only been closed for five minutes. It can't be time for my dad to wake me up. I groan and inch closer to the wall.

Dad sighs. He must be as tired of the "Get Ariana out of Bed" battle as I am. "It's six thirty. You know what Principal Trombley said..." As he trails off, he taps impatiently on the doorframe. Even from this far away, I can smell his familiar aftershave. Usually, I don't mind the smell. Today, it makes me want to vomit.

Yes, I know what Principal Trombley said. She called my parents to inform them that I have almost enough tardies to get a detention. I have almost enough detentions to warrant a suspension. And if I earn enough suspensions, I could be expelled. Personally, I don't see how suspensions or expulsions are fitting punishments for high school students. Who wouldn't want extra time off school?

But none of that matters today because I'm not going to be tardy for first period. There's no way I'm going to school at all. When I open my eyes, the bulletin board on the wall next to my bed swirls into a blob. The room spins like a merry-go-round. Yep. I'm still drunk. "Not going to school," I grumble.

Dad sighs again. The doorframe tapping continues. "Are you sick?" There's no concern in his voice. I don't get sick often, but I use the excuse more often than any healthy person should.

"No."

"Then you're going to school. Get up." Tap. Tap. Tap.

It's time to break out the big guns. I can only use this excuse once a month. It works best on a morning like this, when Mom is already on her way to the office. I groan for added affect. "I'm on my period. I have cramps. I can't go."

The tapping stops. My dad's squirming is audible from here. Even though he has a wife and two daughters, any mention of "female problems" sends him into a tailspin. He clears his throat. "Didn't you just...didn't you say...a week or two ago..."

While he fumbles for the uncomfortable words, I rack my brain. Did I already use that excuse this month? I faked something to get out of school not too long ago, but I can't remember what it was...

I roll onto my back and stare at my dad. He's dressed in his usual black suit, and his thick brown hair is still wet from the shower. At least the room has stopped spinning enough for me to make out these details. But I'm still not going to school. "What, are you suddenly an expert on the female reproductive system?" I snap. "Are you keeping track of my cycle? Would you like to teach me about my own body? Hey, while we're at it, why don't we talk about sex? You can tell me all about how—"

"No," Dad says loud enough to cut into my diatribe. He tugs at the tie around his neck. "Please stop." He clears his throat again. "I'll just call school and tell them you're not coming in today."

Ariana: 1. Dad: 0. "Thank you," I say, though my bitter tone negates the words.

"Feel better." The door closes with a click.

I roll back onto my side and close my eyes. Dad's a lawyer at a big firm in Detroit. He's on a big case, so he won't be home until at least six. Mom's an accountant, and it's tax season, so she won't be home until seven or eight. Alyssa doesn't usually come home right after school, and even if she does, she won't bother me. Curling into a ball, I enjoy the warmth and relish the thought of being alone and asleep for the next twelve hours. Happiness.

...

The phone wakes me that afternoon. I'm not drunk anymore, but the pounding in my head is proof of just how drunk I recently was. It can go to voice mail. But as I hunker down for a few more hours of sleep, my cell phone rings—Simple Plan's "Perfect." It's the ringtone I set specifically for my parents' cell and office phones so that I know when to ignore a call without needing to look at the screen. For a while, the ringtone for my mom was Meredith Brooks's "Bitch," but Alyssa caught on to that, and my phone was taken away for an entire month. Snitch. Bitch.