Mr. Cinderella (5SOS) {discontinued}

(7) Is It Hi Or Hey?

 When I wake up on Monday morning, for a second I actually wonder if I've somehow ended up in the ocean overnight.  I didn't dream about water or jellyfish or anything, it's probably more to do with the fact that I am drenched in a yellowish liquid - and then, of course, I wonder if I've somehow relapsed into the bed-wetting habit that I broke when I was five.  And yet, I don't think that's what's going on here . . .

"Good," Mum says, appearing in my doorway.  Her hair, which falls to her shoulders, doesn't look as if it has been brushed yet, and I can see a hint of white face-cream smeared on her temple.  "You're awake."

"Well I can see that you're becoming a lot more observant," I tell her.  She simply raises an eyebrow at me, and I shift my position, trying to conceal my yellowish bedspread - which is, might I add, still confusing me.  It's not like I had a particularly bad dream last night - actually, I vaguely recall it having something to do with Luke and Michael ice skating, but that's irrelevant.  Even so, I seriously doubt that I have wet the bed.  Seriously.  So, as my mother speaks to me, I continue attempting to hide my sheets while the wheels in my head keep turning.

"Anyway," she says, redirecting the conversation back to me, "you might want to start getting ready.  It's already five minutes past seven."

I roll my eyes during the first part of her sentence, but as she reminds me of the time, I shoot out of my bed.  Immediately, Mum's eyes flicker downwards towards my soaked covers.  "You need to put those in the laundry," she instructs.  "You're just lucky it was apple juice in the fridge instead of something darker."

I gape at her, speechless.  "Apple juice?"

She shrugs, picking at a chipped red painted nail.  "I was going to throw water on you to wake you up but using the apple juice meant I could control how much I used more easily."  Straightening up, she turns and I hear her footsteps disappear with her down the hallway.

Well then.  

It would have been nice for her to tell me that before I could start freaking out about a possible-but-seriously-unlikely-bed-wetting-relapse.  On the other hand, I probably would have done the same, just to get an amusing reaction out of the poor soul subject to my immature pranks.  Reluctantly, I lug myself towards the bathroom and hop into the shower.  Fifteen minutes later, I'm downstairs in the kitchen, dressed in my white blouse, blue plaid skirt and blue school tie, smelling of cherry shower gel.

"Is Brandy awake?" my father asks from the kitchen table, lifting a cup of coffee to his mouth.

Popping two slices of bread into the toaster, I answer with a shrug.  "I don't want to wake her by checking, but I'll call her at break and lunch and on my way home," I add, rummaging through the fridge until I locate and take out the butter and then a plate from a cupboard above the kitchen work-surface.  My fingers close around the handle for the cutlery drawer, and I pull out a knife just as the toast shoots to the top of the toaster.

"She's already awake," a familiar American accent tells me as I start to spread butter onto the warm toast.  Pivoting around, I drop the toast and knife onto my plate to hug Brandy.  She's already dressed, wearing a black Green Day T-shirt with a pink skater skirt and black tights.

"I thought you were still sleeping," I say, turning back around and offering her one of my slices of toast.  She accepts, tearing off a bit to munch on loudly.  Once she's finished chewing, she nods.

"Normally, I probably would be, but I'm craving peanut butter."

I laugh until I realise she's completely serious.  "Oh," I say dubiously.  I catch a glimpse of something in her eyes and guess, "Homesick?"