Chapter 4
I woke up with a pounding headache. I sat up, a little too quickly, and my stomach lurched. I threw the covers off me and ran to the bathroom, emptying everything I ate yesterday in the toilet. I flushed with a groan and rinsed my mouth out. I hobbled out of the bathroom, looked down at myself, and hobbled back in.
I stripped my champagne dress off me. It reeked of beer and alcohol, and looked a little ripped. All I remember from last night is me going to the party with Sarafina, drinking a few drinks. The rest was a little hazy, but I remember telling men my name wasn't Savannah. It's best I did, so they don't remember me. I don't even remember how I got here last night. I was pretty wasted. Actually, I was really wasted. I stepped into the scalding hot shower and tried to scrub all memories off me from last night.
I stepped out of the shower, brushed my teeth vigorously, and slipped my robe on. I swallowed a few aspirin I found in Olive's things, and slumped back in bed. I had the towel wrapped around my wet hair. I snuggled deep into the warm covers and moaned. My head was pounding, but the aspirin was helping a little.
{~~}
A frantic knocking on my door woke me from my sleeping coma. I put my hands over my ears and crunched in a little ball. Someone's voice broke through my sound barrier. "Practice!" I shot up in bed and glanced over at the digital Hello Kitty clock on my dresser.
"Shit!" I said, stumbling out of bed and throwing panties and a sports bra on. I hurriedly slipped long basketball shorts on and slipped a shirt over my head.
I opened the door, grabbed a water bottle, and ran out. Wes stood there, looking impatient. "Sorry," I said. "Let's go."
He looked at me, turned around, then turned back to me. "Um, Savannah?" he said.
"Yeah," I said, trying to push him down the hallway.
"Your hair," he said, chuckling. I touched my hair. It was a little damp, but that wasn't the problem.
The problem was that it was knotted and wasn't up. A groan left my lips. Crap! We're going to be so late! I hurried back into the dorm and grabbed a hair tie, not bothering to brush it through, which was a mistake. "Now let's go," I said. We ran to the gym in record time, but it wasn't enough.
"You're late," Coach said. He wasn't looking at Wes, he was looking at me.
"Sorry," I said, cursing myself as my voice shook. "I was-"
He held up his hand, and I stayed silent. "I don't want excuses," he said. "How many minutes are you late?" he asked. I glanced up at the clock as he glanced at his watch. I winced thirteen minutes late.
"That's thirteen suicides," he said, tapping his watch. I sighed. Why the heck didn't Wes have to do it? And I could've actually played today. "Do them on that one," Coach said, pointing to the game court; the bigger court. I clenched my teeth, but didn't say a thing. "If you don't run them full speed, you have to run more," he said, smirking slightly. I smiled tightly and walked over to the court, holding my head up high, ignoring the laughter from the guys.
I ran the first three full speed, but the next three, I was slowing down. "Lynch!" Coach called. "Two more! Get going!" I picked up the pace, but I was wheezing. Why, oh why, did I have to get drunk last night?
When I did ten, I was barely even running. I had to keep kicking myself to go faster. I could still hear the men's laughter from my right, and it was really bothering me. I've been running for a half hour straight, and I think I'm going to die. One more. Just one.
