The following day I woke up before anyone else to set up the elaborate plan which I had formulated the night before in order to get out of school. First I crept into Lauren's bathroom and after rummaging around for a good twenty-minutes found a heating bad, used for that ungodly time of the month when girls get all grumpy and fussy, and crave chocolate and shirtless guys.
I then made my way downstairs to the kitchen where I filled a glass halfway with milk, a squirt of ketchup and little ripped up hunks of the leftover lasagna we had for dinner the night before.
Carrying that and the heating pad back up to my room, I hid the cup between the space in between the wall and the bed before turning the heating pad on maximum heat before putting on three pairs of socks, two pairs of sweatpants, three long t-shirts, two sweatshirts, and climbing into bed under the thickest blankets I could find.
I have no idea how long I lay there staring up at the ceiling, trying to think about penguins and the ocean and grape popsicles in a desperate attempt to mentally cool myself off, I failed miserably I might add, before I finally heard my Mom's bedroom door open.
Letting out a sigh of relief I ran my fingertips through my hair plastering it down to my know sweaty forehead before closing my eyes and trying to look both miserable and peaceful at the same time, while trying not to let my eyelids flicker and maintaining an even rhythm of breathing at the same time.
It was while I was debating reaching up to scratch the God awful itch on the edge of my nose, that my door finally eased open and my Mom crept in, her hair still wet from her shower, and her toothbrush hanging from between her lips like some kind of strange, cigar.
Forcing myself to remain still I waited until she crossed over to my bed and bending over so her long, blonde hair tickled my sweaty face, shook my shoulder gently.
"Ash sweetheart, time to get up for school," she said gently, as she did every morning.
I remained still, trying to create a believable performance.
"Ashton," she sighed, tapping my face lightly.
"Hmmm?" I groaned as pathetically as I could, fluttering my eyes open then blinking dejectedly as if the very idea of the nightlight in the hallway seared my retinas.
"Time to get up," she said, straightening, "I have to leave for work soon and I need you to make sure Harry and Lauren get to school, okay?"
"I don't feel well," I whimpered, trying to make my voice both raspy and childishly innocent at the same time.
Frowning, Mom reached out and placed a cool hand on my forehead.
"Ashton! You're burning up!" she cried.
"Am I really?" I moaned.
"Yes, do you feel okay?"
"I don't know, I mean I do feel kind of fluey."
"Hang on," she sighed, running a hand through my hair and brushing it off my sticky forehead, "I'll go get the thermometer."
Nodding sadly I watched her leave the room before hurriedly sitting up and filling my mouth with the repulsive milk mixture in the cup beside my bed, just enough so that my cheeks didn't puff out.
At the sound of her approaching footsteps I lay back down and attempted to look like an invalid.
"Oh, love, you look awful," she mumbled sounding vaguely disgusted, as she moved towards me with the thermometer.
Knowing that my performance had to be absolutely award winning I wished myself luck before sitting up abruptly, and making a show of lurching my shoulders spewed the revolting milk mixture all over my carpet.
