SMACK!
"Wake up and pay attention."
I jolt upright in my desk after being smacked in the back of my head with a plastic ruler. Mr. Barret is already back next to the board. I gently rub the sore spot on my head as Mr. Barret continues to struggle keeping the attention of 26 other teenagers who can't help but giggle obnoxiously over my ignorance. I sigh and try to pay attention to the board despite the quiet roar of whispers around me. They're talking about me, I know they are.
The bell rings after an uncomfortable 18 minutes, and I pack up my stuff as everyone rushedly files out of the tiny cell of a room.
"Connor Reynolds?" My head immediately turns to see Mr. Barret sitting at his desk, motioning me to come forward. I grab my backpack and walk over. He takes off his thin rectangular glasses and gently sets them down on the desk surface.
"This is the fourth time I've caught you sleeping in my class, and it's only Wednesday," he says sternly.
"Yessir." I stagnantly reply.
"I've also noticed that your grades have been slipping as well, and not just in my class."
"Yessir."
"If there is something going on that I need to know about, whether it is family or something else, please do not hesitate to tell me. I hate to see students with lots of potential like you struggle like this."
"Yessir."
"Okay, now go on, get to your next class." The warning bell rings and I trudge off to my next class.
~
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Ugh."
My eyes slowly crack open as I look into a dark, messy room. I rub my eyes, removing some of the crust that has collected around them overnight. I turn my head to see my little alarm clock at 5:31 AM, still making noise in an obnoxious attempt to wake me up and keep me from missing out on stuff in the world. I let the alarm clock beep for a while. It'll never know that I am awake if I don't press the button, it will just continue to beep ignorantly into eternity, never knowing whether I actually woke up to its cries and did something worthwhile with my life or not.
It's too early for this.
My dad walks into my room and slowly walks to my alarm clock to turn it off at 5:38 AM. He sees that I had obviously been staring at the alarm clock again, sighs and gently nudges my shoulder.
"Hey, Connor," he says softly. "Are you doing the thing again? Do you need some water?" I slowly try to remove my eyes from the clock to face him, using all my strength to look away and snap back into reality. He looks concerned, but then again he always looks concerned when I'm around, as if I'm suddenly going to snap. I slowly nod. He gives a look of reassurance and leaves the room to get a glass of water.
I painfully lift myself up from my warm bed and shiver. I peel the slightly sweaty sheets from my slightly more sweaty legs, and stand up. I resist the urge to fall back onto the bed and go back to sleep and never wake up, and make my way toward the closet. Without looking, I grab the closest sweatshirt to me and put it on over my head. I then grab and pull on a pair of light wash jeans from my desk chair that still has my favorite belt in it. I pull a pair of black ankle socks from a basket inside my closet and put them on, right foot first. I look at the clock to see I took six minutes just putting on clothes. What a waste.
I walk through the long hallway and into the kitchen. Dad is currently making omelets in an attempt to cheer me up.
"Good morning! Your water's on the table and I'm making your favorite omelet, spinach and tomato," he delightfully cheers. He's such a morning person, it makes me sick. I sit down in my usual seat at the tiny table for four. I look down to see a glass of water, four different pills and a multivitamin gummy. I eat the gummy, down the pills, and chug the rest of the water. When I finish, Dad sets the semi-circle omelet down on the placemat in front of me, and takes the water cup to refill it.
"You know, I'd be a lot more of a morning person if I could have coffee," I say in a low voice. Dad laughs.
"You tell me this every day, and every day I say no. You remember what Mrs. Pritchard said." He replies lightheartedly.
"Unfortunately, I do." I take my fork and start to work the omelet into my stomach. I check the time, 5:50 AM.
"Speaking of Pritchard, remember it's Thursday, so we gotta go after school," he tells me. I groan. "Sorry bud. But hey, if she thinks you're getting better, we may be able to change it to every other week instead of every week."
"At this rate right now, I'll have to live in that place forever," I reply.
"Don't say that," He scolds, sensitive to negativity.
"Sorry," I apologize and finish my omelet. I then grab my white canvas shoes, put them on and lace them up. I set my dishes in the sink, rinse them off and grab my backpack for school. The time is 6:01 AM. Bus runs in four minutes. I say goodbye to my dad and head out the front door, bracing the wind and the next dreadful day to come.
