Tuesday
I get to the office and ask for a late pass, for the first time, ever. It's almost 8 by the time I get to school.
I bet I look great, too, showing up in leggings and a long-sleeved shirt that's probably dirty. I took a shower but did hardly any make-up at all. My hair is still wet.
The secretary hands me the late slip, "Just give this to your teacher," She smiles. She's a nice woman.
"Thank you," I smile, taking it.
"Are you okay, dear?" She asks.
I smile, "Yeah."
She smiles, "Have a good day."
"You too," I smile, and then make my way to my locker.
I shove my stuff in my locker, write out a quick note for Carrie telling her I'm late, grab my math stuff, and close my locker; all in the matter of 2 minutes.
I kind of jog to Carrie's locker, stick the post-it note to it, and then jog back to the staircase I need.
I get to right outside the room, hearing everyone inside. I take a deep breath and go in.
It's like everyone stops and looks at me. This is exactly what I didn't want...
I avoid everyone and go up to Ms. Walsh, who's at her desk while everyone works in partners/groups.
"I'm sorry I'm late," I say to her, handing her the note.
"Is everything okay?" She asks. I've never been late, can you tell?
"Yeah, I overslept," I reply.
"Well, take it easy," She smiles.
I smile and sit down. I see him out of the corner of my eye as I open my notebook and take out a pencil.
I look over at him so he'll stop. He just looks at me, looking concerned. I look away and so does he.
I take the notes I missed and do the work everyone else is doing.
I start walking toward the english staircase after switching out my math stuff for my english stuff.
"You were late??" I hear him. I freeze, so close.
He comes in front of me, blocking me from the staircase.
"Yeah, I was," I reply.
"You're late to therapy, you're late to school," He goes on.
"Thanks for the reminder," I say, grumpily.
"Are you okay?" He asks.
"Why is everyone asking me that?" I laugh, tired and grumpy.
"You're never late, that's why," He replies, even though he doesn't even know who I'm talking about. He always has the right answer, it's so annoying.
"Melatonin's one hell of a drug," I reply, and go to move.
He blocks me though, "Then stop taking it," He says, not like a concern, but more like a demand.
I'm taken aback but I keep my cool, "What else do you suggest I do to sleep better then?" I reply.
He hesitates.
YOU ARE READING
The boy next door
General FictionThey were best friends and like childhood sweethearts growing up. As they went through the awkward middle school stage, they kind of lose touch. But when they get to high school, they realize that they are kind of still sweethearts, in a way. And in...
