Wake Me Up

Chapter 8

*Not Completely Edited*

Wednesdays, the Mondays in the middle of the week. It's the day that feels like a Thursday when you wish it was actually a Friday. Wednesdays are a pain in my ass.

I began stretching in my bed, just like I do every day when I first wake up. I do this full body stretch thing which, I've been told, makes me look possessed.

Rolling out of bed, I slipped on whatever lay on the top of the pile of clothing which was layered on my trunk that I had placed in front of my bed.

I picked up my toothbrush off of its stand which was kept on my shelf of toiletries, as well as a comb and a cloth to wash my face with. As I entered the public washroom which was shared amongst everyone on our floor, I overheard a girl whisper to her friend. I began brushing my teeth to not make my eavesdropping so obvious.

"It was the best experience of my life. The rush I felt was amazing. It helped a lot with the stress I've been going through these past few weeks!" she spoke.

"I want to try it! It sounds fun! Where did you get it from though? It's band on school property." Her friend replied.

"Blake Carter, the captain of the boys' basketball team. That really cute boy. The boy with black hair, and green eyes." The first girl explained.

Did he sell drugs too?

It was understandable when people would tell me that alcohol was like a drug. It would help make you feel better, it would get rid of all your worries, and create this small bubble around you which would keep you happy until time ran out and it popped. Once it popped you needed it there again to make you happy, therefore starting your addiction.

Not much time had passed when my mouth began to fill up with the foaminess of the toothpaste, and my gag reflexes began to trigger. I quickly spit out the substance, and whipped my mouth. About five minutes afterwards I was ready. My hair had been brushed, my face washed, and my makeup had been applied.

I rushed off to my second French class of the week. During the beginning of the class Madam Poulin was asked a question on the difference between Eau de Toilet, and Eau de Parfume, and my goodness I have never heard anyone spend 37 minutes on answering a simple question. I knew it was 37 minutes due to the fact that I checked my watch on a minutely basis, impatiently waiting for class to end.

(For anyone thinking that spending 37 minutes on such a simple topic is unrealistic, believe me I have lived it! #MyFrenchTeacherTalksAboutHerLifeTooMuch )

Once her extended explanation was over, about the quality of perfume, she, to my dismay, continued her lesson on conjugation. Throughout the class, I began to take in my surroundings. For example, smelly Louis had obviously bathed as I could smell his Garnier Fructis shampoo radiate off of him, instead of the mountain of sweat which I could usually smell.

A boy named Adam in the front of the class had shaved the sides of his head, in attempt to make his hair look like Neymar's. He failed. How had I known it was done to replicate his hair? Firstly, I was slightly obsessed with the athlete, and second he wore a yellow and green jersey with Neymar printed on the back.

There was nothing else in the class atmosphere that was different, except for the presence of the boy who sat beside me during French class every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. Blake.

The bell rung and I charged out of the classroom. I could not spend another moment of my time in that hazardous place.

The day went by slowly.

It was six thirty and it was once again, meaning time for basketball practice.

"Good evening Miss Brooks, I assure you Blake will be here very shortly. Begin your laps." Coach Maradonna instructed.