April Hale Learns About the Human Male

3. the pretty girl and the not ugly girl

I'm not in my own bed.

The thought send jolts into my chest, and as my heart starts pumping with enthusiasm, my whole body starts to get damp with cold sweat.

I'm not in my own bed, and whoever owns this bed owns a really uncomfortable mattress sheet. The threads are rough, I'm lying on some crumbs -probably and hopefully food related crumbs-, and the folds don't feel as soft as mine does. To be fair, I'm very particular when it comes to how my bedding feel, so I won't want to judge the owner of this scratchy sheet.

"You're awake." A girl voice booms.

The cold sweat worsen. As far as I can tell, her intonation doesn't drop at the end of the sentence, which means she's not asking me whether I'm awake. She knows this.

"Get the fuck out of my bed if you're awake," she continues. She doesn't sound friendly.

My voice chords give out a whimper that I catch before my lips can voice it out. I can do it the animal way. Play dead. Playing dead is the way to go. I shut my eyes tight and stay very still on the bed.

"Oh my god, why are you doing this to me, Ryder you little shit?" I can hear her mutter. I can already tell that 1. She's not friendly. And 2. She's fond of profanity. 3. She knows my next door neighbor, which somehow adds to my growing anxiety.

I try to make little snoozing sound. She obviously doesn't appreciate my little snoozing sound, because she pulls my leg from over the bed.

We see each other.

She has pink hair. Her race -east asian- doesn't indicate that anyone from her heritage would inherit pink hair. She's the best looking person I've ever seen in my whole life. In fact, I almost think that I've stumbled my unconscious self into the room of a celebrity or something.

I look at her for three more seconds. Just to make sure...

Nope. Not a celebrity.

But she certainly can be one.

The asian girl doesn't seem to hold the same impression as I her. She squints and scoffs. "Good sleep?"

I can't trust my mouth to not say anything incriminating so I just nod. It was, in fact, a good sleep. I dreamt about Sherlock Holmes needing a third person to join his party, and he was on the verge of choosing me.

"You have any idea what's going on?" she asks.

I shake my head.

She considers me, then rolls her eyes. "You know who am I?"

I shake my head.

"-or why you're in my bed?"

I shake my head.

"Do you even know your own name?"

I shake my- I nod. "I'm A-"

"I don't fucking care about your name." Apparently, she changes her mind quickly. "You're awake; now get out of my room."

I shuffle out of the bed. The pink haired girl has already taken my shoes off, but before I can ask where my shoes are, she's already pointing to under the bed.

"I don't understand why white people bring their shoes to their bed." She mutters.

"Well, there are crumbs of questionable origins on your bed," I say.

I swear I can see a vein popping on her neck.

"That's an astute observation, ya dunce," she places her hand on her side. "Any other complains while you're spending your lovely time here?"