Strange

1: Alice

Time is such a blind measurement. Wasting time is simply ignorant. As minutes tick by and add up to hours, so on and so fourth, I find myself becoming more anxious. I have a routine, a very strict routine and the timer starts the moment my eyes open in the morning. Brush my deep brown hair, about mid shoulder length, tie it into a bun that sits at the top of my head. My hair is curly so I have to clip multiple pins in just to keep it where I want.  Brush my teeth, I take about thirty seconds for the top and thirty seconds for the bottom of my mouth. This process takes about three minutes.
Wash my face, no time for a shower. Deodorant, my jeans that are a little too baggy for my waist, a plain black T shirt, a grey sweater. Done.
Five minutes total.
And on que, a knock at the bathroom door.
"Alice it's my turn!" My step sister Andrea yells. Shes 12, a bit of a brat. A little bit chubby but extremely popular with wavey blonde hair and too much makeup for her age. She pretends she doesn't know me usually and I drop her off about a block away from her middle school every morning to save her from the embarrassment of being seen with me. But alas, I have a car, dad and Melissa (her mother) are always busy, so I'm Andrea's taxi.

I fling the bathroom door open and shove past her without giving much thought. Can't waste time, can't be late.

I run down the stairs to the first floor of our "home" and slide into the kitchen, grabbing a granola bar off the black marble counter in the center of the room that's decorated with fruit and candles. Melissa wanted a more modern look when we moved in and chose to redecorate. Everything in our house appears very commercial grade.

Melissa is basically just a thinner adult version of Andrea. An overgrown barbie doll with OCD. Its a mystery why her first two marriages went south. But let's not get into that just yet.

Above the dish washer there's several kitchen cabinets, one labeled "meds & first aid". I pull open the cupboard door and pop the lids off three medication bottles. Two small green, one large white, half a red.
I swallow the pills down with water from the sink and bites of my chewy chocolate chip granola bar.
That was two minutes. Three minutes left.
I hear the blow dryer upstairs. Andrea takes forever. I tack on an extra five minutes typically for her to apply her heavy mascara and ultra shiny lip gloss. It took a long time to adjust to her pace, and for my sanity I started waking up thirty minutes earlier when we began co-existing in the same house.
an alarm from the watch strapped to my wrist beeps loudly, signaling that Andrea needs to get her sparkly butt down the stairs, because we should have been out the door like, yesterday. I dont even have to say anything though, because when the alarm begins to beep the blow dryer shuts off and I hear the scrambling of her grabbing her stuff and exiting the bathroom.

"Hold your horses." She seethes, the eyeroll almost audible in her voice. Is it possible to hear an eyeroll? I grab my bag from the counter and sling it over my shoulder, and instinctively touch the pocket of my sweater located on my chest for my keys. Of course, they are there. They are always there. Part of the routine.

I watch Andrea Walts out the front door and I fallow swiftly behind her. Two minutes behind.