Late for School

When I hear the knock on the door, I’m already dressed and pulling my wet hair back into a pony tail.

“Coming!” I yell as I sprint down the stairs, “Coming, coming, coming,” I chant all the way to the front entrance.

As I open the door, the cool September air pinches my face. A greeting puffs out of James’ mouth like a little mushroom cloud.

“Oh my god, thank you,” I grab his forearm and pull him inside, “I’ll be ready in two secs. I need to get my shoes.”

I jog back up the stairs and pull my leather boots out of my disorganized closet. I decide I should probably dress in layers, as I grab a sweater, a scarf, and a matching beret. By mid afternoon, it will probably feel like late August, and I will be shedding my fashionable knits like lizard skin. As I leave the bedroom, I snatch my cosmetic case off the dresser. My pale reflection mocks me from the mirror. I pause for a moment, noticing the dark circles under my eyes and the deep tissue acne forming around my hairline. “Great,” I mumble to myself. “I look like one of the walking dead.”

When I make it down stairs, juggling my wardrobe, I find James is still standing by the front door. He seems to be hiding some sort of amusement as he watches me.

“Come, sit.” I instruct as I plop everything on the living room sofa and start pulling on my left boot.

“Are you sure you want to go to school?” He looks concerned this time. I stop and glare at him.

“Ahh . . . thanks. Did you just imply I look like crap?”

“No,” he chuckles. “You just look like you’re struggling this morning. Maybe some rest would do you some good.”

“Paahh!” I dismiss the logic of the idea as I wiggle my right foot into the remaining boot. I pull my sweater over my head as I stand.

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