Hypocrite

There's always that one time when you wake up at your desk after a night of studying.

My head snaps up from my desk, papers flying every which direction at the sudden movement. I swat at a paper stuck to my head in groggy perplexion. All around my room seems calm, so I lay my head back down on the desk.

What time is it?

My head rolls to the side as I glance over at my clock. My mind does a double-take as I stare at it. Seven o'clock?

I bolt upright in my chair, knocking it over in the process. My room is a flurry of motion as I get to work, yanking on clothes; brushing my teeth; and stuffing school work in my bag.

With a huff, I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the time.

Wait. Nine after six? What the hell? I check the date.

Damn daylight savings.

I plop down on my bed, wiping sweat from my brow. All that for nothing. Of course I would forget to set the time back.

"Oh, hello." I look up at the man in my doorway. Why the heck is he in my room? "This is definitely not the bathroom."

Of course. I glance at the tool belt strapped to his side. He must be the plumber.

I smile at him. It's not a rare occurrence. "Down the hall. It's the first door on your right."

"Thank you," the man calls as he walks off.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. Of course he would think my room is a bathroom. Everyone seems to assume it is. Why is that? It's a nuisance to always be worried Mum will have a guy over or something, and he'll walk into my room while I'm sleeping. How fun.

Maybe it's an exaggeration, but it's bound to happen.

The bangs in my hair fall into my face, and I blow them back. Now that I've woken up early, I have enough time to go down for breakfast. The scent of bacon and eggs surrounds me as I walk down the stairs.

Sizzling fills the room as Mom hums, flipping a pancake. She shakes her hips to the rhythm of her music, singing along with Shawn Mendes. Her melodic voice prompts me to smile as I take a seat at the island.

"I heard you rushing through your room. I suppose you didn't set your clock back, did you?" She resumes humming the song as she drops some food onto a plate for me.

I chuckle, grabbing it gently from her. "How'd you know?"

"Happens every time. Your father did it too." She shakes her head, pouring more mix into the pan. "Anyway, could you go shopping after your shift tomorrow? I, uh... I'm out of money."

The drop in her once perky voice is evident, and I fight back a sigh. Seeing Mom sucks. I feel bad that I can't do more to help with income. Minimum wage doesn't help much.

"Yeah, Mom. I've still got a little money left." I peck her gently on the cheek, making my way back to the counter.

As I stab my fork into my pancakes, my mind drifts. The lack of money hasn't bothered us much in the past, but with Mom recently becoming unemployed, it's begun to take its toll. Mom thinks I don't see it, but I catch every little detail: the nights she goes without eating; sitting in her office with her head in her hands, muttering to nothing; everything. She sacrifices everything for me. I hate it.

I'm glad she cares about me. She does more for me than most kids will ever see from their parents, but it's too much. She's just as important as I am, if not more.

"Tzain." She sighs as she looks over at me. "I can tell you're thinking. Please just eat so you can get to school. I don't want you to be late again. You've only got a few weeks left if senior year. Please finish strong."

I nod, scarfing down my food. As I leave, I give her a hug and another peck on the cheek.

The schedule for my classes come through my phone with a sharp ping, listing all activities my teachers will force me to endure. Someone please put me out of my misery. End my suffering!

I chuckle to myself as I enter the parking lot. Time to either ignore Peter or confront him. Hopefully the former.

My car door slams behind me as I creep out of it, keeping watch for Peter. He's set up by his car, talking to another football player. His arm is slung around a cheerleader, but he seems to hold no interest in her.

However, I hold no interest in running into him, so I bolt for the door the first chance I get.

My locker is almost my safe harbor as I twist in my combination. Peter has remained outside for the time being, but who knows how long that could be. I was safest staying at home or within sight of the teachers, but even then I wouldn't be completely safe.

Peter's family practically runs this school. Teachers might as well be on the Arnolds' payroll. They listen to Peter. At least, those who are frightened of him. There are a few who will stand up for the underdogs.

"Tzain!" Miss Heron calls for me, beckoning me toward her. I smile, grabbing my books before making my way to her.

"We're going to be getting into groups for a project today. Make sure you find someone good to pair with. Don't let some random person pull you into their group. Hell- I mean heck, if I have to, I'll let you do it with someone from another class."

I chuckle, running a hand through my hair. "Gee, Miss Heron, I appreciate it. I'll be fine, though. Don't worry." She's always trying to help me out. I don't mind, but she knows she doesn't have to.

She sighs and nods, patting me on the back as I head to homeroom.

I don't normally have much trouble with Peter in homeroom since he never shows up to the class period, but it's still best to be ready for anything. Who knows? Maybe he'll actually show up.

Let's hope not.

What was I doing? I shake my head to clear it before grabbing my Calculus homework. It should have been done last night after I got done studying, but that obviously didn't happen.

An exasperated breath escapes my lips as I stare down at the homework. I still have twelve questions left, and each one are word problems. I hate word problems.

I'm on problem seven of twelve when the door to the room slams open. All heads snap up to find Harlow Martinez standing in her standard crop-top, black jeans, and motorcycle boots. I roll my eyes at the cliché and return to my work.

However, it remains so quiet you could hear a pin drop, so I glance up to the front of the room.

The teacher and Harlow are engaged in a long staring contest. Mr. Henson's eye twitches at the effort before he finally sighs, dropping his gaze.

Smug at her win, Harlow travels through the rows of desks, heading straight for mine. Although Harlow's act is totally cliché she is still the scariest woman you'll ever meet, so I stare at my paper. Lord, please keep her from stopping at my desk.

However, my desk isn't the one she's after. Instead, the girl beside me flinches at her barked orders. "Move." The tone in her voice, coupled with the expression on her face is sure to make the kid move.

Unsurprisingly, the girl nods quickly, rushing to gather her belongings and move to the front of the room.

Please don't talk to me. Please don't talk to me.

Harlow's gaze turns to me. "Hey." The surprise I feel is no doubt showing on my face as I turn to look at her. She chuckles, running a hand through her black hair. "What? Didn't expect the 'bad girl' to be nice?"

"No, I-I." Any words I could use evacuate my mind, leaving it completely vacant. My hands try to communicate what I want to say, but Harlow continues to stare at me. After a moment, she raises an eyebrow at me.

"Okay." She drags the word on for a little while.

I shake my head. "Sorry. I just didn't expect you to talk to me."

She leans toward me. "Look. I need a friend. Obviously, my reputation seems stupid, but it keeps people away from me." She taps her long nails on her desk. "You don't have any friends."

Ouch. I mean, it's one thing for me to admit it, but for someone else? Yeah, it hurts.

"Sorry. That didn't come out right." She sighs, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. "Anyway, if you became my friend, a lot of people would leave you alone. I know your history of bullying."

Apparently, she doesn't know about Peter's bullying. No one can protect me from that.

"Hello?"

I shake my head again, slightly glaring at her. "I don't know you. Friends know each other, so if you want to be friends, let me get to know you better."

She nods, but not without quirking an eyebrow at what I assume is my sudden boldness. "Well, if I don't show up to the next class period, I guess I'll see you then."

With that, she saunters up to the front of the room. She glances at Mr. Henson as she puts on her Ray-Bans. When he doesn't say anything, she walks out with a flip of her hair.

Again, I roll my eyes and return to my work. So dramatic, but I guess I'll get to the bottom of this act soon. Not everyone who acts like that was born that way. It has to be some kind of act to distract herself from the real problem.

I jump as the bell rings. Another sigh escapes my lips as I pack up my books. Stupid bell. One of these days, I'm gonna get a heart attack because of it.

Miss Heron looks up at me as I enter her classroom, setting her glasses on the desk beside her.

"Remember what I said, Tzain." I smile and nod, heading to my seat in the back.

I'm not too enthused about the idea of groups, but it's a class project. No one else gets the type of opportunities I do. I might as well just bear through it.

"All right, class." Miss Heron hops down from her perch on the desk and claps her hands. "Y'all know the drill for groups. Go find a partner so you have at least one familiar person."

She watches me as I lay my head on the table. Visibly sighing, she starts walking toward me but stops as someone taps my shoulder.

My head snaps up quickly, almost hitting Harlow. She leans up from her spot of inspecting me, throwing her hands up.

"Whoa, there, bud. Don't give yourself a heart attack. I just wanna be your partner." I nod slowly, dropping my head. She did almost give me a heart attack.

For once, Peter actually appears to class. Unsurprisingly, Peter's posse of girls follows him. His interest seems to go completely past them as he walks to his seat, locking eyes with me as he passes. He shrugs two girls off, waving them away roughly as he takes a seat.

This day is going to kill me. Harlow remains standing beside me as Miss Heron blends pairs. For each pair of more 'nerdy' people, there's a more sports-type pair that goes with them.

"Tzain and Harlow with..." She trails off as she realizes Peter's pair is the only one left. By now, it's too late. She sends me an apologetic look. "Peter and Eliza."

My head drops to my desk, hitting against it loudly.

Harlow watches me with concern as Peter and Eliza approach our table. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the matching smirks of Peter and Eliza. Eliza wraps her arms around his as they walk, but lets go when he glares at her.

"I hope you don't expect us to do anything," Peter says as he stares at Harlow and I. "You two are on your own. Have fun."

"I fucking hate him," Harlow mutters under her breath as Peter turns away. If Peter heard her, he gives no indication as he begins talking to Eliza.

"It's fine. Let's just get to work." I grab a notebook from my backpack.

Harlow looks between Peter and I, eyeing Peter more suspiciously.

"Are you sure-"

"Let's just work on our project." I interrupt her quickly. "How's anthrax as a biological weapon?"

"Sure, whatever," Harlow mutters, glaring at the back of Peter's head.

I sigh. Looks like I'll be doing this on my own again.