"Oh crap, I gotta go." I look at the clock on the wall. I've been reading my book for longer than I wanted. If don't leave right now, I'll be late for school.
I gently put down my book, Twilight, which I'm rereading for the 100th time by now. I put the bookmark on the correct page and close the book. I always take good care of my stories. I'm a bookworm; I don't fold the corners of the pages like most people do, or peel at the plastic surrounding a hard cover. It's just wrong.
Yet, despite my delicate handling of a book, everything else I do, not so much.
I scramble from the couch and speed to my room, nearly falling up the stairs, if that's possible. I throw on the first clothes in my laundry bag I see, smelling the tie-dye sweatshirt first. Not dirty enough to be noticed. I hastily throw it on, accidentally putting it on backwards at first.
I only put on concealer and mascara, not as much as what I normally put on, but I'm on a time crunch right now, so I can't worry about covering up the zits plastered on my face perfectly. It will have to do. I pull my hair up into a large, messy bun before running down the stairs and snagging a pack of Pop Tarts and tossing them in my bag.
I'm tripping towards the door, throwing on my black Vans when my mom intercepts me.
"You seriously aren't going out like that, are you?" She arches on of her eyebrows, looking at my pants with an amused look on her face.
"What do you mean?" I say, confused. I look down. "Oh!" I facepalm myself.
I still have my pajama shorts on.
"You better hurry, or you'll miss school," she snickers, amused. I roll my eyes.
"Oh yeah, quite the comedy, mom." I say sarcastically. "Stop laughing." I dash up the stairs, my mom laughing harder now.
I clumsily pull on a pair of leggings and run back down the stairs, fumbling for the keys to my 2020 EcoSport. It was a gift for my 16th birthday, which I am forever grateful for, because I love going fast. Going in a slow vehicle - or just slow in general, like I don't know, walking - severely pisses me off, even though when I go fast, I tend to trip, stumble, and hurt myself in any way possible. It makes zero sense, I know.
I give our yorkie, Muffin, a scratch behind her ear and giving an air kiss to my mother before dashing out the door and to the car.
I hear my mom say in the doorframe, "Have fun, honey!" and a bark from Muffin. I smile, giving a little wave in response before jamming the keys into the ignition. I put the car in drive, getting out of the driveway before going in the direction of the high school.
I'm listening to my favorite song Someone You Like by The Girl and the Dreamcatcher when I get a call from Deya, my best friend. I tap the screen built into the car to answer the call.
"Why the hell aren't you here yet?" She says loudly. "You left me here all alone, with no one to talk to," she complains.
"I lost track of time, causing me to be late. Now, calm down. I'm literally in the car and on my way." I laugh lightly. "And I am not the only person you can interact with. You can talk to Vicky," I point out.
"Oh. Well, how about Cam?"
"I don't want to talk to him! You know I always get nervous around him and half the time feel like losing my lunch!"
"Relax. You won't lose your lunch." I pause for the dramatic affect. "You'll lose your breakfast."
"That's not funny!" I respond with my snorting of laughter. "And for your information, I didn't eat breakfast. By the way, I'm starving, and the food here is disgusting. Can't you stop by McDonalds or something before my stomach implodes?"
"I'm already late, Deya." I roll my eyes, even though she can't see me. "I don't have time."
"Well, I'm hungry. Like, really hungry. And- wait, what do you mean? You have another hour."
"Yeah, all our parents got an email saying all the seniors don't have to go to class for the first hour. They just have to either stay on school grounds, or ask the vice principal for permission to go somewhere. Your mom didn't tell you?"
My mom never told me that. Why would she not tell me that when I was rushing so much this morning trying to get here? I'm going to have to talk with mother when I get home.
I sigh. "Alright, I'll get you McDonalds."
"Yes! Thank you, I love you so much!"
"Yeah, yeah," I wave a limp hand at the passenger seat, forgetting she can't see me again. "Okay, I'll talk to you when I get there."
"Alright. Bye!" Click.
I turn left towards the McDonald's, thankful I remembered my wallet before I left. And my phone.
I pull into the parking lot and get out of the car. I don't feel like going into the drive-thru, because they mess up my order everytime. And I really needed to stand for a bit. My butt was getting sore.
I go into the doors and walk to the counter, ready to order. I get the same thing everytime: a breakfast bagel, eggs, bacon, cheese and horseradish sandwich with a hashbrown. Deya normally gets pancakes and bacon, a hashbrown as well. The hashbrowns are kinda like a tradition in McDonald's breakfast in both mine and Deya's families. We always have them with our breakfasts. Oh, and coffee. Don't forget coffee. Coffee keeps us conscious.
When it's my turn, I tell cashier my order and pay. Deya will definetly need to pay me back for this. Fast food places aren't cheap anymore, sadly.
"Is that gonna be take-out, or eat-in?" The cashier says in a deep, husky, vaguely familiar voice.
"Take-out. Gotta get this to my friend or she'll eat me alive," I say, looking up to the cashier. But when I see his face, I feel mine light up with happiness.
"Tyler!" I exclaim.
He gives me an adorable lopsided grin.