sign up for morning classes next year.
Can’t wait to be able to choose when my classes start. I’m going with the major made for insomniacs. What career paths involve working late into the night? Gravediggers? Um, doctors, nurses, mental ward psychos?
Man, I’m tired.
I drive to school the same way I always do: half awake. It’s out of the driveway, then it’s a left, right, right, stop at that annoying intersection with the really long red light that I always get stuck at, straight past that, two more lefts, and then I’m there.
Meadows. On time for once too.
I park the car in my assigned space and I look at the time on my phone: 7:40 A.M. Know what that means—ten minutes to sleep in my car!
Believe me, this adds up. It helps. Power naps keep me from turning into a zombie. But then again, it’s kind of hard to sleep when Brad taps on the glass.
“What, man? Go away.” I wave him off.
But he taps on the glass again.
“Fuck,” I grumble. “It’s open.”
He gets in the front passenger seat. He sits down and looks at me.
I look at him. He’s a blank stare. “What? It’s too early for this stuff, man.”
Brad shakes his head. “Bro...”
Of course I know what he’s thinking about. I haven’t been able to brush it off either. It kind of settles in the back of the mind, making everything I do a little plainer because I’m paying even less attention to the things around me.
“Yeah, I know.”
“So wild, dude,” Brad boasts, “we had to fucking run and get help.”
“Yeah,” I say, monotone, driver’s seat reclined back, eyes closed.
“But then Steve twisted his ankle like a pussy and we got lost in the fields.”
Can’t a guy get a few winks?
“And shit, bro, it sucked. Getting lost in that forest is no joke. Being buzzed makes everything look the same.”
I yawn. “But you weren’t out there as long as I was.”
“Yeah, bro, Blaire told me. She said you fell asleep.”
“More like blacked out.” I rub my eyes. “Did y’all end up copping it?”
“Naw”—Brad snaps his fingers—“texted Jon-Jon and he called it like it is, said, like, if we called the cops they’d be more about trespassing charges.”
“Jon-Jon knows what’s up.” Falter isn’t a place anyone’s allowed to access. It’s one of the places closed off for a reason. But we all know that. It’s kind of the point. And Jon-Jon, he always knows. Older than most, he’s got the wisdom to make money work for him. He stays at Meadows because it’s where the money is. He pulls in as much as he wants selling. He’s a good guy, Jon-Jon. Still don’t know him well enough to really get a good read on the guy. Then again I don’t think anyone does. That’s him. That’s Jon-Jon. He’s a businessman.
“Bro, he’s looking for you,” Brad says.
I groan. “I’ve got first period in, like, eight minutes and I still got to pass by my locker.”
“I thought first period was free,” Brad says.
“That was last semester.” I’d kill to get that free period first thing. But no, I’m supposed to be doing awesome at calculus.
“Bummer,” Brad says.
“Yeah.” I open my eyes, staring at the faded fabric ceiling of my car.
“But, bro, you know what he wants. Fuck, I got to ask too.”
“Nothing happened,” I tell him.
“You were running that long and you’re going to tell me nothing fucking happened?”
I put the seat back up, stretching. “Yup. That’s what I’m saying.”
“Jesus,” Brad says, and sighs, “real bummer.”
“World’s full of bummers.”
We leave the car and walk toward the main building. Meadows is made up of three buildings, two on either side of a big four-story main structure where most of us spend the bulk of our time.
Brad’s talking, something about “a bunch of people are going to be blasting it in the fields this Wednesday.” It’s another party in the middle of nowhere.
I’ll probably go. Becca will want to go anyway. Everyone will be there; even if I stayed in, people will notice. The next day at school would be all about how Hunter Warden was a no-show. It’s like that here at Meadows.
Everyone knows everyone, especially if you’ve never met.
I tell him, “Yeah, you know it. Anyway, I’ll catch you later.”
“Yeah.” Brad nods. “Yeah, hit me up at lunch.”
He goes his way and I go mine. And there’s first period, which isn’t worth talking about. I think I might fail the class. I won’t, but I would, you see—Blaire’s my eyes and ears. She’s got the stuff finished and all I have to do is not fuck up the pop quizzes. I fucked up today’s pop quiz.
But what are you gonna do, you know?
Calculus. Everyone, even the A students, are over it.
Miss Canaan needs a life. I want to just walk up to her desk and tell her what everyone’s been telling me: It’s almost over. You’ll never see us again. Why not cut us some slack? Some of us are fun people. If you’d stop stressing the curriculum so much you’d have a better time.
But that takes balls. Well, more than that, it takes effort.
And I’m low on that lately.
I bump into Blaire before fourth period to exchange homework.
“You look like shit,” Blaire tells me.
Yeah, I haven’t been able to shake the exhaustion. I yawn it off, make appearances. “Insomnia,” I say with a shrug. “What else is new?”
Blaire’s hands are all over the homework, checking it like I didn’t actually do a good job. I’ve got this stuff. I’m not an idiot.
English class, that’s my forte.
She won’t look me in the eye. “You’d tell me, right?”
But I don’t hear her until she seems to answer for me—“Yeah, you’d tell me”—and runs off. We don’t have any classes together, which is why trading homework works. I know what she’s talking about. She
