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I lift my left hand to the lights, half expecting the glowing tendrils to come forth again now that I’m alone.
Nothing.
I frown, letting my hand drop over my head.
None of this makes sense. The ghost girl warning me about my impending doom all those years ago, the other corporeally-challenged creatures that appeared shortly after that, and certainly not this afternoon’s paranormal insanity.
Why me?
I know I didn’t imagine being pulled down into the ocean today. No amount of stress-induced mental breaks can explain the tugging sensations that were pulling at me.
But it wasn’t just physical. There was a mental draw, too. Like some part of my unconscious mind, buried deep below, knows something and wants to find whatever is in the water.
I close my eyes, trying to peer deeper into my mind. It feels like I’m forgetting something. Like when youleave the house and get the nagging feeling the oven is still on.
I rub my face in frustration and concede that whatever forgotten thread of memory I’m trying to bring up can’t be forced.
Glancing at my new phone, freshly charged during my little field trip, I’m shocked to see it isn’t even dinner time yet.
Today has been a complete drain, but I know I’ll be awake all night if I fall asleep now. Sighing, I pull myself out of bed and rummage through the kitchen.
I settle on old faithful – ramen noodles. Five minutes later, I’m sitting at the kitchen counter on my barstool, wolfing down the delicious empty carbs as I scroll through my email.
I groan when I note the reminders I’ve set for myself, loudly displayed on my home screen.
*Read two chapters of Roman History by Tuesday morning.*
*Ps – if you don’t feel like doing it, then please feel free to practice your stripping.*
*Pps – once you’ve realized you are so uncoordinated you’d starve as a stripper, just do the homework.*
Reluctantly, I place my empty soup bowl in the sink before fetching my textbook.
Reading the two chapters and taking detailed, colour-coordinated notes takes me well into the evening. I love organizing my note topics by colours and own at leasttwo dozen different coloured pens. It’s a guilty pleasure and an excellent study aid.
Stretching, I pull my mind out of hyperfocus mode and check my phone messages. I have three. They’re all from Conner.
Conner - Can I trade a muffin for your Roman History notes tomorrow?
Conner - I can’t even with the Rome chapters.
Promoting horses to senate, guzzling gladiator fluids.
HOW DID THIS EMPIRE LAST THIS LONG?
Conner - Okay – Muffin AND a coffee. Final offer.
I laugh as I text him back.
Vivian - Make sure it’s a chocolate chip muffin.
Conner is quick to respond.
Conner - Done. You’re the best! Xo
I snap some photos of my notes and send them to Conner before putting my phone back on the counter and walking over to my bookshelves. I still have a bit of time before bed. I was thinking I might read, but I’m still nursing a major book hangover after finishing the toe-curling novel from my favourite author the night before.
Sighing, I decide instead to put on some laundry. I don’t want to leave my wet, salt-soaked bikini to dry in my apartment.
