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“There’s some takeout containers under my bed. They’re not quite empty,” I tell her sheepishly as I climb out of bed and follow her bossy instructions.
“Jeez! The things I do for you! Go!” She shoos me away, and I give in, like I always do, just as she overrides my playlist with her own and Lizzo’s ‘Good as Hell’ starts to play.
Maybe a change of scenery will help. I’ve been obsessing over my essay all week, have written another four versions of it, but my argument is always the same, and I end up with very little variation in my work. I have no idea where I went wrong because there’s no constructive feedback on my work at all. Only snide, sarcastic comments like ‘REALLY?!’ and ‘FML’ and ‘WTF’ scrawled in the margins. I had to look the acronyms up.
I’m not impressed.
Are teachers really allowed to annotate students’ work like that over here? In the U.K. most schools have banned marking in red pen because it’s so damaging to students’ psyche.
I turn the shower on and strip out of my clothes, wincing at how sore my muscles are from disuse. I allow myself one more minute of anger towards my handsome professor before I banish all thoughts of my essay and step under the spray.
The heat helps pound the tension out of me and by the time I’ve washed and conditioned my hair, scrubbed myself clean, and shaved, I’m feeling almost human again. And now I miss the ocean. I vow to catch some waves this weekend, my board deserves better than how I’ve been treating it.
I turn off the tap, step out and wrap my hair and body in two fluffy towels. Remaining in the bathroom, I clear the steam from the mirror and brush my teeth, then apply my favourite skincare range. I’ve been crap at looking after myself this week and it shows. Hopefully Summer can work her magic on me again with her makeup.
When I return to my bedroom Summer is rifling through my wardrobe, complaining about my clothing choices and Pitbull’s ‘Timber’ is now playing. It’s one of Summer’s get ready anthems.
“That’s better,” she says when she spots me squeezing out my hair. “How do you feel now?”
“Much better. Almost human. But my skin is horrible. I need you to do my makeup for me.”
She beams at me. “Finally! I knew this day would come! Thank you, Lord, for giving me the patience to wait out this day!”
I laugh at her theatrics and toss my damp hair towel her way.
“Your colour’s holding up really well. I thought it would need touching up loads, but it’s hardly faded at all. Have you been using that stuff I gave you?” I nod, because for once, I actually have been using the special shampoo and conditioner Summer left in the bathroom for me. “All of it?”
“I used the shampoo and conditioner.”
“But I gave you everything! A complete hair care system!”
“And I’m grateful, I really am, but…” She should know it just isn’t me. “I’ve barely even brushed my teeth this week so you can’t expect me to be using loads of lotions and potions.”
Summer sighs.
“Look, MT, this isn’t going to be the only sucky grade you get.” I open my mouth to argue with her because it absolutely is going to be a one off, but she cuts me off with a raised hand. “If it’s not a crap grade, it will be a bad partnership on an assignment, or computer failure, or something else. What I mean is, bad shit will happen, and you have to learn to deal with it.”
“I did deal with it,” I say with a pout.
“Hibernating and eating your body weight in greasy food is not ‘dealing’, MT. I’m sympathetic because I know that doing well is a big deal to you—”
That’s an understatement. Failure is not an option. Anything less than perfection is…well, let’s just say bad things happen. I can’t let that happen to me anymore. My parents might be on the other side of the pond, but I don’t doubt their disapproval and archaic punishments will still reach me all the way out here.
“—and I’m not saying that this guy isn’t a dick, because clearly he is, but…”
Summer has been rambling the whole time I checked out, getting wound up about my essay again. I need to distract her before I crawl back into bed and write another draft.
“Please, can we just get ready? I really want to take my mind off it tonight and going out sounds fun,” I lie.
“Brilliant!” Summer grins at me. “That’s the attitude! Okay, take a seat and I’ll do your hair and makeup, then we can talk about what you’re wearing.”
I could argue, but I don’t. If Summer’s distracted with trivial things like my appearance, she’s not talking to me like a bloody life coach. I settle back in the chair at my desk, slip my headphones in and close my eyes while Summer works her magic, again.
* * *
“Oh. We’ve been here before,” I say when we get to the bar that Summer has chosen for our night out. It’s down one of the back roads in Avalon, and I’m secretly glad that she didn’t drag me to a club. The quiet bar, which is a little too trendy to be a pub, is much more comfortable for me.
“Yeah, you seemed to like it so I thought we could start here tonight. You know, somewhere comfortable and familiar.”
