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“Then, you’ll have to redo the year.”
Warm tears are brimming in my eyes. “That’s not fair!”
Mom scoffs. “Not fair? You’re the one that didn’t do your homework assignments. It’s completely fair.”
I bury my head in my arms as I let the true horror of the moment sweep over me. “How would I even get there?” I have a license, but I haven’t driven since the day of Ethan’s crash. Every time I’ve tried, my pulse skyrockets, and the car closes in on me. Tighter and tighter until I can’t breathe.
Mom half laughs. “Schools have buses, remember?”
The bus. That’s right. It’s been a few years since I had to use one, but they aren’t the end of the world. The worst thing about them is that they take forever to get anywhere. It drags our ten-minute drive into a forty-minute one. Still, I can handle that as long as no one talks to me or, worse, sits next to me.
“Besides,” Mom says. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t want to drive, so I already asked about it. The closest stop is at the end of the street at 6:55.”
“In the morning?” My stomach twists into knots, and my palms begin to sweat. Inside, my thoughts thrash and scream in my mind. Every fiber of my being is on edge. My brain is playing tug of war, repeating my two options over and over.
“No one’s picking you up at dinner time.”
It was a stupid question, but I shouldn’t be expected to formulate comprehensive sentences right now.
My eyes grow big. “What if I can’t wake up that early?”
“Then you can go to school again in the fall.” Her tone is flat.
“I hate . . .” I catch myself before the words slip out.
“You hate what?” Mom demands.
I shake my head as my stomach flips. I’m going to be sick, and I have to get out of here. Unable to hold back any longer, I flee up the stairs.
“What are you going to do?” Mom yells after me.
I don’t answer because I don’t know. I’ll find out tomorrow when my alarm clock goes off. I’m not going to lie, I’d rather stay home and become a full time recluse. At the moment, that seems more appealing than a diploma. Why can’t that be an acceptable option?
Sadly, it’s not if I ever want to get out of here.
CHAPTERFOUR
The most annoyingthing about my alarm is that it’s on my cell phone, which means I can’t throw it across the room when it goes off.
My face twists into a sour expression as I attempt to detangle myself from my sheets. They’re heavy and have a mind of their own, wrapping around my body every night like a cocoon.
I yawn as I walk to my vanity. My neglected appearance greets me, and I immediately regret going so many days without taking care of my hair.
The brush locks into my ratty blonde snarls, tugging at my scalp. With every stroke, my nose wrinkles, and I wince from the pain. The agonizing process takes way too long, and when I finish, my curls poof out—making me look like a glorified pomeranian.Not the cute kind.
To try and control the volume, I gather it into a loose ponytail above the nape of my neck.
My makeup sits in its organizer on the corner of the vanity, calling out to be used. I reach for it, but my hands stop mid air. I don’t think there’s enough concealer in the world to cover the purple bags under my eyes, so what’s the point of putting it on?
I settle for the smallest bit of mascara, giving my hazel eyes a light framing. It’s the best I can do.
I lift my shirt to my nose and grimace. There’s no way that it’ll pass as clean. I tug it over my head and rummage through the mound of clean clothes I shoved off my chair the day before.
All I’m after is something comfortable and loose. Looking cute is the last thing on my mind. I’d rather blend into the walls of the school. I pass every bright color in the pile and settle on a gray sweatshirt with blue letters that are peeling off of the front. Then, I choose a pair of dark jeans to complete my lazy outfit. I don’t bother to find a matching pair of socks. As long as they both cover my feet, I’m good to go.
I lock eyes on the back of my chair. It’s empty, and panic begins to set in.
My backpack is nowhere to be seen. The disorganized chaos in my room screams at me as I scan over the mess. I wade through my dirty clothes pile. I even muster the courage to glance into the black hole that’s underneath my bed. When I turn on my phone’s flashlight, I gag. Smelly socks and cobwebs cover random junk line the floor. But no backpack. I yank the bed skirt back down to cover the horror and open the closet to continue my search.
