Page 33 of Lose You to Find Me

And right above that old piece of technology is a huge water stain with droplets slowly coming through the bubbled ceiling.

“Fuck,” I curse, rushing over to unplug my TV and pull the stand away from the leak. I clench my eyes closed before taking a few deep breaths to calm myself down. Mom always told me that getting worked up gets you nowhere fast, and it’s obvious that there’s nothing to be done about what’s already damaged.

So instead of the sleep I desperately need before my first exam bright and early tomorrow morning, I spend the next two hours fixing the leak. Which includes going to the family hardware store, getting materials to patch the roof, and waiting out the storm in order to actually cover the damn thing before it does more damage inside.

By the time five a.m. rolls around, I’m so tired I can’t keep my eyes open. I hop into the shower to warm up from the cold air, spend the next twenty minutes trying to dry up the wet carpet, then pass out on the couch.

It feels like seconds later when my phone alarm goes off, telling me to get my ass up for class. And for the first time, I don’t. I don’t know if it’s the exhaustion weighing down my limbs or the fogginess making logic run for the hills, but I don’t care about my test. Or about school or about my shift later at the store.

All I want is sleep.

An extra five minutes.

Maybe ten.

Turning my alarm off, I doze back off, not thinking about much of anything, much less the constant noise of my phone going off. Subconsciously, I know I’ll regret choosing to ignore my responsibilities when I wake up. But for the first time in a long time, I manage to have a completely undisturbed sleep.

No dreams.

No nightmares.

Nothing. And maybe complete silence is what I need, even if I can only get it in small doses.

When I wake up a little while later, there are eight missed messages on my phone. Since none of them are from my frantic mother, I choose not to go through them. It probably makes me a little bit of an asshole, especially because I saw Emma’s name in the mix, but I can’t gather enough energy today to care about anything or anyone.

By the time I slide into my usual seat minutes before my last class starts, I’m getting a few stares from people who I typically beat here.

DJ, who’s taking a few of the same classes as me this semester, throws a wadded-up piece of paper at me from the row over. He leans forward once he captures my attention, his brows drawn up. “Everything good?”

I lift my shoulder and nod as if to saysame old, same old. There are never new updates anytime one of my friends asks how I’m doing these days. The default answer is “fine” or “okay” with an occasional “tired” mixed in if I feel like being halfway honest, but most times I lie through my teeth because I’ve always been the friend who’s had his shit together.

DJ exchanges a look with somebody on the other side of him before turning back to me, slowly nodding. “Okay, well…good.”

He’s being weird. Then again, that’s not entirely abnormal for DJ. “Did I miss anything this morning? I emailed Kroger about the exam and haven’t heard back from him. Sort of hoping he lets me make it up.”

My friend sits back. “He isn’t a total douche, so I don’t see why he wouldn’t. You’ve had a lot going on.”

I make a face, not wanting to let my father’s condition be the reason I blow off school. Realistically, today shouldn’t have happened. I realized that when I woke up feeling like shit about skipping class when I could have chugged a cup of coffee or three and made it in. I even studied for this exam unlike others I’ve gone in and half-assed, hoping for a decent grade.

Cracking my sore neck because of the shitty position I slept in on the couch, I blow out a breath and grab my notebook. “I don’t know. Neilson knew about everything and acted like he couldn’t give less of a shit this summer. I almost asked him for an extension once, but the man wouldn’t let me get the question out. It’s like he knew the second I walked up to him.”

One of our other classmates, Jeremy, snorts at the drop of the well-known professor’s name. “That’s because Neilson has a rep to protect. Man was carved from Satan himself. He gave me aC on a project during undergrad.Me.”

I’m glad I’m not the only one who rolls my eyes at Jeremy’s remark. DJ does too when we share a look. The kid has been full of himself since we’ve known him, which has been three years. A lot of people who stuck around for their MBA also did undergrad at Lindon and shared a lot of classes together. There are some people, like Jeremy and his big head, I wouldn’t mind if I never saw again.

I’d take Professor Neilson over him any day because at least the elderly man who takes no shit also rarely speaks it.

“I’m just saying,” Jeremy keeps going, leaning back and crossing his arms. “If I could get a grade like that, it’s obvious the man doesn’t give a damn about anybody. With Kroger, you’re basically going to be handed an A because he’ll probably feel bad for you.”

Eye twitching, I focus solely on the notebook I’m opening to last class’s scribbles.

DJ asks Jeremy, “When you talk, do you ever hear what a douchebag you sound like? Or is it sort of an ‘in one ear and out the other’ situation?”

I don’t hold back the snort as I grab my pen from my pocket and jot down today’s date in the corner. I’m tempted to tell DJ to stop while he’s ahead because it isn’t worth dealing with Jeremy, but hearing the idiot try to talk his way out of this conversation is the most entertainment I’ll get all day.

That is until Jeremy says “What? I’m being honest. People aren’t going to treat a student whose dad is dying like anybody else. He’s going to get some free passes. Not even professors want that kind of bad karma on them.”

The room grows quiet.

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