Chapter 12
TWELVE
Alis
“SUNNY! ARE YOU AWAKE?!” I yell out into the hallway as I rip off my t-shirt and sweats, looking frantically around the room for a pair of pants, a skirt — anything clean, really.
Sunny’s bedroom door opens and she stands there, rubbing her eyes, bed head to the max and yawning. “I’m awake. Why are you yelling?”
As she’s talking, I find a pair of jeans balled up near my closet and start to wiggle them up my legs. “Because it’s 7:15 and we were supposed to leave by 7:10. We have to go. Throw something on and grab your bookbag. I’ll give you some mint gum in the ca— ah!”
I trip while trying to get my pants on and slam my hip into the dresser. Grunting and uttering useless expletives under my breath, I right myself and finish buttoning my jeans. When I look up Sunny is still standing in her doorway, in her pajamas, laughing at me.
“Seriously? Did you not hear a word I just said?! GET. DRESSED. NOW!” She turns and bolts into her room, hopefully dressing herself so we can get out of here.
Thank goodness I at least had the forethought to pick out a top for my first day of class, so I snatch it off the hanger in my closet and pull it over my head.
Now for shoes. Shoes, shoes, shoes — where the hell are my yellow flats?
! I could have sworn I put them in my closet.
Maybe they’re by the front door. I decide they must be, and instead of checking to make sure I run into my bathroom to brush my teeth and throw on some deodorant.
I look at my face in the mirror as I brush my teeth and see that, of course, I woke up with a serious case of chin acne.
I guess I am due for my period any day now, but I don’t have time to put on makeup and I really don’t want to stroll into class sporting an uncovered puss volcano on my face.
I rinse my toothbrush and mouth, set the toothbrush back in its holder, grab my makeup bag, and sprint back into the bedroom to find my messenger bag.
“Sunny?! Are you ready?!” I yell out into the apartment, hoping that my child is dressed and at least has her shoes on and backpack located.
“Yes, Monty. You’re the one taking forever. I thought we were late?” I can hear the eyeroll in her tone and today is not the day for sass. I also don’t have the time or energy to reprimand her, so I decide to leave it for now.
I grab my laptop and shove it into my bag, zipping it shut before slinging it over my shoulder and running out into the living room.
“Did you eat?” I ask, not looking at her because I’m now scouring the shoe pile by the door.
Sunny responds with a mouthful of food. “Yes, I’m eating a granola bar.” Though it sounds like, “yesh, I’m eeing a gwanohoh bah.”
“Have you seen my shoes? Where the hell are my flats?!” I’m now tossing shoes out of the basket near the door looking for a pair I’ve deemed professional but jeans appropriate.
“Which ones?” Sunny looks at me, confused.
“Seriously? The yellow slip-ons I just bought. The ones I bought for work.”
“Oohhhhh. Yeah. I have no idea where they are.” Thanks. Super helpful, kid.
I look at the clock on the microwave and see it’s now 7:27. Shit, we have to leave. I see my bright red Mary Janes, shove my feet into them, and turn back to Sunny. “Come on. We gotta go. Now.”
She tosses a granola bar my way. Mercifully, I catch it, shoving it into my purse on the entry table before I sling the crossbody bag over my head, grab my keys, and open the door.
Sunny is thankfully right behind me and she locks the door as we run toward the parking lot.
I’ve at least got one thing going for me this morning — yesterday I lucked out and landed the parking spot closest to our apartment.
The only downside to this spot is that it’s not shaded, and my black leather seats are hot plates in the August heat.
Beggars can’t be choosers when you’re running late.
I toss my bag and purse into the back, climb into the driver’s seat, and crank the vehicle. I back out of the spot and then we’re on our way — thirty minutes later than intended, but whatever.
“I didn’t have time to pack anything for lunch. I’ll need cash for food,” Sunny says as she buckles her seatbelt. I have no idea if my wallet holds any cash, but I tell Sunny to grab my purse off the back seat and check anyway. Glory hallelujah, she finds a twenty.
“Did you forget something?” Sunny asks as I stop at a red light.
“No? Maybe? What did I forget?” I frantically look around and then pat down my body looking for a missed necessity.
Just as I’m about to ask again what the hell she thinks I forgot, Sunny pulls a hairbrush out of her backpack and offers it to me.
“Please don’t go out in public with your hair like that. ”
“Like what?!” I scoff, but quickly clamp my mouth shut when I see the half-fallen messy bun in the rearview mirror. How did I miss that?
Traffic is thankfully not backed up yet, so I get Sunny to school right before the tardy bell rings.
“Keep the brush,” she says, opening the door to hop out before I’ve fully stopped.
“Love you! See you tonight! Skye is picking you up today.” I yell out the window as she jogs toward the school. She doesn’t look back or say anything, just sticks her arm in the air and gives me a thumbs up before slipping inside the front door.
My class begins in ten minutes and I’m twenty minutes away, more if traffic sucks. I cannot believe this. I’m thirty years old. I thought I had my crap together and now I can’t even make it to class on time on THE FIRST DAY OF THE SEMESTER.
I try to maintain the speed limit on my way to campus, changing lanes more than usual to weave through traffic. I saw a study once that said weaving actually makes traffic move slower, but my brain isn’t functioning well enough to remember that right now.
“Come on, come on, come on.” I’m literally two blocks away from my destination and this red light is taking forever to change.
Class began ten minutes ago, and I still have to park and walk to class — oh, and fix my hair.
So much for makeup. Don’t have time for that now.
I really hope I can sneak in quietly and find a seat in the back.
The light turns green — finally — and a few minutes later I’m parked and jogging across the parking lot toward class.
It has to be ninety degrees outside already and my hair tie broke when I wrestled it out of my nest, so my now-frizzy, but brushed, mop of blonde hair hangs loose down my back as sweat builds on my skin.
This blouse is thin and will most likely stick to my skin when I slow down.
At least I wore deodorant — wait, I did put on deodorant, right?
Yes. Yes, I did. Ok, so I shouldn’t have pit sweat but who knows what my back and underboob will look like.
I can’t think about this right now. Where is my class again?
I stop and look around, realizing I passed the English building while lost in my thoughts of sweat-soaked clothing.
I spin on my heel and jog up the stairs, looking at my feet to ensure I don’t trip on my way to the front door.
Smack. I crash into someone and start to fall back down the stairs when a strong arm wraps around me, pulling me back up and steadying me on my feet. Thank God I’m not running with a drink in hand.
“Whoa now, you ok?” His words don’t register because all I can smell is sandalwood and spruce. Heaven. “Alis?” Wait. I know that voice. I know this smell. Dexter. Oh, fuck me. Yes, please do. No!
I take a step back and brush my hair from my face. “Hi, Dr. Belanger. Sorry I ran into you. Literally.” I look up at him from beneath my lashes, suddenly thankful for the heat because my sweat-flushed skin hides my embarrassment.
“No worries. You ok?” He asks, his eyes are concerned, but he still manages to aim that sexy half-smile right at me.
Am I ok? No, I am not ok. I’m late for class, my hair looks like I’ve been electrocuted, it’s so freaking hot outside that I’m sure I have underboob sweat staining my shirt, and the one man I want and can’t have is now all up in my space.
“Yeah, sorry again. I have to get to class.” I smile, awkwardly, and scoot around him to pull open the door and head into the building.
I find the directory on the wall near the elevator and see that my class is on the first floor, but I swear the hallways on this map look more like a maze than a grid.
I find the room number and trace the hallway route with my eyes before walking deeper into the labyrinth, hoping and praying I don’t get lost and make myself even more late than I already am.
Five minutes and two wrong turns later, I peer through the glass window on the classroom door and see my professor is turned around writing something on the whiteboard.
I open the door as slowly and quietly as possible and slip in, looking to my left and then right to hopefully find an open seat near the door.
Ah-hah! I find one in the second row from the back and slide into the aisle, whispering “sorry” and “excuse me” before plopping down into the open seat and lifting up the desk attachment.
The professor is still writing on the board and I don’t think he heard me, so I should be in the clear.
Everyone around me seems to be copying whatever the professor writes, so I reach into my bag, grab a notebook, and search for a pen to follow suit. When my fingers fail to find one, I hear a tap on the side of my desk and look up to see the guy next to me offering one of his extras.
“Thank you,” I mouth with a friendly smile before looking back to the front of the class. The professor turns and continues his lecture, none the wiser about my late arrival. At least something went right this morning.
Thirty minutes later class ends and I’m scribbling down the last bullet point from the board when I hear, “Miss Gilmore, a word.” I close my eyes. Of course. Nothing can go right today.