College Ruled

three

| 03 |
____________

I DIDN'T get a bath, a milkshake, or anything over five hours of sleep, and by the time Saturday afternoon rolls around Christina is up, energetic, and banging on my bedroom door like a drill sergeant.

I'm still lying with my face smashed against my pillow, one leg under the pale yellow duvet and the other bent on top of it, when she decides to skip all pleasantries and barge right in.

"So," she says, and then flings herself on top of my groaning body, ignoring my cursing complaints when I throw my pillow in her face. "Danny seems to think you had quite the night."

Quite the night.

I snort into my mattress.

Christina mistakes the muffled noise as a hum of agreement and she lets out a soft squeal, smacking a hand on my thigh. "Tell me—"

"There's nothing to tell." At this point my hope for her letting me drift back to sleep has fizzled away into nothing, so I drag myself to the end of my bed and crawl onto the carpeted floor. "I had a few more drinks and then Danny took me home. Very PG, clean, vanilla, whatever you wanna call it."

I don't mention the run in with Grayson Katz or Maverick whatever-his-last-name-was. It didn't go the way I planned—which was pleasantly—and therefore there's no reason to report it back to Christina. She'll just see it as another justification for forcing me out of my comfort zone and right into the pits of hell.

There's a glass of water on my nightstand next to a note, an arrow pointing to two pills and a looped take me or else suffer the consequences. p.s. we're out of tea. don't kill me, they'll be no one left to fight your hangovers for you ;) -Leyla scribbled between the lines.

Christina narrows her eyes, like there's more she wants to say, before her features smooth into something closer to a delicate mischief.

"Well, then I guess you'll have a do over tonight."

I migrate toward my bathroom and grab my toothbrush from the counter, spreading teeth-whitening toothpaste over the top and running it under the water.

"Can't," I say just before shoving it into my mouth.

"Can't." Christina toys with the word in her mouth, releasing it slowly, turning it over and over again. She sees right through it, squinting and pinching her eyebrows toward the bathroom. "Why?"

My eyes flick down to the toothbrush taking up my mouth, and I offer a busy, can't talk; whatcha gonna do shrug.

Chris doesn't bite. She raises a brow, folds one leg over the other, and crosses her arms.

She's playing chicken with my avoidance skills. Like she always does. Lining her stubbornness against mine; staring me down until I cave.

The only way to win, really, is to brush my teeth forever. It'll be my new life. I'll become a new pit-stop on family RV trips: The Girl Who Never Stops Brushing.

All my problems would be solved. No room to talk; no more pointless conversation.

Just a girl and her Colgate-shaped dream.

And I totally would've, aching biceps be damned. Except for the fact that the toothpaste has rapidly expanded in my mouth, and now if I spend anymore time scrubbing my teeth I'm pretty sure I'll choke a very minty death.