Sleep is almost impossible to shake off. I surface slowly, like I'm swimming through molasses to find the waking world. The alarm is insistent, shrieking at me, and I finally wake up enough to smack it into submission.
Then the headache hits me, about the same time my stomach starts to churn. I open my eyes slowly, and see a glass of water and three ibuprofen sitting on the night stand. I reach out a shaky hand and swallow all three in one gulp.
Marco. It has to be him who left it. He's just that considerate, and besides, there's no way Amy was in any shape to do it. Neither of us were. I groan as half-formed memories from the night before flood me.
Then I remember. I won. I actually won. I am the owner of a private office, which I will use to expand my little non-profit into something that can truly make a difference. I know it'll take a lot of work and time. For now, I'll settle for a few happier, less impoverished villages. But Anna keeps telling me to aim high, that if she, a mestizo girl from a dirt road village in Central America, can win the Nobel Peace Prize with words on a page, there's nothing I can't do if I keep hope in my heart.
Her slim book of award-winning poems, A Map of The Spirit, lies in a pile under the far window. It's one of my favorites, and the pages are ragged from repeated readings. I decide that no matter how terrible I feel or whatever horrible spectacle I made of myself last night, it will all be worth it if I can fill the world with little things that matter. Shoes for the village in Southeast Asia. Clean water in West Africa. Books for the mission in Chile. Lunches during the summer for kids in the U.S., when school's out and many wind up missing their only daily meal.
Lunch makes me think of food, though.
Then my heaving stomach demands my immediate attention, and I'm out of the bed and stumbling for the bathroom. That's when I realize I'm still wearing the dark blue dress. I hate waking up in last night's clothes. I managed to shed stockings and jewelry, but the mid-weight satin is now a mess of wrinkles, and makes me feel even dirtier than I probably am. I'm on the cold tiled floor, miserable and sick, when a pair of manicured hands slide through my hair, holding it back and smoothing it off my sweaty forehead.
"You sure know how to start classes with a bang," Marco says, his voice light and teasing, but I can hear there's concern there, too. "You do remember you're here to get an education, instead of a stomach pumping?"
Classes start today. I groan. "You mean I have to go sit around other people today? In public?" Still crouched on the cold bathroom floor, I bury my head in my hands. Marco releases my hair and hops up in the space between the double sinks- the only space not covered with mine or Amy's stuff. He produces a bathrobe from somewhere and holds it out to me. I clutch it gratefully, inhaling the lavender scent of the detergent my mother uses. She'd done all my laundry before I headed back to campus. This little hint of home makes me suddenly, powerfully lonely.
"Mmm hmm." He studies one hand closely. "And you may have to say something or other, too. Perhaps even sound half way intelligent. Which I I'm wondering about, by the way, after last night."
"Okay," I admit, afraid to even look in the mirror as I rise to splash cold water on my face. I feel marginally better, afterward. "Last night was not my brightest idea."
"Actually, it was my idea," Amy says, leaning in the doorway. She looks much better than I feel. Her blond hair is twisted up into a knot that looks intentional rather than haphazard, and she somehow managed to find actual pajamas before passing out last night.
Amy shoves past Marco. "I guess I deserve to lose, after thinking of something as monumentally stupid as last night's activities."
Marco pats her wild curls. "That's okay, darling. I won fifty bucks off Abbey here last night."
YOU ARE READING
Bright Stars, Broken Compass
Romance"I didn't know if you'd come," I say softly. He looks up, startled, eyes wide and sharp and the light, clear green I remember. The color of new jade. Of the river in early summer that is the only place he calls home. "Where else would I go?" he ask...
