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"B, wake up," Percy whispered, nudging the girl softly on the shoulder.
She stirred awake, grumbling. Her headache was still pounding loud as ever, but the nausea had calmed down. She felt like she didn't even sleep for a minute and time seemed to move fast. Too fast for her liking.
When Bronte woke up, she was turned in her seat, knees pulled to her chest and both arms wrapped around Percy's right arm. She used his shoulder as a pillow and she hated to say it, but after a few nightmares for the first half hour, she slept very peacefully.
Percy grabbed Bronte's bag as she stumbled out of the vehicle, still not completely alive. People gave her weird stares, but she couldn't blame them. She looked drunk, yet in reality, she was just sleep deprived.
Maybe being back home will allow her to sleep better. Yancy Academy did nothing but make her wish she was dead. Yes, she had some fun times with her friends, but overall, the anxiety, adhd and dyslexia just made her want to stab a pencil in each of her eyes. The school was supposed to help them, and teach them to grow, but all it was, was a dumping place for parents to get rid of their children. Did her mom have no faith in her?
Grover was still freaking out and although Cooper was a little calmer, he couldn't help but fidget with anything and everything. He messed with his shirt, his crutches, something on his bag, and Bronte's hair, which was spread out on the back of her shirt. Since she didn't sleep last night, she didn't have the energy to put it up, so she sleepily brushed through it and called it a day.
"I have to go to the bathroom," Grover announced. "Please just wait until I'm out and I will walk you home."
It was said towards Percy, but Bronte rubbed her eyes and gave the boy a thumbs up. She stood on the sidewalk, slowly moving side to side on her feet. If she stayed still, Bronte was scared she would fall back asleep.
Percy kept glancing at his friend who swayed back and forth, a worried expression apparent on his face. When Bronte fell asleep on him, his body tensed, not knowing what to do. She always found a way to touch one of her friends, whether it was holding onto their shirt or grabbing their pinky when walking through big crowds. The boys always told her that her love language was physical touch, but she denied it.
"No way! It's quality time!" she would argue, but as soon as they took the quiz, her face turned bright red.
"It's physical touch, isn't it?" Percy asked, smirking in her direction.
Bronte shook her head. "N-no."
They would shake their heads, laughing at her. Not in a mean way, but in a 'I told you so' kind of way. Bronte hated when her friends were right. It was as if they knew more about her than she did.
