Lavender

Chapter Seven

On Monday morning I wake up refreshed and prepared for the day. I take my normal shower with no one around to yank back the curtain and showcase my naked body for the whole world to see, and I get dressed in an off-the-shoulder floral dress that ends right above my knee. I'm in such a good mood I take the time to curl my hair. I'm applying Chapstick when Cammie wakes up, startled. She rubs her eyes with a guttural moan and sinks deeper into her bed. I wait a minute for her to star vomiting some more, but when she doesn't I speak to her.

"Are you still sick?" I ask, full of concern. I thought she would have passed her hangover already.

"No, but I had a dream I was still sick."

I smile. "Do you want to grab coffee before class? I think it'll help."

"I'd love that. Just give me a minute." She lays in bed for a minute before forcing herself to her feet and leaving the room. Normally I leave before she even wakes up, but I'd like to spend the morning with her today. Coffee alone is the best thing to exist, but I think some company along with it would make it even better.

Twenty minutes later, she comes back and gets dressed in a plain white shirt and jeans, and we head to the coffeeshop outside of campus. I order my plain black coffee and she gets one of those sugary drinks I secretly loathe. We talk about her severe hangover and laugh about her drunken antics from the weekend. She offers bringing me to another party this weekend, but I am quick to politely deny and change the subject to current topics in our classes. There is no way I am going to another party. I was dreaming of being in bed and reading half of the time I was there—actually, the whole time I was there. Parties may be her thing, but it's not mine. I can't find a single comparison between us except for the fact that we live in the same room. But besides that, we're like light and day, but she is a good person to laugh and joke around with. When it's time to leave and head our separate ways, we promise to grab coffee any time we can, then we go to class.

My first class passes by with a snap of the fingers, and so do the rest of my classes. I walk to my last class, English Literature, with a smile on my face. Today we're discussing my favorite book. Professor Smith told us to read the first ten chapters, but I read the entire book for the hundredth time, taking even more notes than I thought possible. All I'm missing are the actual annotations and thoughts pulled straight from the author himself. I'm the first one to class, as usual, and professor Smith and I talk a bit about how I enjoyed the book before the rest of the class pours through the doors. We briefly talk about the author before she starts asking us questions about our readings. Everyone takes pauses between each, and I listen to the ruffle and crinkle of papers and pleas for help asked for in quiet whispers. I have to hold back my laughter before raising my hand and answering every question with precise evidence without even flipping through the book. Professor Smith is impressed each time and teases everyone else about being quick and accurate as me. I blush and avoid looking at all the annoyed stares directed at me. It's not my fault I actually did the reading and prepare for the questions; she told us about the task last week.

I'm in the middle of answering a question about the character Patrick, when the door creaks open and Holden stumbles in with a pair of sunglasses covering his eyes. I roll my eyes before I can stop myself and continue answering the question. He sits down beside me and leans over, whispering, "Got a pen?" He slurs the words, letting me know he's drunk. Who even parties on a Sunday?

"Not for you," I sass.

He smiles. "Oh, don't be mean, Purple."

I grit my teeth. "That is not my name..." I begin to say, but my eyes focus on his sunglasses and the light purple shade underneath his left eye. "Is that a bruise?" I ask in a whisper, careful not to get caught talking during class, though professor Smith is on the other side of the room, talking to a student fumbling with his book and avoiding eye contact.