Over My Head

    “UGGHHH”, I groaned in irritation as I swiftly pulled my purple comforter down from over my head. My alarm has been blaring in my ear every ten minutes for the last hour. I cave to the cries for attention and blindly smack the snooze one last time. Ten more minutes, I lie to myself. I roll over facing my wall and lazily pull my incredibly fuzzy comforter over my shoulders so its sitting snuggly against my neck. Some left over twinkle lights from Christmas that are hung on my wall above my bed softly illuminate my dark purple room. You know, it’s a damn miracle I’m somehow able to rip myself away from my warm oasis every morning. Keeping my left eye shut and just barely peeping with my right eye, I sluggishly begin searching for my phone to ensure I don’t doze off like I do nearly every other morning before school. After a minute or two and a couple frustrated grunts later, I finally touch the cold plastic of my phone case that was lost within my sheets. I pull my phone above the mess of sheets and pillows and unplug it from my charger. I hit my lock button and my screen lights up with an image of me and my best friend, Georgia. It’s a picture of us that my mom took when we went to Disney World last summer. Georgia and I have been inseparable since 6th grade. It was the first day and at lunchtime we both got our trays and were scanning around the cafeteria for anyone who seemed friendly and welcoming. We caught each other’s eyes and softly smiled. We found part of an empty table, introduced ourselves and we’ve been best friends ever since. I stare at the picture for a moment, reminiscing of those fantastic two weeks. I sigh and run my right index finger over the fingerprint on the back of my phone to unlock it. I pull down my notification bar and scan to see if there’s anything of interest. Random junk emails, coupons from various apps for free deliveries, notifications of random friends on f*******: updating their stories…I don’t careee. Why am I even f*******: friends with half these people? I roll my eyes and hit the clear all button on my notifications. I open Snapchat and start scrolling through the stories on there to see if anyone that I actually care about posted anything last night. I know it was only a Wednesday night, but that doesn’t always mean anything. I come across Georgia’s name, which has a pink flower and crown emoji on either side of it. I click on it and up pops a short video of Georgia in a faded blue zip up hoodie, a black tank top, grey sweats and a perfectly messy, messy bun of her thick blonde hair piled on top of her head.             ”Here’s my glamorous night. Hot tea and sooo much homework. Someone come save me!” She readjusts her black framed glasses and with her hot tea in the other hand, makes an equal part pouty and adorable face. Georgia’s face disappears and her story closes. I swipe to my private snaps and discover I have a video snap from her that she had sent around 10:30 p.m. last night. Upon clicking it I see that she sent me that same video on her story. Immediately following that video, she had sent another which entailed her asking me if I think that video was good enough to post; worried about the face she makes at the end being too pouty or something. I pull up her conversation in Snapchat to respond and see that she had sent me:             I posted it! Decided that I liked it after all. Thanks bestie :D I respond, “I liked it! I thought it was super cute! Per usual Sorry for the late reply! I passed out earlier last night binge watching Friends on Netflix. I didn’t even finish my paper.”             I lock my phone and let my hand fall back on the bed, my phone still resting in my hand. I close my eyes and try to prepare myself mentally for the day. The images of and updates of my friends swirling around my head.             “MIA!” My eyes shoot open as I hear my mom’s voice echoing up the stairs. “Are you up yet? It’s 7:15! I’m leaving at 7:30 with or without you!”             s**t! How do I always do this?! I even woke up early; dare I say on time. I rip the covers off me and dart to my closet as quickly as I can. I rip a light blue fitted shirt off a hanger and use it to replace my oversized sleeping t-shirt. I pick up my favorite ripped skinny jeans from off my black rug and pull them up my dry, stubbly legs. I really need to be in a better habit of putting lotion on after I shower. I grab my white hoodie, or what used to be white and is now more of an off white, off the back of my door and throw it on. After I’m dressed, I hurry as best I can to brush my teeth, apply some quick makeup, and brush my hair. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and check the time. 7:27 A.M. Perfect. All I need to do is grab something quick to eat in the car and throw my shoes on. I sprint down the hall from the bathroom and jump down the stairs, skipping a few as I go. I grab some strawberry Pop-Tarts from the pantry and slip on my black Vans.             “I’m not entirely sure how you manage to do this every morning. It’s almost impressive.” My mom sarcastically expresses to me as she stands in the doorframe of the side door that leads to the car port, which houses the already running suburban. I shove the silver package of my Pop-Tarts in my mouth as to not forget them on the kitchen counter while I slip my arms through the loops of my backpack. I expressively widen and roll my eyes while slightly nodding my head in agreeance with her. We manage to make it into the car by 7:29. And with a minute to spare. Not bad. I flip down the sun visor and uncover the little mirror to check my makeup. I managed to smear some concealer on under my eyes, ran some brow product threw my eyebrows, and lightly coated my eyelashes with black, waterproof mascara. Which, of course, I got on my eyelid. Not too much but it’s definitely there. Naturally, I use waterproof mascara, so I can’t even rub this away, I think as I run my finger back and forth along my upper eyelid. I pull some clear gloss out of my backpack and swipe some on my lips. I look at myself a little longer in the mirror, pretending to fix my makeup so my mom won’t accuse me of being vain. I might not look half bad if I could manage to get up in time to actually try on my outfit and makeup. I run my hand through my strawberry blonde hair and flip some my layers to one side. I think I could also benefit from some lip fillers, but mom would never let me. My lips aren’t exactly thin, but I also wouldn’t say they were full or plump. Whatever. I casually toss my lip gloss into its designated pocket within my backpack and throw my Pop-Tarts in with my books, not caring if they get smashed. The car ride to school is the same as usual. My mom asking me the same generic questions which eventually leads to her complaining about a coworker. I never listen fully, but enough to catch any important details she might bring up later. I pull out my phone and check Snapchat again. Georgia responded.             “No problem! You fell asleep to that show again?! You have a problem. Also, what are you going to do about your paper? Isn’t it like a third of your grade or something?” Immediately following that message, she had sent another. “Also, where are you?! It’s cold out here and I’m tryinggg to be a good friend by waiting for you!”             I respond, “Oh, I’ll probably skip out on art before lunch so I can finish it during lunch. Thank god Mr. Cunningham’s class is after lunch. And I’m just a few minutes away! I’ll be there soon! You’re a great friend :D I’ll buy you a coffee after school to makeup for making you freeze!” A couple turns later, and we had pulled into the parking lot in front of my high school. I turn to my mom and thank her for the ride.             “Can I expect you at home directly after school or are you and Georgia doing something afterwards?” My mom asks, casually tucking her hair behind her ear. My hair is almost the exact same as my moms except my is longer and hers is thicker. God, I’d kill for thick hair like hers and Georgia’s.             “Oh, uh, yeah, Georgia and I have plans. I owe her a coffee so we’ll probably walk down to Piper’s.” Piper’s is our favorite coffee shop, although it’s everyone’s favorite. It’s not uncommon for high schoolers to congregate there after school to chat, hang out, or study.             “Okay, sounds good. Please text me when you leave school and when you and Georgia get to Piper’s.” She says both lovingly and concerned while reaches across, tucks my hair behind my left ear and gently smiles.             “I will! Thanks again mom.” I say as I hop out of the warm car and greeted the frosty bite of this grey November day. I pass a small wave to Georgia who I noticed is bundled up as best she can be, hands in her coat pockets, waiting for me right outside the doors to Greenfield High School.               “Hey!” Georgia exclaims with a playfully irritated tone, in a way to more to get my attention than to greet me.             “Hey..?” I say concerned as to what she’ll say next. Judging by her tone, she definitely has something to say. “What’s up?” I say expectantly while giggling, half raising my eyebrow. I quickly scan Georgia’s outfit. She’s sporting a long wool, perfectly off-white jacket that ties around her waist, which effortlessly accentuates her small waist. She’s paired it with a maroon checkered scarf. You can tell the scarf is light weight, but Georgia has fluffed it up to ensure the maximum warmth. Along with that, she’s wearing black leggings and black, knee-high, flat footed, riding boots with a sliver buckle on them. She has her solid black book bag slung over her right shoulder. More accurately, it’s a giant purse that she happens to carry her schoolwork in. She refuses to wear backpacks, claiming they ruin her outfits. To be fair, if I had the clothes and style she did, I wouldn’t want a clunky backpack to ruin my impeccably prepared outfits either. Her hair had loose curls in it which were pushed back with a black headband. Her cheeks and nose were colored a soft pink from standing outside waiting for me. How long was she standing out here? It’s chilly, but it’s not as cold as her ensemble would have you believe.             “I’m going to be late for French class! If I’m late, I’m telling Mrs. Dubois that it’s entirely your fault.”             I check the time on my phone which reads 7:42 A.M. “What are you talking about? You’re not going to be late. We have like twenty minutes until class starts!”             Georgia with exasperation, and dramatically might I add, drops one of her hips, crosses her arms and teasingly rolls her eyes, “Mia, do you ever listen to me? I’ve told you that I have to get to class at least fifteen minutes early because Tony always steals my spot in the back by the window. Plus, Mrs. Dubois will give you extra credit if you get there early.” She finishes her explanation with a small smirk and some tiny excited nods, as if to convince that what she was saying was indeed true.             “I heard that extra credit thing was just a rumor,” I adjust how my backpack is sitting on my shoulders and nonchalantly reevaluate my outfit. It’s casual and I guess some might say it’s cute, but I think most would say it’s boring. Georgia’s outfit says so much about her. It’s stylish, adorable, and expertly put together. It tells you who she is and what she’s like. Georgia is preppy, put together with just a pinch of high maintenance, but not in a bad way, just that she has high standards. Why can’t I dress more like her? I think her taste might be a little too girly for me, but on the other hand how would I know? I don’t own anything that even resembles anything that she has in her closet. I need to go shopping. I pick my head up from my outfit as we stroll inside the doors of school, met by a gust of warm air from the heaters that sit directly above the entrance.             “I’ve heard that it’s just a rumor too, but my dad always drops me off ridiculously early anyways, so why not get to class early?”             I shrug my shoulders, “I suppose you’re right. But if you insist on getting to class early, why do you always rush me to get here early too? I don’t have to get to my first period early.” A soft laugh escapes my lips as we approach Georgia’s locker.             Georgia doesn’t respond right away as she begins entering her combination, repeating it under her breath. Click! Georgia smiles triumphantly, swinging her locker open. She sets down her bag between her feet so she can remove her coat. “Becaaause we’re best friends! What if my outfit was horrible or I had something stuck between my teeth? Who would tell me? I wouldn’t see you until third period!”             I cross my arms and roll my eyes while I look in the other direction scoffing at her statement. “First off, you have a mirror in your lock that you check every morning before class. And second, like I would ever correct your outfit! I have absolutely no fashion sense or style. Speaking of which, do you want to head to the mall after Piper’s today? I could use some more clothes and I’d really appreciate a lesson from you in that department.” I clasp my hands together and flash her my most desperate, pleading smile.             Without paying my over-the-top plea for help much attention, she gently smiles as she reapplies her lip gloss, focused on the mirror that’s stuck to the inside of her locker. “Yes, yes my dear child! What kind of bestie would I be if let my young one wander around in such outfits?!” She stuck her hand out, moving her hand down the direction of my body, as if to show me my own clothes, then dramatically placed her hand on her forehead as though she were sick. She stayed posed like that for just a couple seconds before releasing and laughing her girly laugh. I wish I laughed like that. My laugh sounds like a thirteen-year-old boy going through puberty. I laugh along with her, lighter though, as to not reveal my true laugh within these walls.             “Soo.. that’s a yes?” I ask hopefully.             “Yes! Of course! When do I ever say no to shopping, Mia?” Georgia raises one eyebrow and pops her neck out with some attitude.             “You’re right. How dare I even ask!” I peep at the time on my phone once more and see that it’s 7:47 A.M. “You should get to class though. You’re two minutes late for being fifteen minutes early.” I make an exaggerated worried face.             “Shoot!” She slams her locker shut and picks up her bag, slinging it back over her shoulder in one swift motion. I scan her outfit again. Without her coat, she reveals a black, high-waisted, pleated skirt and a fitted white t-shirt that’s tucked in her skirt. Her scarf stays perfectly fluffed around her neck, adding the perfect pop off color to top off her outfit. If she weren’t my best friend and the sweetest person I know, I’d be so jealous of her, I’d hate her. Georgia quickly turned towards me and stuck her arms out to either side of her so I could accurately assess her outfit.             “How do I look? Anything I should fix? Is my makeup okay?” She inquires anxiously and worried.             “Oh, you look incredible as always! Everything is in order, effortlessly neat, never smudged or wrinkled!” I smile as she hugs and thanks me before scurrying off to French class with Mrs. Dubois. I shake my head and laugh to myself as I watch her quickly shuffle down the hall. I turn around and head for my own locker. It’s just down the hall and around the corner to the right. I leisurely meander over to my locker and open it up. I exchange the 6th and 7th period books in my backpack for my 1st and 2nd period books. I zip my bag up and try to avoid the mirror in my locker. However, I catch a glance of myself in the mirror and can’t help but to look at myself again. Ugh. My hair is so straggly and dead looking. Maybe I should get it cut to Georgia’s length. I hold back the longer ends of my hair so my shorter layers fall forward so I can better imagine what I’d look like with shorter hair. I wonder if Georgia uses any hair supplements or masks. My hair has no body or texture. Fed up with how it looks, I drop my shoulder and let my backpack slip off my shoulder and hit the cold white tile of my school’s hallway. I bend over and flip my hair over my head and try to tackle a quick messy bun before class. I use Georgia’s messy bun from her story last night as inspiration for mine. I stand back up and look at what I have so far in my mirror. This is impossible. I pull and tuck and wrap around the loose ends as best I can to achieve a better look. I give up. It’s as good as it’s going to get. I don’t love it but at least it looks full and it’s out of my way. I tug at some baby hairs on the side and let them fall against my cheek. I continue to tweak my bun for another minute or so before reapplying my gloss once more and popping in a stick of watermelon gum and head to class.             The first few periods fly by and before I know it, it’s time for fifth period; art. I’m terrible at art so I have no problem skipping it. All we’re doing is working on the same painting we have been for the last two weeks, so I’m not worried. I walk out of fourth period and head to the commons to finish my paper.             I plop down in the nearly empty open room, sigh and pull out my notebook. Why doesn’t Mr. Cunningham accept typed papers? What teacher would rather try and decipher all his students handwriting? I could bullshit the rest of this so much quicker if I could type it. I pull out my favorite black ball point pen and take a quick scan of the room before I begin. There are only a handful of students here right now. I’d assume mostly upperclassmen who have a free period and not skipping like I am. At least I don’t seem to know anybody sitting in here right now, so at least I’ll be distraction free for a bit. My eyes catch the eyes of a boy sitting two tables up from mine and diagonally across from me. He seems to be staring at me rather intently. I try my best to nonchalantly look over my shoulder to see if he’s really staring at someone or something else but discover that there’s no one behind me. I hesitantly look back his direction and see that not only is he staring still but now a small smirk has crept across his face. I shyly and quickly smile at him and try to redirect my focus back on the paper that I need to finish. Since when do guys like him even look at me? I think he’s a junior, but I don’t remember. What’s his name? Chase? Caleb? No, no, Connor? Yeah, I think it’s Connor. He has warm brown eyes and dirty blonde hair. His smirk is perfectly complimented by his full lips and a prominent dimple that shows on the right side of his smile. His skin is a gorgeous olive color. Doesn’t he play a sport? It’s not football. Basketball? Or is it baseball? Ahh, I can’t remember. I never pay attention to sports. I’m suddenly very aware that I’m tapping my pen repeatedly on the table and it’s rather loud and annoying. It’s also very well demonstrating how nervous I just got. I look up once more and see that he is now quietly chuckling to himself and has redirected his attention to the book he’s reading. Is he laughing in a flirty way? Or is he laughing at me? Do I have something in my teeth or toilet paper stuck to my shoe? I quickly stop tapping and force myself to focus. I glance at my feet which are crossed below me and see no toilet paper, or anything stuck to them. My anxiety falls a little bit and I take a small breath. I reread what I’ve written so far, start working on my paper and I don’t look up from it until the bell rings after lunch and makes me jump about a foot in the air. I check my phone and see that it says 1:40 P.M. s**t, I missed lunch. But at least I finished my paper. I slide my notebook and pen back in my backpack and stand up to head off to 6th period. As low-key as I can, I indulge myself in another small glance around the room and see that Connor is no longer there. Oh well. Not like anything would really happen anyways. I’ve never even had a boyfriend and I’m a sophomore. I shrug it off and head to my last two classes. Connor doesn’t enter my mind the rest of the school day.             After the last bell of the day rings, I head to Georgia’s locker to wait for her so we can head to Pipers. Don’t forget to text mom when you leave for Piper’s. I rest my weight against the row of lockers and start scrolling and switching between my various social medias and begin to drown out the noise from the bustling hallway. 3:25 P.M. Where the hell is Georgia? I look up and down the hallway and find no Georgia. I sigh and head to my locker. Might as well switch my books out now then if Georgia is running late. I take a few steps and then feel my phone vibrate; I unlock it and read:             “Hey! Sorry, I stayed after to talk to my teacher. I’m walking out now!” I stop in the middle of the hallway, which I don’t feel bad about right now because the hallway only had about a fourth of the number of students in it now. I respond, “It’s alright. I’m headed to my locker right now to swap out my books for tomorrow morning. Meet you outside and we can head to Piper’s!” I hit send, lock my phone, and slide it in my back pocket. I switch my books out and head outside to wait for Georgia. I zip up my light hoodie because it’s cold out and I was in such a rush this morning, I forgot to grab a heavier jacket. I guess it’s my turn to freeze. I make it outside and stand about where Georgia was standing this morning and scan the area for her. Nope, I guess she’s not done yet. She should be here any minute though. I sit down on a bench that’s just outside the doors, so I can’t miss her walk out and she definitely won’t miss me when she walks out. I patiently wait and try not think about the cold. I look around and watch the last few kids hop in the car with their parents and drive off. Some of them walk out and immediately start walking home. There are a few upperclassmen that are spread out throughout the parking lot, walking to their own cars. I get so distracted people watching that I hadn’t noticed that Connor had walked out. He nearly passes me before he sees me but doesn’t stop or slow his pace. I don’t notice him until he’s walking away nearly directly in my line of vision and he shoots me another smile from over his shoulder. I feel my face turn red and he had turned back around before I could reciprocate a smile back. Damn it Mia. You probably looked like a deer in the headlights. I shake my head and look down at my feet. A few moments later Savvy interrupted my thoughts.