Chapter Ten Sunday, December 6
A series of buzzes stirs me awake. It takes me a few seconds to realize it’s coming from the pocket of my jeans. With a groan, I pull it free. There are five messages. The first came in at 6:00 a.m., which according to my alarm clock was twenty minutes ago.
Natalie: Rise and shine, Bax.
The next four came in five-minute intervals. It doesn’t take much effort to see the needle on her exasperation-meter climb steadily with each message.
Natalie: You up yet? (6:05 a.m.)
Natalie: ARE YOU UP? (6:10 a.m.)
Natalie: GET. UP. NOW. (6:15 a.m.)
Natalie: If I have to come down there and drag your ass out of bed… (6:20 a.m.)
Clearly, she doesn’t understand how non-cyborgs sleep.
I’m not a morning person. Anyone who knows me knows this. Nothing pushes my sass butt
