Chapter 6I woke up the next morning to an ugly buzz followed by the Chicago song “Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?” on WIDB, blaring out of my clock radio. I skipped the usual morning grogginess, the lingering over the coffee, the perusing of the newspaper, and went directly to stark raving terror. Today I would face Demonic Algebra, Sardonic Harry, who knows what horrors in the Radio & TV Department, followed by abnormal psychology—which I could easily identify with—and finally earth science, which I didn’t remember taking in the first place. And in the midst of my heebie-jeebie-filled day, I planned to go to Admissions and track down Catherine.
I fumbled for my Coke bottles and found them resting on the black book opened to this passage:
Five percent of your life is a surp
