LITMIR.BIZ

      My alarm doesn’t go off when it’s supposed to. My eyes pop open at ten to nine. Oh, man. How did I do that? I check to see if there was a power failure. Nope. Apparently I set my clock for eight p.m. instead of a.m. Good job.

      I jump out of bed. No time to shower. Need clothes. I can keep on the same boxers, since I just put them on after I showered last night. Sharon hates when I don’t change my boxers in the morning, but what’s the point if I showered the night before? She goes through three pairs of panties a day. One in the morning, a thong at night, and then a clean pair to sleep in. Who has time for that kind of laundry?

      Eight fifty-four. I can’t believe I’m going to be late for class. I’m never late for anything.

      I zip up the same jeans I was wearing last night, and throw on the closest available T-shirt. Did I wear that yesterday, too? I think I wore that yesterday. It smells like I wore it yesterday.

      Ready. Must brush teeth. No time to floss. There’s never time to floss. I rummage through the papers on my desk, looking for my toothpaste and toothbrush, then sprint to the bathroom, brush, pee, shove my stuff back in my room and sprint to class. Professor Matthews is about to slam the door, when I rush in.

      Kimmy waves from the back row, and I weave through the desks and sit beside her. “You were almost late,” she says.

      “Had some trouble getting out of bed.”

      “No kidding,” she says. She looks at me with speculation. “How come? We didn’t get back that late last night.”

      I don’t answer. We left the bar at around twelve-thirty. But then I hung out in Nick’s room smoking joints and watching the security monitor till two. Then I called Sharon. We were on the phone till three, and then I tossed in bed till four-thirty.

      I slump into my seat. Should have picked up coffee.

      Kimmy starts to doodle on the piece of blank paper on my desk. “Are you going to the club fair at lunch?”

      Club fair, club fair. “Will there be rides?”

      “A Ferris wheel in the center of the cafeteria,” she deadpans.

      The door creaks open. Jamie waltzes in, coffee in hand. He scans the room for a seat, and climbs up the stairs toward the back. Matthews is watching him, steam shooting from his nostrils.

      Kimmy taps me on the arm with her pen. “So, are you coming to the club fair?”

      What the hell is a club fair? “Definitely.”