t h r e e ; assumption and shenanigans

I throw a pillow over my head, blocking away the loud chatter. Despite my efforts, the chatter gets louder and the pillow obscuring my hearing is being snatched away.

“Wake up, Skylar freaking Hwang! Do you want us to be late today?!” A male voice scolds.

Even in my half asleep state, hearing the word “late” triggers all the internal alarms in my head. Flinging my blanket aside, I jolt wide awake immediately. Kai already has toothpaste on my toothbrush and my shoes are placed by him in my room, standing with both hands on his hips.

He rants off with urgency, trying to hurry my pace, “If you could brush your teeth within forty-five seconds, put on your clothes on in two minutes, grab a banana or apple on your way out.” He checks the time on his phone. “We’ll barely be on time. Did you have a one-woman party last night or something? You rarely wake up late.”

“I stayed up doing your flashcards,” I tell him, but my mouth is full of toothpaste so it translates as, “I shayed ap gooing chur fashgards.”

“What?”

Spitting, I repeat the answer again. His earlier impatience seems to ease after hearing my reason for lack of sleep sort of links to him. He shows no further response, only to turn around and walks out of my room. “I’ll wait in the kitchen.”

What was that?

Ignoring his indecipherable mood, I try to tame my mane yet it yields no help. Unlike my brother, who got the luckier end of the genes. He inherited Mom’s wavy locks, which are luscious and tangled-free. On the other hand, I am stuck with a frizzy, curly mess that nothing can suppress it. I always have to blow dry it straight the night before or straighten it in the morning. Today, I don’t have time to do either.

“Looking good today, Ethan,” I call to my brother, who is sitting on the couch reading one of Harry Potter books. Kai hums in agreement, arms folded while leaning against the wall near the exit with his keys dangling in one hand. The fashion statement of Ethan’s outfit today is a blush pink shirt and white windbreakers. He is 5 years younger but his sense of style is so much better than mine. His school starts 15 minutes later than ours so he’s still leisurely enjoying his spare time before he leaves. As for Kai and I, we are doing everything in a hurry: grabbing a morning snack, shuffling our shoes on, locking the door, bidding goodbye to my family, and rushing to Kai’s car.

We don’t share any words on the ride there. Mostly because we are more concerned and anxious about the time as it ticks by. Only when we are nearing the school, Kai says, “I’m going to drop you off so you won’t be late. Walking from the parking lot to our classes takes longer.”

The tardy bell is going to ring in a minute and both of us won’t make it in time unless Kai drops me off here. But then he’ll be late. “No.” My voice is firm. “We’re late because of me. I’ll feel bad if only I make it on time.”

He’s giving me a hard stare, because he knows he can’t change my mind. Switching the route to the parking lot, he sighs. “I’m the one feeling bad here. You didn’t have to lose sleep just to make those flashcards. Is it because you’re scared I’ll half- hooking you guys up?”

“Of course not.” I shut the car’s door, waiting for him to lock his car. “I want you to do well too. Don’t feel too bad, I was catching up on Netflix while I was doing those cards. Whoops.”

As Kai opens his trunk to get his duffle bag for swim, the tardy bell rings in all its glory.

“Is it just me or the bell sounds more mocking today than usual?” I joke, glad to be changing the subject so we’d stop talking about which one of us feels more guilty.

Kai attempts to hide an amused smirk, and throws his heavy arm around my shoulders. “Look at us delinquents, showing up to homeroom minutes late.”

“Damn,” I play along, “such troublemakers we are. Those detention slips have our names on them.”

“Who do you have for homeroom?”

I pause in my walking. My voice fakes an insulted tone when I reply, “You don’t know? I thought you knew everything about me.”

Kai snorts, pulling me forward with his arm so I would resume walking. “It’s funny because it’s true. But no, sometimes I forget.”

“I have Mrs. Jones.”

“My coach’s wife?”

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