Page 17 of In For a Penny
I open my eyes thenext morning, wishing that the sun came with a dimmer switch. I’m hungover. Again.Jesus, I’m going to have to build up my tolerance if I am going to survive a minimum of a year living here in London—at least while I’m in this program. But, I mean, how else am I going to make friends here? Drinking at pubs seems to be the student body’s main hobby. I didn’t get home until midnight last night and have an early morning class, which—oh shit!—I realize I’m late for.
I really need to avoid turning this into a habit.
I run to the bathroom and take the quickest shower known to man. I dress in the first couple of things I see and shove my makeup bag in my purse, deciding to do it on the tube. Flying out of the house, I realize I am starving, but there is no time to go back and get a granola bar or even a water bottle.
Oh my God, I’m so hungover.Kill me. Kill me now.
The class has just started when I sneak in and take a seat in the last row, right next to Josh. He laughs quietly as I clumsily pull my notebooks out. I can’t even imagine the state I’m in now—a mess, I’m sure. Josh, on the other hand, looks put together. For the first time since I’ve met him, his hair is brushed, and I’m seeing him without his signature hoodie. It’s all about a San Francisco brewery t-shirt today.
“You good, kid?” he asks, never removing his gaze from the board. I nod and sigh. I can’t believe this is happening again. “You look a little hungover…” I nod again. He leans down and pulls a water bottle and granola bar from his backpack, placing them quietly on my desk.
“I can’t keep taking your food!” I whisper at him, ashamed.
“I packed an extra bar this morning for you. Thought you might need it after what I witnessed last night.” My heart warms a little, and I smile. I try to push out the memories of Oliver, Jane, and me drunkenly singing “Yellow Submarine”completely off-key at our booth.
“You’re a good friend.”
Josh frowns briefly at me and turns to the board.
“You good, kid?” I ask him, now using his nickname back at him.
He smiles briefly, pats my hand patronizingly, and points to the board as if to say,I’m paying attention. Leave me alone.
Whoa, okay. What a sudden change in mood. What is that about?
I spend the remaining two hours of class distracted, chugging all of Josh’s water until it’s gone and eating the granola bar in two bites. By the end, the professor announces that we will be splitting up into teams and presenting a case study group project to the class as our final.
Not really looking forward to working with people I don’t know, I am happy when the professor pairs Josh and me together. He doesn’t look like someone who will let me do all the work by myself or take over the whole project—some people never outgrow that type of group-work behavior.
Once class is over, I turn to him, wanting to schedule our first meeting for the project, as he gathers his things and says, “You forgot to do your eyeliner on your left eye.”
“Huh?” I say, reaching to touch my eye.
“It seems, in your hangover, you only put makeup on half your face.”
I laugh awkwardly, covering my left eye with my hand, mortified.
Of course.
I keep making a fool out of myself with this guy.
“Thanks for the heads up. Only a good friend would tell you something like that.” I smile. A dark cloud passes over his face, but he quickly recovers. He seems off this morning. Maybe he’s stressed about school? “I’m used to embarrassing myself, though. It comes with the territory of being a hot mess.”
“I like it,” he says with a shrug. “It’s cute.” I feel my cheeks redden, and he chuckles. “You going to lunch?”
Clearing my throat, I reply, “Yeah, you? Wanna join me? Was thinking of just getting a sandwich and then eating it at the library. It’s only, like, the second day of school, and I’m already behind on my reading.”
“Cool, yeah, let’s do that. But we should also talk about the project.”
“Gimme a sec to redo my makeup,” I say sheepishly, pointing toward the women’s bathroom. Josh smiles broadly and shoots me a thumbs up. He leans against the wall across from the bathroom doors, where he remains until I come back out.
“Ugh, so in conclusion, thecase study assigned to us isancientand absolutely useless for us to use in real life. Really? How is this relevant for modern-day policymaking? Like, I get it. It’s important history. Planes, World Wars, death, et cetera, et cetera,” I say crassly, waving my hand dismissively. “But that’s not what this class is supposed to be about,” I whine, frustrated once more—another disappointment. If I am going to stick with this politics route, I might as well do it well, and it sure as hell doesn’t feel like this degree is going to get me anywhere.
Patience, Penny. Patience.
We are in one of the group-study pods in the Waterloo campus library, where we can talk and work on our group assignment. I’m having a hard time concentrating, though. I’m grumpy and hangry and tired—a deadly combo. In an effort to pretend to be a normal and healthy human being, I ordered a salad for lunch—a massive mistake as I am about an hour away before I start imagining people as cartoon cheeseburgers like onTom & Jerry.
“I don’t even know what I’m doing here anymore, Josh. I mean, as soon as I got here, I started questioning why I even chose to come and do this program. I know it’s only the first week, but ever since orientation, it hasn’t felt right.” I sigh.
