This Is Not My Life: Part 2

The second class was over and I threw my stuff in my backpack and grabbed my coat to hold over the still significantly wet spot on my jeans. I bolted out of the classroom as quickly as I could, not daring to let Drew catch up with me. I prayed for a bathroom as I scurried down the hallway, hoping a couple minutes under the hand dryer would prevent me from being forever labeled as "the new girl who had an accident during first period."

I spotted a ladies room sign and pushed my way through the door. I dropped my backpack on the floor as I stomped over to the dryer in the corner. I punched the large silver button and cringed as the hot air erupted out of the nozzle with a sound far too loud for the stealthy clean up I had been aiming for. I shimmied myself as close to the airflow as I could, balanced one foot on the floor and braced the other up against the wall. I had my back to the sinks and held onto the bulk of the dryer so tightly that my fingers already cramped.

"Now, I wonder how long I'll have to stand like this until all the blood drains out of my right leg…"

"Um, what are you doing?"

I hadn't heard anyone come into the bathroom, but I could only imagine her thoughts upon seeing me in a half spread-eagle position with my back turned and foot up against the wall. Poor Canada; I really wasn't doing anyone any favors here.

"Well, it's actually a really ridiculous story," I began with my back still to the girl as I tried to bring my foot back down gently and keep my balance. "I somehow—and, by somehow, I mean because my father made me leave the house so early I grabbed the first drink in the fridge, which of course was potentially explosive seltzer water—managed to spill my drink all over my pants."

I was now looking at the girl who had addressed me. She was shorter than me by at least five inches, though I am on the tall side, measuring around 5'8". She had short, dark hair and blue eyes that were encircled by two very thick rims of black eyeliner. She wore blue jeans, a simple black t-shirt, and navy Converse sneakers on her feet. On her face was the look my mother had given me one time when I told her I accidentally left my shoes in my locker at school and had to wear my soccer cleats the next day.

"So, you're the American then, right? The girl who flooded Callaway's class this morning?"

"Okay, the container wasn't really that big. Flooded? Please, what is with this place…" I started to say under my breath.

"What?"

"Sorry. Yeah, that would be me. Alice Morgan." I looked back up at her and stuck my hand out.