Heart Starter by Michelle Hercules

4

SADIE

“Sadie, wake up.”Someone shakes my shoulder, but instead of doing what they want, I roll on my side and pull the pillow over my head.

“Sadie! You said you wanted to go to the party.”

Finally, my dead-tired brain recognizes Katrina’s voice. I’m tempted to tell her I’ve changed my mind, but I suffer from major FOMO. If I don’t go, regret is going to make me her bitch tomorrow.

“I want to go,” I mumble as I try to open my eyes, but it seems Mr. Sandman poured superglue over my eyelids. They feel heavy and stuck together.

“It doesn’t look like you want to.”

“I do. It’s just my body that has other ideas. I can’t even open my eyes.”

“Should I do something to help?” she asks.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Throw cold water at your face?”

“If you do that, I’ll punch you in the throat.”

Katrina gasps, and because I don’t have a visual of her, I can’t tell if her indignation is fake or genuine. I push the pillow aside and manage to open one eyelid. “I’m kidding. I’m not a psycho, you know?”

She laughs nervously and waves her hand. “Oh, I knew that.”

Sure, sure.I’d better watch what I say to Katrina. She seems to be the oversensitive type. I’ve been told on multiple occasions that I have an abrasive personality, which is true. I’ve made people cry without even trying.

I push my covers out of the way and throw my legs to the side of the bed. A yawn sneaks up on me, and it takes me several seconds to be able to close my mouth again.

“How long do you need to get ready?” Katrina asks, bouncing from side to side.

Gee, I wish I could steal some of that nervous energy. It’s better than this damn lethargy.

“It depends. How do I look?”

“Do you want an honest opinion or the polite answer?”

“Honesty always. The quickest way to get on my shit list is to be fake with me.”

“Okay. Well, you look like a cat chewed on you for days and spat you out.”

I jump off the bed, rubbing my eyes. “A shower is in order, then. I’ll need twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?” Her eyebrows shoot to the heavens. “It takes me at least an hour to get ready to go to school. Just doing my hair for tonight took me half an hour.” She points at her perfectly arranged curls.

I smile. “I’m not fussy about my looks. Not aiming to impress anyone.” Blush spreads through Katrina’s cheeks, and I sense I said the wrong thing. “I just want to focus on my career for now,” I amend.

“So that’s what you want to do? Play soccer professionally?”

“Yes. It’s been my dream since I started playing in the wee league.”

“Wee league? Isn’t wee a Scottish word?”

I chuckle. “Yeah. My neighbors growing up were from Scotland. I picked up a few things from them.”

She tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes. “If you were given the chance, which national team would you pick? England or USA?”

I thought I knew the answer to that. Back in London, I never considered another alternative besides playing for England. But I’m back in the States now, and their national team is the best in the world. What athlete wouldn’t want that?

“I never stopped to think about it,” I lie. “Well, I should get going or we’ll never leave this room.”

* * *

Okay,it didn’t take me twenty minutes to get ready. It took double that, but only because I wasted precious time looking for bathroom shit in my suitcase and my favorite pair of jeans.

Katrina was shocked that I planned on leaving the apartment without drying my hair first. I did put makeup on because I’m not anti-beautification. I might not be interested in dating anyone, but this is my first social event at this school, and I don’t want anyone thinking I’m a troll.

I guess I do want to impress people.

As we walk out of the dorm building, I can feel excitement in the air. Classes haven’t officially started, so right now, only people in the summer program or athletes here for preseason training are in residence. I follow Katrina to her car in silence, distracted by my surroundings. I was so knackered when I arrived and keen on getting rid of Dad that I didn’t really pay attention to anything.

The buildings are a little disappointing. They’re bricks without anything appealing to them design-wise. I should be glad the interior is clean though. I’ve heard horror stories of student dorms back in England.

Katrina stops abruptly and points at a silver Honda Accord. “That’s my car.”

“Okay?”

She offers me the key. “Here, you need to drive.”

“Why?” I stare at her hand as if she plans on killing me with that key.

“I had a few pre-party drinks while you took your nap. I shouldn’t get behind the wheel.”

“But the party is on campus. What’s that, a five-minute drive?”

I’m freaking out that she wants me to drive. I barely passed my driving test back in London, and also, we drive on the other side of the road. I’m bound to run over someone or collide with another car.

“It’s not five minutes, and it’d be irresponsible to drive. I’m drunk, in case you couldn’t tell.”

I want to say, “How was I supposed to tell? I’ve just met you, and I was barely conscious for most of the time.”

“Ugh. Fine. I’ll drive, but only if you promise not to judge me if I drive like an arse.”

“Arse.” She giggles. “I love your accent.”

“Yeah, it’s brilliant. I’m still waiting for your answer.”

She arches her eyebrows as if she already forgot what I said earlier. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t make fun of you. I promise.”

Like an idiot, I automatically open the wrong door. Yeah, that bodes well. Katrina doesn’t make a comment though. Either she’s keeping her promise, or she’s too drunk to notice.

The positive side is that her car is automatic, so I don’t have to worry about shifting gears with my left hand.

The first minute of the drive is the worst. I’m nervous and queasy. It gets better after a while, and there isn’t a lot of traffic at this hour. I begin to relax, only to regress to a panic state when we get near our destination. Way too many drunk pedestrians walking in the middle of the road and not a parking spot in sight.

“Keep your eyes peeled for a place to park,” I tell Katrina.

“Ah, man. I had no idea it would be this busy already. We might have to park farther back.”

I choose a random lane, because at this point, it’d be sheer luck to find anything. It turns out it was the wrong choice, and this one is a dead end. Bloody fantastic. I have to make a T-maneuver to get us out of here, which wouldn’t be a big deal if the space wasn’t tight as hell and I didn’t have an audience.

“Why don’t you get us out in reverse?” Katrina asks.

“I guess I could.”

I had already started to get the car turned around, but going in reverse would be easier. I switch gears again—at least I think I do—and press the gas pedal, but instead of going backward, the car lurches forward, and I bump into the vehicle parked in front of me before I can stomp on the brake.

“Shit!”

“Oh no,” Katrina mutters.

I back up a little and then get out of the car to inspect the damage, trying my best to ignore the group of jackasses lingering nearby and now laughing at my expense.

“Who had the bright idea to let women drive?” I hear one of them say.

My face is burning, but I refuse to acknowledge those arseholes. I’m also more preoccupied with the damage I caused. The taillight is busted and the bumper bent. Bloody hell. Whoever owns this car will be pissed.

“Do you know whose car this is?” I ask Katrina.

“No idea.”

“Oh well. We can’t just stand here and wait for the owner to show up. Got a piece of paper and pen?”

“Yeah. One sec.”

She hands me a Post-it notepad and a Sharpie. I jot down my name and email address, then shove the note under one of the windshield wipers.

“Shouldn’t you also put down your cell phone number?” Katrina suggests.

I glance quickly at the idiots who are still watching us with interest. I wouldn’t put it past them to read the note. I definitely don’t want those dumbasses to have my phone number.

“Better not. Email will be fine.”

“What are we going to do now?”

I give Katrina a droll look. “What do you think? After this ordeal, I need a bloody distraction. We’ll find a parking spot, and then it’s party time, babe.”