Keyframe

Control

"Control is what I've got, because I do with chance.

I don't wanna rule the world—

just wanna run my life."

- "Control," Janet Jackson (1986)

Alejandro

"I'm never drinking again," I think to myself for the millionth time, closing my eyes to ease the blinding headache I get from the morning sun. It was a dumb move to pick a seat by the window if I'm going to come to class hungover every Monday, but hindsight's a bitch.

Or is it karma's a bitch? Hindsight's 20/20? Something about foresight?

Hell if I know.

"Mrs. Stewart will be back by Wednesday. Your research papers are also due then, but those'll come in to me. For all you procrastinators out there, I suggest you start yesterday, because your parents aren't paying 80,000 dollars a year in tuition for you to fail freshman chem."

Ms. Carr, a student teacher and our chemistry professor's assistant, breaks into my grogginess with a slightly louder tone as she ends class. I wince at her voice, eyes still closed, as everyone around me groans in response.

Oh, God damn it. I was supposed to work on that this weekend, but I was busy doing...other things the whole time—it's why I have a hangover right now. A few days ago, all I cared about was trying to escape. But, right now, the only thing on my mind is how much I'm screwed.

I open my eyes one at a time, trying to push down the nausea I've been feeling since this morning. Jordan notices me, wordlessly handing me a water bottle as he types on his phone. I take it and realize how extremely dehydrated I am when I start drinking, but I still have enough pride to not thank him or notice the smugness on his face.

The bell rings, making me flinch again, and I close my eyes once more as everyone starts packing up. Maybe I should skip the rest of the day. Jordan and I have the same schedule, so he could take notes, and I don't think we have anything due today. I'll tell Paola that I'm sick, or something...but then what? I still have a report due in two days that cannot possibly be done in that short of a time.

I hear Jordan stand from the desk beside me, only opening my eyes when he places a hand on my head and pushes it to the side. He leans down to look at me, and, even though I glower back at him, his words show how unintimidated he is at me in this state.

"If you want to be valedictorian, then you should probably quit coming to every other first period hungover or high." He pats me twice on the shoulder. "That'll help."

I flip him off as he leaves, massaging my temples before slowly getting my things in order. By the time I stand, the classroom is empty save for me and Ms. Carr. I know Mrs. Stewart is a stickler about extensions, but I have a 100 in her class—who's to say her assistant won't cut me some slack?

Here goes nothing.

"Ms. Carr?" I say as clearly as possible, not letting my hangover show.

She stops shuffling papers, lifting dark eyes at me when I get her attention.

"Oh, Alejandro...what can I do for you?"