The Art of You

3 | Sand & Self-Control

They were slumped on the couch in sweats, watching reruns of Dexter. Except for Iya, the girls looked like someone had hit them with a tractor-trailer. I looked and felt the same, if not worse.

"Good morning pong queen," Lucy said. I snorted, pouring myself a heaping cup of coffee, and plopped onto the armchair with a sigh, careful not to spill.

"I barely remember last night."

"You don't remember kissing Dustin, then breaking his heart when you switched teams and won the game with Elijah?"

What?     I blinked and rummaged through my brain for the memories, but they were only visible in bits and pieces. The pieces I didn't care for, like kissing Dustin. I remembered it so vividly, probably because of how wet his lips were. Yet, I don't recall winning the game with Elijah.

Though, I remember his passiveness.

"You look pale. If you're going to puke, please do it in the sink or something," Reva whined.

I waved her off. "Did I talk to Elijah?"

"Yeah, but we were too far to hear," Iya said. "You really blacked, huh?"

Did I? I must've. But I'd never blacked out before, and the thought of it terrified me. The harder I searched my brain, the more gaps I found in my memory. Or, as Lucy liked to say, our internal hardware was damaged. Usually, I was the person reminding my friends what happened the night before, not the other way around.

What irritated me most of all was I couldn't remember talking to Elijah. I didn't know what I could've possibly said to him, or what he said to me. Did I cuss him out? Did he apologize for ruining my painting? That was our first genuine encounter, and I have no recollection. 

I smacked my forehead as if the impact would jump-start my brain and I vowed to never drink excessively again.

"Did I do anything weird?"

    "Not that I saw." Reva looked toward the girls, who also shook their heads no. "After the game, we sat by the bonfire for a little, then left. It got boring."

My shoulders drooped in reassurance, and I clamped my mouth shut. We spent the rest of the morning talking about how their night went. Reva mentioned she got a girl's phone number. Iya made a friend with the same major, and Lucy met a guy who could get us into bigger parties. I was glad their night went better than mine.

"Oh, you fell in the sand when we were leaving," Reva added.
     "That explains the sand in my bed."

"We tried to clean you off, but you told us you liked it dirty," Iya said.

We all paused, then burst out laughing. I hung my head in my hands, wishing I could push a button to redo yesterday.

The following Monday, I walked into art class, ridden with nerves. Not only did I have to face my professor, but I also had college writing with Elijah in the afternoon. I would rather fall out of the broken window than face either of them.

The hushed conversations of students buzzed through the room like bees. If word hadn't got around about the incident before, it will now. The large plastic tarp secured over the hole in the window might as well be a neon sign saying "look here!"

One girl in my class I was friendly with faced me. "Weren't you in here when that happened, Sadie?"

I tied my apron. "I was."

    "Oh, that must've been scary," a guy next to her said. "You didn't get hurt, right?"

"No, thank goodness." I laughed. "Only my project." And my ego.