Smoked Success

9.

"I'm great, what about you?" She states. 

"Don't freak out, but I have twisted my ankle." I announce, I suck at being smooth when something is pretty fucked up. 

"What the fuck, how?" She seems very worried at the moment. 

"I was going up the stairs." I explain, being as brief as possible. "I'll have to not move for three days minimum." 

"Don't worry, you'll be fine." She sighs. "Your flight's in 5 days, right?" 

"Yes, I'm so worried." I tell her. 

"Oh don't worry, being roommates with other people is an adventure." She reassures me. "I have to go Jessica, they need to train." 

"Hope you enjoy." I roll my eyes, hanging up. 

I take my laptop out of my bag, having to struggle with the higher part of my body. I look for any sort of distraction to pass time, since I really have nothing to do. Wait, I can prepare my syllabus for freshmen, since that's the hardest to prepare. The easiest is usually juniors. I google good sources and all, and see which books they'll be using. I hope the students use their laptops because I hate struggling to read their horrible handwriting. 

Just as I write the last line of the syllabus, my phone rings, Smith. I don't know what the fuck he wants, but I need to see the previous teacher's technique. I need to see if I'll be horrible as a teacher or what. I answer,

"Hello there," I start, seeming so formal. "Is your father sick again?" 

"No, he got dismissed today." Smith scoffs. "I'm free right now and I'd wondered if you are too." 

"Oh well I am, but can you please drop by my building?" I ask. 

"Sure, just text me the address." He discloses. "See you in about half an hour?" 

"Yes, that'd be perfect, thank you." I tell him, hanging up.

I know the doctor has asked me not to move, but I promise this time I'll take the lift like normal people do. I text Christian, telling him I'm out buying new stuff for UCLA. I know he'd object, but that's how it goes. I get up on one leg and look through my wardrobe, what is the most appropriate thing I can wear? I guess I'll wear a beige blazer, white tank top below that and some light blue jeans. I'll have to wear flats which will make me look so short, but all I can wear is that. 

The jeans were sort of a struggle for me, since Tristan wrapped so much bandage my leg seemed twice bigger. But I did it, now make up. I put some foundation, red lipstick, mascara and eyeliner. I attempt to walk out of my room, which gladly goes well even though my weird walk. Earl's still asleep so I leave a written note saying I'll be back. My phone rings, meaning I should go down.

I hope the person before me was a good teacher, because I don't need to teach all my classes basic Business Economy. I was walking really slowly, but that's all I can do. I push the door and see Smith laughing. 

"I get it, I'm clumsy." I tell him, rolling my eyes. 

"What happened?" He smiles, opening the door for me. 

"Stairs." I say, sitting down in the passenger seat. 

"Where'd you wanna go?" Smith asks. 

"Any coffee shop, really, I couldn't care less." I shrug. 

It feels so weird being in a car with someone that isn't Christian, Tyler or Dad. But guess I should get used to it. I still am used to the left side of the road. The ride is completely silent, which I'm glad for. I am looking forward to knowing the methods and all, since John has told me Smith has graduated from there 3 years ago. 

"So I conclude from all of this that you're going to be teaching in UCLA?" Smith laughs so hard at the thought. "I thought you're going to study something there or get your master." 

"Already have it." I roll my eyes. 

"Good luck with this year's seniors, they're horrible." He says, taking a turn to the left. 

"Thanks." I shrug. 

"Guess I'll see you soon in LA, I'll go by November for this work project." He announces. "Goodbye."

I shake hands with his and fake a smile, this wasn't as horrible as I thought it would be. Smith has told me his teacher was very strict, which hadn't stopped them from being troublemakers, difficult tests but good methods. The teacher didn't really like group projects which I despise him for, these are very important. Guess I'll have to work on that. The ride in the lift is short, which is great for me. I get in, and Earl has woken up and is watching TV. I smile at him as I get in. 

"Do you always keep your equipment around?" I ask him, an idea popping out of the blue in my mind. 

"Wherever Earl is, his equipment is." He smirks. "Why though?" 

"I honestly want a tattoo." I tell him, making this sound as smooth as possible. 

"Please don't tell me a cross on your other wrist." He pleads. 

I roll my eyes and sit on the couch. I hope he's a good tattoo artist, because I hate ruined work. 

"I'll go get my stuff." He announces, getting up. 

My phone vibrates, more of a sign of a text message. It's Christian asking if I'm fine, I text him saying I'm home. I've been wanting this for forever, I just didn't have enough courage to do it. I will now, even though I think it'll be a last minute choice. 

"So what is it that you want on your body and where is it going to be done?" Earl asks, as flat as possible. I bet that's the question he asks every and each of his customers when they show up to his store.