**Top 25 for #LenovoBackToSchool contest**
On the outside, Elliott Addison looks like your average all-star high schooler. He's the jock with the good grades and the perfect girlfriend. You know, the one where girls practically faint at his feet wit...
Every morning it's the same. The alarm goes off and I slowly peel my eyes open. First it's the left lid and then the right but they always land on that brownish yellow water stain. The one that appears to be dripping from the air-vent. It's undoubtedly a sign of a bigger issue like mold, which would explain my alergies lately but no one really cares to fix it. I can feel the warmth of the sun as it casts a narrow beam onto the cheap scratchy fleece blanket covering me. So I release my hand from its itchy prison and try to catch the dust particles that constantly float but never seem to land. Exhaling a breath, I'm not quite ready to get up but I roll onto my side anyway. And yep, Garrett is staring at me.
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His absent dead-looking eyes are just... staring... at... me. In the beginning it really creeped me out when I would find him frozen like a corpse, drool oozing from the corner if his lip but then I learned that Garret often sleeps with his eyes open. He's kind of unique in that way, not to mention he's an insomniac with manic depression and is bipolar. I nudge his shoulder and his eyes flutter like someone on the verge of fainting but then he blinks at me as if he finally sees me.
"You were doing that freaky thing again."
Garrett lets out a yawn and rolls onto his back. "I dozed off somewhere around three." He squeezes his lids tight. "Now they're going to be burning all day."
"Come on, lets eat something." I nod my head toward the door.
He scoots to the edge of the bed and slides his feet into a pair of slippers. I do the same. This begins our morning routine. Garrett is thirteen, which makes me older than him by four years. It's safe to say that he looks up to me so by now our movements mirror each others. We both brush our teeth with our elbows up, winding in a circular motion, then rinse our mouths and wipe them dry with the back of our sleeve. Heck, we even smooth down the rebellious hairs on our head the same way before shuffling out of the room. You would think we are brothers. But we're not.
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In the hallway, multiple doors open and patients of all ages step out in zombie-like fashion while rubbing fists into their eyesballs. Lips are forming into an orchestra of yawns and mumbles of greetings follow. We all know the drill. Up to the nurses station we go, single file line while we wait for our tiny plastic cup of pills. Yet it doesn't stop nurse ratchet from blowing her whistle and clapping her hands at us.
