Beep-beep-beep! Beep-beep-beep! Beep-beep-beep!
I ignore the beeping. It can't possibly be 6:45--when I'm supposed to wake up--yet. I sluggishly move my hand from under the warmth of my covers to the surface of my bedside table. With my eyes still closed, I grope around for a few seconds until my hands grasp my glasses. I shove them on and blink lazily at my alarm clock. 7:45 a.m. No, it can't be. No. Why did my mom, strictest person alive, let me sleep in? No time to wonder about that.
I throw my covers off and run to my dresser. I grab clothing at random--my grey skinny jeans, the t-shirt Lissa gave me for my fourteenth birthday, and a navy cardigan--and start throwing it on. As I slam the door to my room, I am momentarily glad Mom gives me such short haircuts--I don't have to brush it. I comb my fingers through my hair, and garb a stick of gum--no one wants bad breath--a banana, and my backpack. I run out the door, locking it with the key I store in my shoe.
I hate Mondays.