When I wake up, my head is pounding. My mouth tastes like death, and the sunlight peering in my window feels like a laser blasting through my eyeballs and scaring my brain.

Fuck.

I push myself up and realize I fell asleep on top of the sheets last night. I’m still wearing the same thing I was wearing after school yesterday. My brain is foggy, my head feels like someone keeps hitting it with a hammer. I am officially hung over.

How the hell did this happen?

I drag myself off the bed and get in the shower. I only have about twenty minutes before I need to be at school, so I make it quick. The cold water wakes me up, but my head is still pounding as memories of last night come back to me. Dad getting the cops called on him, me going out with the guys.

It was TJ, that prick. After we blew apart that greenhouse, I still had anger inside of me, roiling around being pissed at my dad. So he offered me a drink from the bottle of tequila he kept in his backpack.

I let my head lean against the shower wall as I slowly remember what happened last night. I got drunk as hell in my own driveway. After dropping off TJ at his house, I came home and drank while sitting on the tailgate of my truck and looking up at the stars. I don’t remember finally going to bed, but the empty bottle of tequila on my floor isn’t a good sign.

Fear grips me. This is not the man I want to be. I get dressed and brush my teeth and down some aspirin and all the while I’m thinking it to myself, on repeat.

I’m turning into my worthless father.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I know I can’t stay home sick on the second day of school. The school would call my parents and my dad would find out and he’d blast me a new one. I have to somehow make it through this day even though I feel like total shit.

At least one good thing is happening this morning. Dad isn’t home when I walk into the living room. He started a new roofing job today and probably left the house around five in the morning.

Mom is in the kitchen, still dressed in her khaki pants and dark blue Walmart shirt. “Want some pancakes?” she says. She offers me a smile too, but her eyes are weary and I know she just wants to go to bed. But she’s standing at the stove, making breakfast for me, which is dinner for her, just like she does every day.

“Sure,” I say, grabbing a plate and slinking to the table. I chug a cup of water and then refill it two more times. I’ll be pissing like crazy in first period, but the faster this alcohol gets out of my system, the better.

Once I’m sober again, I can start thinking clearly and telling myself to stop drinking. Stop going out with those guys. Stop doing shit I’ll regret in the morning.

But I have to admit that tearing down that greenhouse was exhilarating. And I wasn’t even drunk then, which is good because it means I can still feel alive without being numbed by alcohol.

I tell myself I’ll never be like my dad, but on days when I wake up hung over, I really start to question that.

Mom is so tired that she eats across from me at the table and doesn’t say anything. I don’t talk, either. Sometimes just sitting in the silence that appears when Dad is gone is all we need.

I drink some more water, and make myself walk in a straight line down the tile grout in the kitchen. I’m fine. No longer drunk, just hungover.

I drive to school, hoping this day will go by quickly so I can get home and sleep. And then I remember that I work tonight, so sleep won’t happen. Monday, Wednesday, Friday is soccer practice after school. Tuesdays and Thursdays are when I work at Magic Mark’s Pizza. I get there right after school and then deliver pizzas until midnight. Once again, I tell myself I’m the biggest idiot ever for getting wasted on a school and work night.

Then I haul my worthless ass out of the truck and walk into school five minutes after the bell rings.

I slink into homeroom, and the teacher gives me the stink eye from where she stands at the front of the class. I don’t even try to come up with an excuse for my tardiness. I just walk to my seat and slide in behind that girl from yesterday. She smells like strawberries, which is a nice change from the rest of the school that smells like teen angst, body odor, and cheap cleaning chemicals.

I slouch in my chair, happy that the aspirin has helped a little bit, and pretend to listen to the announcements on the PA system.

TJ whispers my name and I look over at him. “You look like shit.”

I shrug.

He snorts and shakes his head. “You got no self-control, dude.”

I know he’s talking about the alcohol and how he probably knows I finished off the bottle after he went home. But I want to tell him he has no self-control, either. If he’s not punching holes in the walls at home, he’s finding random shit to destroy, like that stupid greenhouse. We all have our vices.

I wish mine was a little better.

I glance back at Beau, who is sleeping on his desk, and wish I could do the same thing, but I can’t sleep in class. I’ve never been able to let my guard down like that.

When the announcements are over, our incredibly old homeroom teacher passes out papers. It’s some kind of flyer for volunteer work, another one advertising school spirit shirts for sale. Just crap that means nothing to me. I shove it in my backpack and watch the girl in front of me.

She seems off today. Yesterday she was all straight-backed and paying attention, being a perfect student. Today her shoulders slump, and I don’t think she lifts her cheek off her hand at all. She just sits there staring at her desk.

I don’t know why I care, but I want to know what’s up with her. Why she’s being all blah today.

I lean forward and tap her on the shoulder. She turns around slowly, leveling an evil glare at me. “What?” she mouths.

I shrug. “You okay?”

I actually said the words instead of mouthing them, but she stares at me like she didn’t hear me at first. Then she turns back around.

I tap her shoulder again, realizing how not used to this I am. Most girls talk to me even when I don’t want them to. “Leave me alone,” she mutters.

I lean forward, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo. “You just seem pissed, so I was curious.”

She turns slightly toward me, so that I can see the curve of her lips and smell the coffee she drank earlier. “We aren’t friends,” she says softly before turning back to face the front.

“No talking!” the teacher barks.

“Dude,” TJ says a moment later. He points to his phone, where someone just texted him. “There’s two cop cars out back.”

I glance over and see the picture on his phone. Sure enough, there are two police cars parked in the teacher’s lot. The lot next to the edge of the property. Right where that greenhouse used to be.

I stiffen. TJ’s got this smirk on his face like he’s impressed that he caused something worthy of police attention. But I’m not so cocky. There’s no way they can trace that back to us, right? And who even cares about the damage, because it was just a stupid greenhouse that’s been there forever. They can’t possibly care about that. They’re probably here for something else.

I look over at TJ and he shrugs, like it’s no big deal. So I decide he’s right. No big deal. This won’t come back to us.

And then the door opens and our principal walks into the classroom. My stomach tightens, and I suddenly feel like I’m going to puke.

He talks quietly to the teacher and then they both turn and look directly at me.

“Clarissa?” the principal says, waving his hand for her to join him.

The girl in front of me stands up, slinging her backpack on her shoulder. She must be Clarissa, I realize, as relief rolls over me. The principal wasn’t looking at me, he was looking at her. This has nothing to do with the cops. Nothing to do with the greenhouse.

Everything is fine.