Chapter 5: Three-1

9:36 AM Professor Calhoun is well known on campus for his coma inducing lectures celebrating the study of Old English and its various dialects. As if the topic itself isn't mind-numbing enough, the incessant drone of his voice has a similar effect to a sleeping pill. But not today. Today, the monotonous way which he speaks effortlessly combines the sound of a power drill and nails scrapping along chalkboard. It's making me cringe and squirm in my seat. My head is pounding, quite literally throbbing in what could be the worst hangover I've ever experienced. All I can think about is how much I wish I'd told Xavier no to both his devil whiskey last night and going to the party tonight. It's bound to be a disaster. I'm performing a mental run through of the various excuses I can provide for ditching him later: homework, volunteer hours, family emergency, my time of the month, the bubonic plague. The thing is, short of me actually hosting the plague or fund-raising for stray puppies, Xavier won't buy any of them. That boy will not take no for an answer. This leaves me with a single option to bow out of my obligation to party with him--good old fashioned begging. As I debate if my pride can take such a catastrophic hit, Madeline Mason, who has said a total of two words to me in my entire life, ups the count to four. "You okay?" "Yeah. Fine." I lie. "You sure?" Why the hell is she talking to me? Her voice is only marginally better than Calhoun's. I put my fingers to my temples and apply pressure. "I'm fine, thanks. Just not feeling great." "Headache?" I nod. Talking to Madeline only makes it worse. She reaches into a large leather messenger bag adorned with colorful scarves. When I see the object in her hand, I'm sure she's lost her mind because it's a vial. Then she twists the small plastic cap off of the top and the smell assaults me. Eau de Tori times ten. I tug the sleeve of my sweater over my hand and bring it to my face to act as a barrier between myself and the flower garden that died in Madeline's glass jar, but to my complete horror, she begins to wave the thing in front of me. I make a face and mumble in protest but it's useless; she sees and hears nothing. She continues, slowing down long enough under my nose to make my eyes water and my throat burn. "Move your hand silly," she says. "It's lavender oil. You need to breathe it in. It'll get rid of that headache." I uncover my face enough to speak. "By making me vomit?" "Trust me, Lola. It works." Wow. I had no idea Madeline Mason even knew my name. At this point, I'm considering shooting myself in the foot so I can focus on something other than my dizzying headache. So I do as she says and inhale the putrid smelling oil as she moves it from one side of my face to the other. "So are you going to the party tonight?" Fair enough that she's trying to make polite conversation but let's be real, the party is vague. We're on a college campus. The party could be one of many and I didn't press Xavier for details so I just nod. "Yeah, I guess, if this headache takes a hike." "It will," she says confidently. "Lavender is a miracle. Super strong." Got that. Thanks. "Thanks." I cross my arms on the desk and rest my head on them. Still another 35 minutes until I will no longer be subjected to Calhoun's voice or Madeline's lavender-infused interest in being chummy with me. The hands on that clock cannot move fast enough. 10:01PM Much to my surprise, the oil worked temporarily but by the evening, the headache is back and getting progressively worse. X sits on my bed across from Tori, who, near as I can tell, has not moved all day. He's staring at the screen of his phone while I pout. "I don't want to go." He looks up. "You promised." "I have a headache." "You can fix that with a beer and a red bull." "I'm going to upchuck if you mention drinking again. And I'll make sure I do it on your shoes." "I'd expect nothing less. You can drink water." "I have nothing to wear." "You think we're going to some kind of cotillion? It's not that kind of party, Mouse. You need jeans and a t-shirt. Your excuses are nauseating." "You're nauseating," I fire back. "God X." "Look, I'm sorry," he says, "I'm excited that you're finally coming to a party with me that's all and I don't want to let your insecurities stop you this time." "It's not my insecurities, which by the way I don't have, it's my headache. And my stomachache. And just about everything else that aches today." I point my finger at him. "I'll also take this chance to point out that none of this would be an issue without your thousand proof Satan whiskey from last night." Xavier stands up and ruffles my hair. "It was regular old whiskey, Mouse." I want to growl at him but I roll my eyes instead. "Turn around." He obediently shifts his body in a half circle so he's facing my wall. I slip into a pair of skinny jeans, and pull a band t-shirt over my head. "Done." He spins again. "I've seen you naked." A shameless, girly giggle comes from Tori's side of the room followed by a groan. I bet she dreams about X seeing her in her birthday suit. She mumbles something incomprehensible.