Faded

Somehow I fall back asleep in my bed. Somehow I don't wake up until eleven. Somehow no one woke me for school. I'm not about to call someone to pick me up. I check my phone.
No messages. No calls. Of course not. When was the last time someone texted me? I don't remember. Probably a month ago. One lone text message from Ariana in London. I think I finally stopped missing her.
But I still wish she knew what was going on.
So it's eleven a.m. and my feet are itching and my leg muscles are twitching and I'm angry. So I pull on my running shoes and put in my headphones, and run until I can't breathe. And then I sit down in the grass and just listen to my music so loud I can't think straight anymore.
That's my favorite way to be. Not here. Swept away by music and fatigue and life.
And then there's a honk and a whistle and it's my dad home on his lunch break. Home on his lunch break? Why is he home at all?
"Why aren't you in school?"
"All Saint's Day," I lie easily.
"Where's your brother?"
"Work," I lie again.
"When did he get a job?" My dad asks, incredulous.
"Last month at Target." I'm a little too good at this.