Wake Me Up

The analog clock hanging above the projector screen made each second feel like a minute. There were 60 seconds left in the last class of my freshman college year. My book bag was packed and resting on the desk, my foot was tapping as my eyes glued to the clock. When the final buzzer sounded, I was the first one out of the lecture hall, and I headed straight to the car.

A chirp came from my car as I unlocked it. The sunglasses stored in the middle console of my silver Honda CR-V were soon perched on the bridge of my nose and shielding my eyes. The parking lot was buzzing with excited and relieved college kids.

The drive to my flat from the university took around ten to fifteen minutes. I leaned over the seat, and grabbed my bag. A few parking spaces over was a large white moving truck, equipped with a large moving team. The back of the truck was filled with brown cardboard boxes and furniture.

On the fifth floor of the complex, the flat at the end of the hall, only two flats away from mine, had the door ajar, with movers carrying boxes and such into it. A young lad, who looked about my age, leaned on one leg against the door frame. A few brown curly locks escaped from his olive green beanie. He wore an unzipped light grey hoodie and some black skinny jeans. An iPhone was in his head and his eyes were glued to the screen, except when he was directing the moving men.

My key ring slipped off my finger and I had noticed I was staring in his direction for a while now. I shook my head and bent down to retrieve my keys. The curly-haired lad looked up as I stood up.

I smiled at him, and introduced myself, "Hello, I'm Drew."

He swiveled around on his right foot and walked into his flat without even saying a word. The door still remained open.

Rolling my eyes, I opened the door and walked into what I called home. My bag was plopped on the kitchen counter. 1:13 glowed in green on the microwave. I had around 45 minutes before I had to be at work.

The kettle I had recently put on the stove was shrieking for me to pour its hot liquid into a tea cup. Sipping my hot tea, I opened my laptop and scrolled through Pinterest.

Time flew by and I soon found myself in a rush to get ready for work. A navy beanie covered the top of my head, and my wavy auburn hair was draped down my back and around my shoulders. Grabbing my purse, phone and keys, I left the apartment.

In the hallway was my new neighbor. His left arm was pulled up, while his right arm was reaching across the front of his body and to his left side as he pulled down his white v-neck over the waist of his jeans. The hoodie I saw him in in our first encounter was soon pulled into its proper spot.

His long legs carried him briskly down the hall and into the elevator. Quickening my pace, I tried to make it into the elevator before the metal doors closed. With only a second to spare, I shimmied in.

The ride down was awkward to say the least. Complete silence filled with confined space, only being interrupted with small dings from each level we passed. I hurried out of there as fast as I could, and began my walk to work. Since it was only a few blocks away, there was no point in driving, especially in the lovely summer temperatures.

I flicked my hair off of my right shoulder, and in my peripheral vision, I could see the curly haired boy following me. Without thinking anything of it, I kept walking. A few blocks later, he turned. Stopping for a second while I was out of his vision, I watched as he climbed into the passenger seat of a black Range Rover, which had a bulky bald man in the driver's seat.

The bakery smelled like fresh baked bread, a smell I have always loved.

"Hi, Drew!" my co-worker Lisa greeted me, in-between her helping customers. A smile came across my face before I made my way in to the back room, where I dumped my purse. I pulled on a green apron before heading out into the front of the store.

A small line was forming in front of the cashiers. Kids poked their fingers up to the glass cabinet, containing cupcakes, muffins, danishes, and pastries. Bread was on shelves behind the register. Customers looked up at the chalkboard, showing prices, drinks, and food.

"I can help the next customer," I announced to the small bakery.

A man came up, his eyes occupied by his phone and a hand in the pocket of his jeans.

"One croissant, please."

Reaching in the cabinet, I pulled a one out and put it a small paper bag.

"That'll be 1 pound,"

Fishing in his wallet, he pulled out a five pound bill. Looking up, his emerald green eyes caught mine.

The bill was hastily thrown on the counter, as he grabbed his croissant and darted out.