Beep! Beep! Beep!

Without having fully regained my motor skills, my hand flailed over and hit the snooze button on my alarm. Then, as I always did at 6:00 a.m., Monday through Friday, I rolled out of bed. Literally.

Groaning, I pulled myself off my bedroom floor and made my way over to the vanity that stood off to the right of my bed. I sat down upon the stool before it and breathed deeply of the smell of makeup, since my vanity is where I keep all of mine. I gave a slight jump as my eyes lifted to the mirror. Boy, did I look a fright this morning.

My dark hair--which I always keep cut up to my earlobes--looked like one of those poofy, furry hats really rich women wear. My eyes looked like I had done a massive amount of drugs the night before. And I didn’t dare check to see what my breath smelled like. I stood, turning toward my bedroom door.

“First things first,” I muttered, leaving my room and entering the bathroom across from me.

When I re-entered my room, my hair and teeth were brushed. I made my way over to my closet and picked out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that read, “brunettes do it better.” After a complete clothing change--from the underwear up--and an application of makeup, I made my way down to the kitchen.

Now, eight out of every ten Americans--I’m guessing--always have some sort of relative waiting to greet them in the morning. Usually, the same applies to me as well…but not this morning. There were dirty dishes in the sink where my parents had eaten, the answering machine’s light was flashing, and there was a note on the refrigerator. I snatched an apple from the bowl on the table and the note from the fridge.

I rolled my eyes as I read. Apparently, Mom and Dad had had an early meeting this morning and had to leave. As a result, they needed me to take Hera to school. They couldn’t have woke me up to say “goodbye,” and “I love you,” and then tell me this. No, I have to hear it--no, no, read it--from a note. Aggravated, I walked to the foot of the staircase and yelled up it, “Hera!! Get up and get ready for school!”

A minute after I shouted this, my sister--golden hair brushed, fully-dressed, and her backpack on her shoulders--descended the stairs.

“I’ve been up the same amount of time you have. I’m ready to go,” Hera said.

I narrowed my eyes at her and began mumbling as I turned from her.

“What?” she asked.

“Let me get my keys and backpack, then,” I said, louder.

As I placed my single strap backpack over my head and shoulder and grabbed my car keys from the hook in the kitchen, Hera said, “Aren’t you going to check the messages?”

She was, of course, referring to the answering machine. For some reason, she had some sort of obsession over it. Mom, Dad, and I could leave the house without checking the machine until we got back. Hera couldn’t. It was like she was always expecting some big, important call. I have no idea who a sixth grader would be expecting to call her…God, maybe? Who knows?

To appease her, I reached over and hit the button. A mechanical woman’s voice announced that we had only one message. Then, my brother’s--Zeus--voice filled the room.

“Hey everyone, guess what? I’m coming home for Labor Day weekend, but that’s not all. I have someone I want you all to meet…her name is Clio, spelled like the muse. Isn’t that great? Well, my love to all of you…and Pandora, if you’re playing this, don’t delete it! Bye.”

Whoa, I thought, pulling my hand away from the delete button. Psychic brother.

I turned to see Hera’s face gleaming with a huge smile.

And he was gushing on the answering machine…that means Clio…

“Must be his girlfriend,” I said to myself, locking the door to the house as I left.

After I had dropped Hera off at the elementary school, I made my way to my homeroom--where Sara and Dave were waiting for me.

I threw my backpack down into a chair and greeted my two friends. Sara raised an eyebrow at me. She shoved a lock of her long, red hair behind her shoulder and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Is it that obvious?” I asked, a smile on my face.

Dave nodded, his light brown hair--which was just past his earlobes--getting messed up as he did so.

“Yeah, it really is. Bad morning?” he inquired.

I relayed the events of the morning to them. At the end, they both took in sharp breaths and pulled back--like they had burned their fingers. I nodded.

“See?” I said.

Dave patted me on my shoulder, his green eyes sympathetic.

“I feel for you,” he said.

Sara looked as if she were about to say something when our homeroom teacher--and sixth period history teacher, Mrs. James--entered the room. I moved my backpack to the floor and took its seat. Dave sat in front of me, and Sara in front of him. Mrs. James moved to the front of the room, just as the morning bell rang.

Mrs. James was one of those teachers that could be mistaken for a student. Her hair was long, straight, and blonde…bright blonde. She had those large, light blue eyes that probably made men melt. Her skin was olive in color and perfectly clear of blemishes. She always wore jeans and nice blouses to school, and she had a sultry voice. Of course, none of the girls liked her. Dave and the rest of the animals in the room--otherwise known as boys--were already drooling. And she hadn’t even spoken yet. By the end of homeroom, we’d all be swimming in their saliva.

“Good morning, class,” she said, standing behind the podium.

Cue lifejackets.

“As you all know--because I’m sure you’re celebrating--today is College Day for all the seniors. After homeroom is over, you will go to your previously assigned colleges for your interviews. Now, I’ll call roll, and you’ll be dismissed,” Mrs. James said, flipping open her grade book.

Ah, yes. College Day. This was a new experiment that my high school had decided to try on us. The deal was that everyone picked a college…the farthest away the college could be was only four hours. And then the student--after the college was approved--would begin to set up an interview with someone at their college. Then, they would take today to travel to the college, have their interview, and come home. All of this was in attempts to try and talk more of us into going to college. We didn’t mind. It got us out of school on a Friday with no homework, other than bringing by a signed letter from whomever your interview was with…to prove that you went.

“And Pandora Walker?” Mrs. James finished with the roll.

“Here,” I answered.

“Ah, well then. Now, you all have your colleges. Good luck and have a nice weekend!” she called as we began to pile out of the room.

Dave and Sara took each side of me as we walked to our cars. Sara slipped her mirrored sunglasses on over her brown eyes as we exited the school building.

“So, what college did you get, Dave?” Sara asked.

“Mine’s about an hour drive away. Lakeland College. I’ve got an interview with a Doctor Robinson there,” he replied.

Sara nodded and turned to me. “Did you get an interview at your parents’ college?”

I sighed. “My parents got me an interview all right…the damn Dean.”

“Harsh,” she answering, knowing that I always hated it when my parents would offer their assistance. I was very much a do-it-yourself girl. Sara continued, “Well, I’ve got an interview at your college too, Dora. Only I’ve got it with your mom.”

“Good luck with that,” I said as I reached my car. “See you.”

I arrived outside Dean Emil Steel’s office fifteen minutes later. His secretary said that he was just finishing up a telephone call, and that I should go right on in. I thanked her and entered the office’s already open door.

Dean Steel smiled at me, the phone receiver to his ear, and he motioned for me to take a seat. I did so. The Dean was not an imposing figure. His hair was jet-black, except for little stripes of gray on each side. He wore a gray suit and a black tie. He also wore small, round framed glasses.

“Alright, thank you. Goodbye,” he said, hanging up the phone. Then, still smiling, he turned to me and said, “Hello, Pandora. I haven’t seen you here since you were little. I can’t believe it’s almost time for you to go to college.”

He sat down in the chair behind his desk. I smiled back at, hoping that it didn’t looked as force as it was.

“Me neither, sir,” I said.

“Now, I understand that this interview is to help enlighten you to all the services this college can provide you with,” he said.

I nodded.

“Very well. Let’s begin. What questions do you have?”