The alarm cut through the darkness like a knife.
Emmy didn't move.
It rang again. And again. Sharp. Relentless. Indifferent to the fact that she'd only closed her eyes five minutes ago — or so it felt.
Her hand emerged from beneath the blanket and swept across the nightstand. Missed. The phone kept screaming. She tried again, knocked over an empty glass, cursed softly, and finally found the screen.
Swiped.
Silence.
She let her arm fall back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Gray light filtered through the curtains. Too early. Always too early.
Five more minutes.
She closed her eyes.
---
The second alarm came too soon.
Emmy sat up this time, hair falling across her face, and killed it without looking. The room was cold. Her feet hated her as they touched the floor.
She shuffled to the window and pulled the curtain aside. The street outside was still half-asleep — a few cars, a jogger, a neighbor walking a dog that looked just as miserable as she felt.
First day.
Right.
---
The shower helped. Coffee helped more.
By the time she was dressed — jeans, a plain sweater, sneakers — the grogginess had faded into something manageable. Not quite awake, but functional.
Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
Erica: Ready? We're outside.
Emmy stared at the message for a second too long. Then she grabbed her bag, checked for her keys twice, and headed for the door.
Mom, I'm headed to school.
Ok take care.
Yh I will.
The morning air hit her face — cool, sharp, wide awake.
She walked toward her friends. James lean towards her.
"You look terrible."
"Good morning to you too," Emmy said, walking straight ahead.
Erica followed behind, already grinning. "First day jitters?"
No
If we don't hurry, we are going to be running late