THE DON'S MISSING PIECE

The alarm clock screamed at 6:47 AM.

Cassandra's hand shot out from beneath the covers, slapping blindly at the snooze button. Her fingers found plastic, pressed down hard. Silence.

She groaned, rolling onto her back. The ceiling stared back at her, cracked paint, water stains from last winter's leak, the faint outline of a spider web in the corner.

Monday, she thought. I hate you already.

Her body felt heavy, her limbs weighted down by exhaustion. She'd been up until midnight studying for her economics test, the formulas swimming in her head like confused fish. And before that, she'd spent two hours rubbing cream into her grandmother's arthritic hands, watching her wince with every gentle touch.

Cassandra swung her legs over the side of the bed,the floor was cold against her bare feet. She shivered.

Time to move.

****

The bathroom mirror reflected a girl who looked exactly how she felt, tired. Dark circles beneath her eyes. Hair a mess, tangled from sleep. A small pimple forming on her chin, because of course it was.

She sighed, reaching for her toothbrush. "You're a mess," she told her reflection. "Absolute mess."

Her reflection didn't argue.

She brushed her teeth, splashed cold water on her face, and dragged a brush through her hair until it looked somewhat presentable. The tangled strands resisted, but she was too tired to care.

Ten minutes later, she was dressed in jeans and her favorite blue sweater,the one with the small hole in the sleeve that she'd been meaning to fix for months. Her grandmother had bought it for her three Christmases ago. It was soft and warm and familiar.

She needed familiar today.

****

The kitchen smelled like coffee and toast.

Her grandma, Mrs Evelyn stood at the stove, her gray hair pinned back, her frail hands working the spatula. She moved slowly, carefully, the way people moved when their joints ached.

"Morning, sweetheart," She said without turning around. "How'd you sleep?"

"Not great." Cassandra dropped her backpack by the door and crossed to the table. "Test today. Economics."

"I know." Her grandma slid a plate of toast onto the table. "Eat. You need fuel."

Cassandra looked at the toast. It was perfect, golden brown, lightly buttered, just how she liked it. Her grandmother had probably been up for hours, moving slowly and painfully, just to make sure Cassandra had breakfast.

"Gran, you didn't have to.."

"Eat," She repeated firmly. "You can't fail your test on an empty stomach."

Cassandra sat down, grabbing a piece of toast. The butter melted on her tongue, warm and comforting. Her grandmother sat across from her, nursing a cup of tea.

"How are your hands?" Cassandra asked softly.

Her grandma flexed her fingers. "Fine. Stop worrying."

"I'm always worrying."

"Then stop that too." She smiled, the lines around her eyes crinkling. "You're too young to worry so much."

Someone has to worry about you, Cassandra wanted to say. Someone has to take care of you.

But she said nothing. She just ate her toast and finished her coffee and tried not to think about the medical bills piling up in the drawer by the sink.

They sat in silence.

“Good bye grandma" Cassandra said at the door.

Her grandma waved with a smile.

****

The bus ride to school was uneventful.

Cassandra sat in the middle row, her economics textbook open on her lap. The words blurred together. Supply and demand. Market equilibrium. Elasticity. She'd studied this for hours. She still felt like she knew nothing.

A man in a suit sat across from her, scrolling through his phone. An elderly woman clutched her shopping bags. A teenager with headphones bobbed his head to music she couldn't hear.

Normal people. Normal day.

So why did something feel wrong?

Cassandra shook off the feeling. She was just tired. Stressed. The test was making her paranoid.

She got off at the stop near campus and walked the remaining block. The college was a sprawling maze of brick buildings and concrete pathways. Students milled around everywhere, some laughing, some rushing, some hunched over laptops.

She hated Mondays.

****

The economics lecture hall was packed.

Cassandra found a seat near the back, pulling out her notebook and a pen. The professor droned on about supply curves, his voice monotone and hypnotic.

She tried to focus. Tried to take notes. Her pen moved across the page, but her mind was elsewhere.

What if I fail?

What if I can't afford next semester's tuition?

What if Gran gets worse and I can't pay for her medication?

The questions spiraled, endless and suffocating.

By the time the lecture ended, Cassandra's notebook was filled with messy scribbles that made no sense. She'd have to copy someone else's notes later.

****

The test was brutal.

Three hours of questions that seemed designed to destroy her confidence. Cassandra stared at the first page, her mind going blank. The formulas she'd memorized disappeared like smoke.

You can do this, she told herself. You studied. You know this.

She wrote something. Anything. Her hand moved across the page, filling the blue books with words she hoped were correct.

When the proctor called time, Cassandra's hand was cramping. Her head throbbed. Her stomach growled.

She handed in her test and walked out into the hallway, blinking against the fluorescent lights.

“Too good Sam doesn't offer economic, lucky her."

She muttered scanning around to see her friend.

The rest of the school day was a blur.

Another lecture. A group project meeting where no one listened to her ideas. A conversation with her advisor about her grades that left her feeling even more anxious.

By the time her last class ended, Cassandra was exhausted. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

She gathered her things and walked out of the building, her backpack heavy on her shoulders.

The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Students hurried past her, eager to get home.

Cassandra walked slowly. She wasn't in a hurry. The flower shop shift was hours away.

What a day, she thought. What a long, terrible day.

She stopped at the bus stop, collapsing onto the bench. Her body ached. Her brain felt like mush.

A bus pulled up, its doors hissing open. Cassandra climbed aboard, finding a seat near the back.

The city passed by outside the window, familiar streets, familiar buildings, familiar faces.

She leaned her head against the glass, watching the world blur past.