It was 7 that Monday morning when my housekeeper woke me up.
"Lila it's time to wake up dear. Breakfast is waitin for you downstairs," she told me in her English accent.
"Angela, I," I began.
"What is it?"
I looked at the white ceiling, dizzy and nauseous.
"I can't."
"You can't what?"
"I. I can't eat."
"Oh? and why is that? Do you want some tea? You still have to go to school."
"I know," I said.
I turned onto my side. I knew if I did this I wouldn't asphixate and end up like Hendrix.
"Are you sick?" Angela asked.
"Yeah I think so I'm really tired," I replied.
"You just woke up. That's to be expected."
"No I mean. Moreso than usual."
"Oh. I could make you some tea."
"But I'll be late to school."
"Dear, if you're sick it's more important for us to figure out why."
I breathed, seeing only the white wall.
"Alrite. I'll phone the school," Angela said, and left.
The reason I had a housekeeper, besides the obvious, was because my mom was in Paris and my dad was in Chicago. Along with my parents, Angela was my legal gaurdian.