The phone rings, causing me to jump. I stand up and send my homework scattering every where across my room. I kneel down to pick up the bent pages, but decide to clean them up later. I grumble to myself as I walk over to my door. For some reason, the door handle sticks closed. I pull on it, hard. It jerks back and slams into my toe. I step back into my wall and hit my head on a hanging picture frame.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumble as I leave my room, rubbing my head. My cat, the stupidest cat in the world sits outside my room. I step forward and put my foot on his tail. He shrieks and runs out from under my foot. I lose my balance and fall against my air hockey table, hitting my hips. I stand up straight and glare at my cat.
The phone rings again.
I run forward, tripping over the air hockey table chord. Trying to keep my balance, I keep running, hitting my head against the drum set. Okay, now I’m determined. I get up and storm up stairs, stepping on many of my brother’s legos as I go. I reach the main level and turn the corner. I run perfectly into my sister’s empty dirty clothes hamper and trip forward. My hair get’s caught somehow inside it. I try to pull it off.
The phone rings again.
I ignore the hamper and run to the kitchen blind. I hit the front of my couch, throwing myself over the opposite side. I land on my butt, my arm hitting a nearby table. I rub my arm for a second before I realize that the hamper is now off my head. I look over and see that the hamper knocked over a glass of milk. I’ll clean it up later.
The phone rings again.
I jump up, hitting the same hurt arm on the table again. I run over to the library and throw open the doors. I swing one door so hard that it flies out, hits the wall, and comes right back to me. The handle hits my stomach and the top hits my nose. And what’s worse, there’s no phone here. I run back out and look to my mom’s desk. I push the rolling chair away and over my toes. The phone is off its hook. I turn around and see the phone on the table.
The phone rings again.
I run over to the table. My feet slip on the spilt milk and I slide on the wood floor. My feet drag me under the table. I fall, smacking my head hard against the edge. I rub my forehead while I’m still on the ground.
The phone rings again.
I sit up and hit my head, again, on the bottom of the table. I crawl out carefully, using the counter as support. I put my hand down and pull myself up. Only once I’m in standing position do I realize that I put my hand on the stove… and it’s on. I jump back as waves of pain are sent up my arms. I turn around and run for the sink, carefully covering my hand in cool water.
The phone rings again.
I leave the water on and run for the table, this time avoiding the milk spill. I reach the phone and answer it.
“Hello?” I ask out of breath.
The phone beeps. I’m too late.
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