Running late

This morning, I ignored my alarm for an hour and a half. At 9:30, I suddenly snapped awake with the sudden horrible realization, "Oh crap, I'm going to be late for my 10:00 class!" I rocketed out of bed (to Stormy's chagrin) and flew around in a whirlwind, shoving everything into my backpack before flying into my car and speeding down the road. I skidded into the parking lot, gliding perfectly into a conveniently empty parking space, and sprinted up the icy hill to class while my lungs protested, "I don't like breathing -30 degree air this fast! Make it stop!" So I stopped breathing as I ran. I practically flew up six flights of stairs and ran down the hall, reaching the classroom door with thirty seconds left before 10:00. I flung the door open so I could scramble over a couple desks to get to my seat... and a bunch of Asian kids turned and stared at me like I was insane. I froze. They kept staring. I looked at the teacher. He was a short little Asian guy. He might have been 20 or 60. I can never tell with Asians. But he was definitely giving me a "look." It said, "Who are you and what are you doing in my classroom?" His hand was still holding a marker, frozen in the act of writing an unfinished equation on the whiteboard. I crawled into my jacket to try and hide, then wormed my way out of the room, quietly pulling the door closed behind me. I heard another two seconds of awkward silence in the room before class started right back up where it had left off, as if I had never been there.

But it was now past time for class to start. What were a bunch of Asian geniuses doing in my English classroom? What on Earth? Where was the teacher? Where was Natay, the girl who covers for me when I have to miss class to save the world? Had I done my homework for nothing?

And then realization dawned.

It's Friday. Class doesn't start until ten thirty.

...Dangit.