For a minute I could almost see the palm trees and beaches, smell the sun on the sand and feel the warm wind in my face. But as soon as it was there, it was gone, and I was back in Rhode Island.

I rinsed the conditioner out, and steeling myself, turned off the water. I started shivering as soon as I opened the curtain, and toweled myself dry as quickly as I was able.

I brushed my wet hair, scrutinizing my face in the mirror as I did. I suppose I was lucky to not really need special facial washes, toners or moisturizers like other girls my age, but at least other girls didn’t have pale, wan faces like mine. There wasn’t the slightest flush to my cheek, no freckles, no dimples, nothing. Just wide grey eyes, brown hair and pale pink lips. Snow White was I only in skin, and not in any of the other important descriptors. My best friend Bree always said makeup would really make my features pop, but I couldn’t stand the stuff, and besides—what was the point of putting all those chemicals on your face if underneath you were still just uninteresting? Eventually the makeup had to come off, and then what?

No, it was just better not to bother.

My hair was still wet, so I tied it back in a messy bun. It would dry by the time I got to my first period class. Feeling more awake, I opened the door and turned toward my bedroom, and nearly ran into my dad.

“Oh, good morning sweetie!” My dad—Dr. Howard Slate to his students and colleagues—always the morning person. He was dressed and it looked like he was just about to run off to work. His Monday classes at Miskatonic University didn’t start until 11:00 a.m., but he liked to offer open office hours for students in the mornings. If they thought their grades mattered, he always argued, they would drag themselves out of bed for them.

Dad’s doctorate was in marine biology and he was primarily an oceanographer. Pretty much if it came from the depths, he found it fascinating. That was fine when we lived in San Diego, but a better paying position at MU dragged our entire family north—‘Hook, line and sinker!’ Mom had joked, and my dad had howled with laughter.

I loved my parents, but they could be so embarrassing sometimes.

“Morning Dad,” I mumbled as I ran for my room, not wanting to stand in the hallway in my towel.

“Say, honey, I tested your car battery this morning and it’s still not working.”

I paused in my doorway. “Still?” I whined.

“Yeah, sorry, honey, looks like you’re going to have to replace it.”

“That’s just great, Dad, how much do those cost?” I asked as I watched my Monday slide from bad to worse.