My projector is humming, but the stars aren’t visible because all the lights in my room are on. I’m surrounded by a case of Red Bulls, with my English materials splayed out on the floor. My strategy was to finally read Caligula with the hope that Camus King-of-Misery-and-Nothingness would inspire my personal philosophy and give me a passing grade in English. At an unknown wee hour of the morning, I finish the last page with itchy eyes, then throw the book to my floor on top of piles of things I’ve accumulated over the last week, or perhaps my whole lifetime.

“Are you serious?” I ask my projector, then call Abigail ASAP. I’m so tired that I’m not tired, just terribly awake and agitated.

“Cham, it’s so early,” she groans when she answers.

I drain my sixth Red Bull with a loud slurp and bounce up and down on the edge of my bed. “I’m sorry, but why did Evelyn spend so long on Camus? Camus freaking sucks.”

“I was having a dream about half men, half turtles. Can I please resume it?”

“There are like a billion more important questions we could be asking than whether life is worth living!”

There’s silence on the other end. My alarm clock professes the time in neon blue lights: Way Past Cham’s Bedtime.

“Jesus, Cham, there’s like ten hours until class. What are you going to do?” Abigail asks. “And if you don’t know, can I please resume my mutant male turtle dream?”

I drag my time capsule out from under my bed and run my fingers over its glow-in-the-dark stars. “What do you mean, what am I going to do?”

“About English class and prom and Nicaragua and college and everything?”

Uh, wait in my room with a box of canned goods in case the world ends and I’m still waiting for an answer to fall out of the sky?

“I really don’t know,” I say, throwing the empty can of Red Bull by my foot into the mausoleum with its friends. After a second, I pick it up and add it to my time capsule. “As for prom, I’m just waiting for a couple to break up, and I’ll go with whoever is the most heartbroken-slash-desperate for a date.”

“You and me and Hilary could go together,” Abigail offers, her voice groggy.

“Thanks,” I say, but they never offered before, and it feels too late now. I get back into bed and roll over to look at the stars through my window.

“That still doesn’t explain English class.” Abigail yawns loudly, creating a lot of static in the phone.

“It’s okay, I’m gonna wing it.”

“Wing it?” she says loudly, suddenly sounding awake. “What if she fails you, and you can’t go to Nicaragua?”

At least I wouldn’t have to choose which world to let go on without me. I rub my eyes and pinch my left butt cheek, which has been going numb for the last hour. “Well, then nature can take its course and rearrange its shelves, and I’ll still be moseying down the tampon aisle trying to find God.”