Meredith called me at eleven the next morning, waking me out of a fitful sleep.
I didn't have class until three, and I'd been up all night, finally passing out right before dawn.
I sat up on the couch, rubbing at my eyes. "Sorry, I'm not quite with it yet," I muttered.
That was the understatement of the year. My eyes felt like burning sand pits, and my hands were shaking like a detoxing junkie's.
That just covered the extremities. The rest of me felt worse. "What's up?"
"I got his schedule! Had to chat up his research partner, and you owe me dinner for that, Newton. He'll be in the lab tonight. Where are you? Wait, home, obviously. I talked to Tony again. He's down to help later and back up our story. Have you written the email? Should I come to your place and help with—"
