Step 1 – Look + smell at least decent.

 07:03 a.m.

“AAAAAAGH! I OVERSLEPT!?”

 Nick shot up from bed, and immediately felt it — his hair was a chemical disaster. Every strand pointing a different direction, one mysterious bend halfway through, and a perfect spiral on the back of his head. Of course. Sleeping with wet hair — brilliant idea of the year.

 Quick room scan:

The floor – clothes everywhere. T-shirts, jeans, some hoodie with a sauce stain, and… oh no, the “I paused my game to be here” shirt. Definitely not.

Sweater? What am I, forty?
Button-up? Please, it’s not prom. 
Ooh, dark blue jeans. Nice.
White rolled-sleeve T-shirt — classic, casual, kinda trendy, I guess.

“Okay,” he muttered, “not bad.”

Then he looked in the mirror.

Pause.

“The hair…”

 Fingers? Useless. Water? Fatal mistake. And then—a spark of genius.

“MOM’S HAIRSPRAY!”

 One minute later, he was in the bathroom spraying his hair like crazy.

Psssh. Psssh. Psssshhhhhhhhhhhh.

 “TOO MUCH!”

 He froze. Looked in the mirror again. The reflection? A shiny, sticky hedgehog that had just rolled through tar.

 “CATASTROPHE.”

 Everything after that went fast:

Shower. Hair wash. Shampoo in the eye. Nick went through all five stages of grief — from “I’m not going” to “I don’t care anymore” and back again.

 07:45 a.m.

He was standing in front of the mirror again.

Hair — clean. Outfit — decent. Socks — matching (a miracle). Face — a mix of fear and determination.

 “I’m ready,” he whispered to his reflection. “At least… visually.”

Step 2 – Get to School on Time (and not when the bell’s already screaming like a dragon at a metal concert.)

 Forty-five minutes till school. Technically, enough time. But Nick was staring at the clock like it was a ticking bomb.

 Breakfast?

“No. No time.”

Pause. Sniff. Wait... sandwiches. Oh no. Mom’s legendary ham sandwiches. Cold from the fridge — but warm for the soul. His hand was already reaching...

“Stop. No. A stain is a first-impression killer.”

NICK, YOU HAVE A PLAN.

You are not losing Step Two because of ham and bread. Get it together.

 Deep breath. Shoes. Bag. Door. Go.

 08:07 a.m. Outside.

 Nick walked like he actually knew what he was doing for once. Head up, steady pace, calm expression.

You’re not late. You’re on time. You’re... cool.

 Then — the car. The puddle. The cinematic doom. Everything slowed down like in those cheesy movies: the car approached, the puddle gleamed, the universe was about to mess with him again.And then — reflexes of a god.

Nick jumped.

 Water splashed just inches away from his sneaker.

 “Nice move,” he muttered. “I’d make a decent ninja.”

08:25 a.m. Schoolyard.

He made it. Alive. Dry. Wearing dark jeans and hair that no longer looked like a cat rave aftermath.  

And there — Mari. Standing by the stairs, backpack over one shoulder. She spotted him, waved, and gave a thumbs-up. Success.

 “Wow, you look great,” she said when he approached.

“You should’ve seen my room after this ‘great look,’” Nick joked. “Mom still doesn’t know where half her hairspray went.”

 Mari laughed. The bell screamed. They walked inside together.

 Step 2 — complete✔️

Step 3 – Don’t die of stress before lunch. (and Definitely Don’t Write a Will)

Four classes. Four endless, torturous, soul-draining classes. Task one: survive.

Nick was physically in math. Mentally — nowhere near sines, tangents, or even integrals. His mind was running movie trailers. Each one worse than the last.

Scenario #1:
Nick: “Hi! I was wondering if maybe—”
Nila: “Who even are you?”

Scenario #2:
Nick: “Do you maybe wanna hang out sometime?”
Nila: “Do I look like someone with free time?”

Scenario #3 (the horror sequel):
Nick: “Hey…”
Nila: “Sorry, I have a boyfriend. Oh, here he is!”

Cue the mental image: torn backpack, shattered dignity, internal screaming.

“Nicholas.” Somewhere in reality, a voice pierced through. 

He blinked. The teacher. History class, apparently.

“Uhh…” His brain froze.
Question? There was a question?

And then — salvation. A flashback. Twenty glorious minutes of Mari explaining history with her wild hand gestures and “See? It’s simple, look—” energy. And suddenly — words.

“Battle of Orsha!” he blurted out.

The teacher blinked. “Correct.”

Survived. Barely.

Two more classes to go. Thoughts won’t stop. Heart pounding. Palms sweating. Legs itchy like they’re ready to flee the country.

Then — the bell. Lunch. Relief? Nah. As if. Relief would mean heading to the cafeteria. But Nick… was heading to the battlefield.

He could’ve run. Transferred schools. Changed continents. New identity, maybe.

But no!

He stopped, inhaled deeply, and delivered a quiet pep talk to himself:

“Nick. Focus. You’re not a failure. You’re not that morning hair disaster. You’re not the ketchup stain.”
“You’re the guy with a plan. And now… you execute it.”

Step 4 – See Nila. Don’t Faint. (Or at Least Blame It on Allergies)

Nick stood in front of the cafeteria doors. Palms — sweaty. Throat — dry. Heart — doing a full military parade.

 “You’ve got this,” he whispered to himself. “You won’t melt. You won’t run. You’ll walk in, say hi, and… yeah. You’ll see.”

 Deep breath. Step forward.

 The cafeteria basically attacked him - all that noise and laughing, plus whatever the hell they were calling mashed potatoes today.

He scanned left. Right. Across the tables. Heartbeat rising.

Where is she?

 Again. Carefully this time. Nope. He spotted Sara. Hope sparked.

“Hey, have you seen Nila?”

 Sara shrugged. “Oh, she’s not here today. Sick, I think.”

 Pause.

 Nick froze mid-motion, like someone had just unplugged him. His face slowly turned toward Mari — who already knew that look. 

“Well,” she said, suppressing a grin, “at least tomorrow you’ll be even more prepared.”

 “I’ve officially unlocked Level 99 in ‘Survive Emotional Breakdown,’” Nick muttered.

 Silence. 

Then, with the weariness of a soldier who’s seen too much, he sighed:

 “Tomorrow, then.”

 Mari nodded.

“And?”

 Nick grimaced.

“…And I wash my hair again.”