The night and the rain conspired to trick her into sleeping late; it could be the only explanation to missing three alarms on her phone and two on the clock. Torrential memories of England drifted through her sleep-dulled mind, lifting a pleasant hum to her throat. She would fight someone over the “rainy England” stereotype, but only verbally of course – she had not the skills to match anyone in a physical battle, though that would not stop her trying. The hypnotising lullaby of raindrops on her bedroom windows imprisoned her in dreams, until her roommate kicked down her door, jumped on her bed and started bouncing.

“Oh my god, get up! Get up!” Phoebe groaned. What was that thing on her back? She didn't have a dog... “Oh my god you're so dead, did you take something?” Her roommate leaned over, gave her a moment's respite from the bouncing, and screamed into her ear. “You're late!” Jolting so violently she struck her roommate in the nose, Phoebe wriggled out of the comforter and pointed a hairbrush at the girl.

Nadine, a six foot tall beauty and promising up-and-coming model, clutched her face in both hands and stared at Phoebe like she'd lost her mind. 

“Sorry...” Phoebe muttered after a long blink. She rubbed her eyes, clearing some of the blur from her vision, and tossed the hairbrush on the bed. Her quiet, gravelly 'morning voice' raced ahead before her mind could finish constructing sentences. “What were you talking about?”

“I come home and want to sleep, right,” Nadine's hands over her nose and mouth muffled her words, and Phoebe squinted, but for some reason, that didn't help. “And all I hear is your phone blasting Mine Turtle like four times and your clock starts ringing, I figure you gotta be tired so I let you sleep in, then you get that stupid [i]Star Wars[/i] text thing, and ugh!” Nadine threw up her hands. There was a dark lump starting to form on her nose, just to the right. Lost in staring at it, Phoebe slowly absorbed what her roommate said.

“[i]Star Wars[/i]?” She picked up her phone from the bedside table and blinked hard at the array of messages and missed calls. 

First a drunk text from Nadine, far too deep in spelling errors to decipher, at least three calls from unidentified numbers, a missed call and an email from mother – that was to be expected – and an event reminder: 

[b][i]Point Blank[/i] cast & crew readthrough, 11:00 AM.[/b] 

Her schedule was kind enough to include a flickering red message below the event reading: [b]42 minutes![/b]

Throwing her phone to her roommate, Phoebe snatched up clothes and a towel and dashed into the shower. She emerged ten minutes later, still dressing, and stuffed a few things into her work bag – a small blue duffle with a Zorro keychain and her initials on the back – before sprinting out the door. “[i]Star Trek[/i]!” she shouted back to Nadine as she went, “It was [i]Star Trek[/i], not wars!” 

She couldn't rightly leave without clarifying that one, small detail.

The race to the meeting room trumped her usual morning jog, carrying her to the building in double her record time. She thought too late that it might have been smart to hail a cab, then remembered there was no cash in her wallet anyway. As she slowed to a walk and entered the building, flashing her access card to a number of different people, she tapped her chin irritably and mumbled all the way to the room. Her phone claimed she had time to spare, though she was not sure how much she trusted the device any more.