Polaroids

4: THEN

"So, how is England? Is it as fancy as you thought it'd be?"

My best friend's voice follows me about my bedroom while I work to put away the new furniture I bought in town yesterday. I glance over my shoulder to my laptop, catching sight of Cal's blonde head staring pointedly down.

"Are you doing your nails?"

She shakes the bottle at me, her grin widening. "As riveting as it is to watch you clean, I needed something to occupy my hands while we speak. Plus, I'm meeting Freya later and you know how she is about nails. She always harps on me about my cuticles."

"Freya is such a bitch sometimes."

"Try all the time. But she's all I have to remind me of you."

I cut my eyes to her. "You better not replace me with her."

Cal holds a hand to her heart. "Never ever, Bolt. You are my life blood."

"God, you are even more dramatic when I'm not there."

"So, England. Tell me all about it. How are the accents? How's the writing? How's the job? How's the pictures?"

"Interesting. Dreadful. Hectically good. And unbelievable." I drag a bookshelf across the carpeted floor, groaning and muttering the whole way.

"That looks heavy," Cal says without much concern for my current struggle.

Ignoring her, I continue, "Accents are different everywhere I go. Like when I flew into London, you could hear about fifty different dialects within a five-minute walk. There's also a lot of foreigners here, which is kind of nice and kind of intimidating at the same time. Writing is as piss poor as the last time you asked. I've had zero inspiration since arriving here, and you think I'd have tons since I'm living in such a fucking postcard worthy place. Work is crazy just getting used to a completely different time zone and work ethic. It keeps me busy, so I can't stress too much about my lack of creativity. And the scenery. Seriously, Cal. It is even better than I ever imagined. I'm going to have thousands of pictures to send you."

"I want them all. You'll print me some posters, right? I am considering dedicating an entire wall to you. The Shrine of Bolt's Relocation is what I'm going to title it."

I just laugh, a tug of homesickness pulling tighter.

She continues without missing a beat. "Have you met any hot men yet? I am convinced you will marry a disgustingly good-looking British man someday, and I will be forever jealous of you. Just don't marry before me."

I roll my eyes. "Tanner will ask you eventually. Otherwise I will send him death threats until he does. He is terrified of me."

"Of course he is! You practically ripped off his manliness one of the first times you met him."

"It isn't my fault that I am a nasty tackler."

"It was touch football, Bolt. Touch football."

"Whatever. He got over it eventually."

Cal rolls her eyes. "Yeah, somehow you swindled him into thinking you liked him. And now he loves you, but not more than he loves me. At least he better not."

I open my mouth but the ringing of my phone interrupts my thoughts, causing me to drop the box I was transferring out of fright. Recovering while Cal snickers, I snag it off the dresser and answer without glancing at the ID, expecting it to be one of my parents. "Hello," I sing into the phone like I always do. Freya likes to remind me that I am tone deaf whenever she receives the sing answer.

"Good news. Your neighbor isn't the murderer of several young children."

I stop dead in the center of my room, startled. "Uh, who is this?" Although I already know who it is. I wouldn't be likely to forget his voice any time soon.