My friend, Chelsea, all but shrieks from my couch.
"Who?" I call across the small apartment.
And the apartment is small. My kitchen, where I am, and my living room are practically one room, then there's my bedroom and one bathroom. I've spent more money on my cameras and 'photography equipment' than I ever have on a home.
"Tom Blyth." Chelsea answers. "He just posted about the end of the first leg of the tour and he's also cursing out his photographer. I think he quit or something."
I hum in amusement at the name. I know Tom Blyth. Everyone knows Tom Blyth. I know him a little differently, however.
When I was thirteen, I moved from Carolina to Birmingham and stayed there for seven years. Me and Tom went to the same school and shared a few classes. We weren't exactly close but we weren't not friends. He was nice enough when I spoke to him and he was funny. Confident, but not exactly arrogant. And he was cute.
And now, he's a famous singer - so everyone knows him.
"You wanna know something about him?" I ask as I keep my focus on cleaning my camera lenses.
"I bet I already know." She muses. "But sure."
I scoff. "I went to school with him."
I glance up at her and watch her jaw drop.
"What?"
"I went to school with him." I repeat. "I moved to Birmingham when I was thirteen and we went to the same school. I was sat next to him in English in year eight and ten and we were in the same art for both year seven and eight."
"No. Fucking. Way." She's in shock but still manages to question it. "Wait, what's 'year'? Is that just grade in the UK?"
"Yeah, basically."
"Okay...Oh my God, though! You went to school with Tom fucking Blyth!" Chelsea gasps. "Were you friends with him? Did you go out? Can you text him for me?"
"I was sort of friends with him. I did not go out with him. And, no! I can't text him for you!"
"Why not?!"
"I don't even have his number. And, if I did, I haven't spoken to him in like seven years." Then a thought strikes me. "I technically have his autograph, though..."
"What?" She shrieks again.
"In England, when you leave school, you sign each other's shirts because you wear a uniform - so you're never gonna wear the stuff again." I explain as I walk to the living room. "And he signed mine. I mean, it's amongst a bunch of other random people's signatures...but it's there."
"Do you still have it?"
"I think my mom might have all my school stuff in her basement or something." I shrug and sit next to her.
"God, that's so cool." Chelsea mumbles to herself. "So cool."
✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮
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priscillah ft the old phone
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chelsaybiggsi cant believe u didnt tell me u know TOM BLYTH -> priscillahI DONT
