"I don't drown my sorrows; I suffocate them with chocolate." – Unknown
Note: Emily alternates between calling the ice cream phone and Fletcher's cell. Not all their conversations are recorded in this story, but they've swapped mobile numbers. Also, it's Fletcher's job to answer the calls at Waffle Cones, so no one else ever picks up.
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"Hello?"
"What's up, asshole?"
"Why did you call me?"
"What, is that illegal now?"
"I'm in the middle of class and–"
"You go to school?"
"–It's like the equivalent of stupid Siri going off in my–"
"Wait, you really go to school?"
"–Pocket and the teacher looked like–"
"You never seem to be at school!"
"–She was going to chop off my head with a guillotine and–"
"I can't believe you actually go to school."
"–Shove splinters of bamboo up my fingernails!"
"..."
"..."
"I'm so out of breath."
"Me too, Sushi. Me too."
"Anyway, I just wanted to call to say that I got an A for that speech!"
"That's awesome, Sushi, congrats!"
"Thanks for the help, by the way."
"Aw, you're welcome."
"..."
"Well, I'm hanging up now."
"Wait, Fletcher!"
"Yeah?"
"I hate you."
"Faithful to the usual protocol, I see."
YOU ARE READING
Waffle Cones (#1)
Short Story"Hello?" "Um, hey?" "Wait, you don't sound like my Aunt Kathy." "Unless I was miraculously converted into a member of the opposite gender and somehow related to whoever is on the other side of this call, then yeah. I'm not your Aunt Kathy." ...
