There were a few things I'd learned in life. One: never leave the house without lip gloss handy. I'd learned this one the hard way, unfortunately. Two: always make sure your purse matches your shoes, and while you're at it, make sure your sister's matches too. There is nothing more embarrassing than having uncoordinated coloured outfits.
That was one of the main reasons I was sitting in my new bedroom, glaring at Nora, whose blue shirt contrasted horribly with my frilly pink one.
The other reason why I was staring daggers at my older sister was because also, in fact, because of my frilly pink shirt. Nora, being the inconsiderate, clumsy sister that she was, had tripped. Apparently, the shock of seeing One Direction in person was too much for her old-lady-like body to handle, and the moment we stepped onto the streets of Walden, she had managed to fling herself over the sidewalk's crack and send her ice cream hurtling toward my clavicle.
Upon impact, the cone imploded, instantly crushing in her hand, while the calorie-filled, diabetes-inducing chocolate ice cream splayed out across my shirt.
It was one of my favourites, even. Mildly hot pink with ruffles and frills, and even pockets to keep things in.
In our room, I paced back and forth. "God, Nora. Look at this!" I screeched. "I got this new from Harrod's-- the only new shirt I was able to get before we left, I might add-- and now it looks like a slap-happy four year-old threw up on it. Why does my life suck?"
Nora hesitated, then clapped her hands together. "Well, Flo, I know your life sucks so much. I mean, not dealing with taxes or baby products or funds for your whiny, crabby younger sister? Christ, you have it so bad."
I ignored her blunt sarcasm, opting to instead say, "You know what, Nora? I'm actually going to miss London."
"Real--" Nora began, but I cut her off.
"Yes, really, you incompetent woman-child. I'm going to miss all my friends, and all the hot guys, and definitely all the shopping." I paused, reminiscing on the gargantuan shopping spree I had embarked on only a month ago. "But you know what I won't miss? You and your ridiculous hippie husband, and your ridiculous hippie ways. God, I feel bad for your child. What are you going to name it, anyway? Something ridiculously hippie, like Summer? Or Moonbeam? Or Drugs? Just get out, Nora, and get back to your hippie lifestyle."
I could see Nora trying to hold back tears. "Fine then. But let me at least go wash your shirt-- or exchange it or something."
Considering this for only a moment, I whisked the shirt off, then reached for an equally frilly one laying inside my suitcase. "Have fun in London," I said sarcastically.
Nora nodded anyway, gave me an awkward wave, and left the room carrying my shirt. I then pulled my phone-- an iPhone 5-- from my jeans. It turned on, and I patted myself down, trying to find the slips of paper with the numbers on them.
And then it dawned on me. I had put the phone numbers in the pockets of my shirt.
The shirt that Nora was taking back to London.
"That bitch," I whispered, then shot off my bed and down the stairs in frantic pursuit.
* * * *
yeah it's nothing special
but i hope you liked it anyway. :)
-Alyssa
