The tale of being famous ON HOLD (Jamie Campbell Bower)

Chapter 2

I woke up because I had forgotten to close the curtains and now the sun shone through the window with all of her rising strength, directly into my face.

I hated waking up and not knowing what time it was, so I tried to reach my mobile that lay on the bedside table. It was empty.

And then I remembered: I had lost my mobe yesterday, probably while slamming into that guy.

The nearest clock in the flat was the digital one on the oven to which I now slowly shuffeled.

Tom was on his bed, half lying, half sitting with all of his clothes on, snorting REALLY loud. He even still had his sneakers on.

I carefully took off his shoes and put his blanket over him. He didn't move an inch, even his breath didn't change it's rythm. Only his arm now hung over the edge of the bed.

To be honest I idn't really wanna know how hungover he would be in the afternoon IF he at least managed to get out of the bed until then.

Jamila somehow had managed to turn around in her bed 180 degree so that she now slept with her feet on the pillow.

I had to stop myself from giggling out loud and if I had had my mobe now I would SO have taken a pic and showed it to her when she would wake up.

Like I had said, there's no privacy here.

The clock at the oven sayd it was half ten. Man, what an ungodly time to wake up on a sunday morning.

I sat down on our old leather sofa that was a kitchen bank at the same time because if we'd get any visitors (What happened about one time a Millenium when some family or parents came over to visit their kids.) we didn't have enough chairs.

I couldn't fall asleep any more so I made a coffee for me and stared into the distance. I thought about this and that but nothing specific and let my mind wander. Sometimes I'm a real dreamer.

Suddenly the letter slot rattled and something hard fell onto the floor. Strange. There normally was no post on sundays.

Curious as I was I made my way to the front door. There was a Marks&Spencer bag waiting for me on the floor. I picked it up and in it there was... my mobile!

And a lonely piece of paper that slowly sailed onto the floor. When I had grabbed it last minute I read in a scrawly handwriting I could barely read:

"Your mobe must have fallen out of your pocket when you bumped into me. I gave it to Scott so he can give it to you. James. P.S.: I'm sorry about the display."

And beneath it in a writing that wasn't THAT scrawly and that I could say was Scott's: "When I have to drive to you in the early morning one more time I'm getting me a new Yasemin :P"

I rushed the door open and ran down the stairs to see if Scott still was there so I could thank him but when I stood on the street I could see the back lights of his old rusty Opel Corsa round a corner and disappear.

Then I remembered the paper and the mobile in my hand and I stared, still breathing heavily from running down the stairs, at the dispaly. Crap. Crap, crap, crap!

A long thin crack went from the under right to the upper left corner of my mobile. I turned it on in the desperate hope that it would still work because it had been a Christmas present from my parents and I couldn't afford to let it fix now, at the end of the month.

But the display turned bright with the so well known background of Jamila, Emily and me smiling arm in arm.

Everything was still working but the colours around the crack who went into the negative but I could easily live with that.