"So, are you coming over or what?" My best friend, Gemma, groaned from the other line of the phone. She had called me an hour prior, practically begging me to make the effort of getting out of bed, at nine in the morning, on a Sunday, to go over to her place. I protested to this demand, of course. My Sunday had already been planned out. I was going to just lounge around all day, snacking on any junk food that I could possibly find, stashed away in the pantry. I intended on doing this until I was caught by one of my family members, and then told to go out and do something that was actually productive. I begged to differ, though. I've always thought that stuffing your face with the joys of food that wasn't too good for your health was always quite practical. But then again, I guess everyone else in my household had other definitions for the entire situation.
"You haven't been over in years, Audrey. Just come over!" She pleaded, her tone full of annoyance. I just rolled my eyes at her words, not letting them get to me completely. It was just her way of sucking me in and making me feel sympathetic. If I didn't come over, she would act out as if she were completely devastated, when she could really just go out and do whatever she wanted. She did have her license, after all.
"Gemma," I began, taking in a deep breath, before exhaling it out at least a second later. "I was at your house on Friday night. It's been two days!" I rolled my eyes once more, hearing her signature, over-dramatic sigh. I was growing to become sick of the conversation as it went on, and I figured I better wrap it up on a good note. Well, a good note for her.
"Fine, I'll come over." I told her, hearing her squeal, the pitch of her voice almost deafening me. "But," I added, my tone stern. She let out an irritated sigh, I smirked, wanting to have a little fun with this if she was going to get her way. "Not until later, I'm still in bed," I concluded, closing my eyes, suddenly feeling ultimately relaxed.
"You're seriously still sleeping?" She asked. I nodded in response, fully aware of the fact that not her, nor anyone else, could see me. "You're so lazy," Gemma sighed. I laughed into the phone, my eyes still forced closed. "No shit," I replied, hoping that this would bring us to the end of the phone call. All I was focused on was getting back to sleep, knowing that that would be the only highlight of my day.
"Well, come over for lunch, then? Mum is making us Spaghetti Bolognese," Gemma said. My eyes opened and my ears perked at the sound of one of my all-time favorite meals. I then felt and hear my stomach growl ferociously at the mention of food, especially something that delicious. I shook my head slightly, pulling myself out of the trance that the thought of food had put me into. "Okay, sure, I'll see you at twelve. Bye,Gem," I said, before pressing the end call button and gently placing my iPhone on my bedside table. I closed my eyes once more and pulled my blankets over my body. In the nick of time, I had fallen into a light sleep.
As hard as it may be to believe, Gemma is actually one of my most mature friends. She is twenty years old, two years older than me. It's bewildering to think about how we became so inseparable. I knew that we were going to get along the minute we were introduced at work. That's right, she was my crazy, overly happy, lunatic co-worker. I met her for the first time after applying at a diner just down the road from my house - Gale's Diner. Our manager, who is easily guessed to be Gale, forced her to train me when I started working there. It's quite crazy to think about how she went from being my trainer, to being someone I can basically call my sister. I guess it takes a lunatic to get along with a lunatic.
It has been almost half a year since I started at the diner, and even though it doesn't sound like that long that we have been friends, so much has been accomplished in our friendship throughout the duration of those six months. But that's another story.
Unsurprisingly, Gemma is also quite the looker. She has got dark, long hair, that goes down past her shoulders, and she is utterly tall. Well, taller than me, but really, who isn't? Put it this way, I would never make it as a model, unless they have an academy for '5'1 eighteen year olds.
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My Best Friends Brother (Harry Styles)
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