Not-so-best friend

"STAAAAACEEEEEEY!" I yelled at my not-so-best friend. What else should I have called her? I was only in it for the gossip she gave, and who better to give it than the girl who knew everything and everyone. This was mostly due to her parents being literal gazillionares and spoiling her til she appreciated them (spoiler alert: she never appreciates them). Anyway, she doesnt think of me as her best friend either because with money comes friends (or as I like to call them, 'aquaintances-with-a-cost') so theres no need for another random peer, aka me, when shes got heaps. I dont know why I haven't been ditched yet actually...

Stacey walked up to my seat at the fountain and, just as I'd prepared myself for today's low down, she burst into tears. "Oh my Chris Brown, whatever is the matter, Stace?" She slowed her melt down to a gradual stop and sobbered up enough to mutter "My parents..." She immediatley went back to her wailing and blubbering on my shoulder, leaving me to look like I had fallen in the fountaun behind. "You mean to say that something has happened to Mr Johnson-Call-Me-Elijah and Mrs Johnson-Call-Me-Avril the gazillionare couple? Wait, did someone flog their money beca-" "No, their money is fine you vain little alien." She retorted. "They just, they just cant bear each other anymore and want me to suffer in their course." Oh wait, of course. (Btw, over dramaticism is the key in this conversation, obviously.) I started to pat her shoulder. We had been through this conversation many times before and the people in the mall around us were just as used to it. "Stacey, just because your parents are getting divorced doesn't mean they hate you. At least you can afford the therapy. And hey! Double Christmas pressies!" She still seemed sad. "I don't even think I'll get a present from my mother, what with her moving to South America with her drab new boyfriend."

"What could be so bad about that? I thought you liked that Abuelo! He does yoga and thinks about down to earth stuff!" Stacey broke into yelling. "HE IS NOT DOWN TO EARTH AND I DON'T LIKE HIM! Although he is an Abuelo. I don't even get how he manages to do that bendy stuff without breaking his back or whatever. And mummy is only moving away because that old hag thinks its a good opportunity to resolve her mid life crisis; me!" I shook my head at her childish calling of 'mummy'. We are seventeen, not five.

"Let's chat over coffee." I said taking a five dollar note out of my pocket, then rethinking that and replacing it with a ten dollar note. Coffee prices are extremely high at the moment. Frankly, I blame Obama Care and the American government, even though I am Australian.

After lobbying around like a goose thinking about America, I decided to actually get some coffee and sit in one of the shop's booths. Stacey eventually plodded over and joined me. "So anyway," I said, snapping back to Dr Phil mode, "how could you be your mum's mid life crisis? That's bonkers and you know it." It wasn't bonkers actually. Stacey had always been a jerk to her mum and just milked money out of her dad. I'm pretty sure her parents only kept her because they wanted her to love them. Also, it's kind of the law as well. "The bloody Abuelo has convinced my mummy that I'm bad and now he's stealing her from me." I sighed. Again with the over dramaticism. I felt like saying, "Stacey, you don't even like your mum so why should it matter?" but I didn't because I'm a good friend and her parents have payed for her regular boxing lessons in another attempt of achieving her affection. (Stacey only goes because the instructor is kinda cute...)

Our coffee arrived and Stacey offered to give me the money I spent on them. I didn't hesitate to take it from her hands. What? She's loaded, honestly! "It won't be too bad, at least you will still have your dad and me! ...And your annoying brother, but he doesn't count." Stacey broke into tears again. I sighed and took a sip of the coffee, but burnt my tongue and ended up spilling it across the table til it dripped on my shirt. Stacey's crying intensified as people stared at my now translucent top. I hid it with a menu and begun to get up to wipe the table. Quite perfectly timed, I slipped over and ended up with my shirt over my head. A baby somewhere in the shop started to cry, triggering Stacey to attempt to cry louder. She won, but it didn't stop there. A little boy walked over to our table and laughed at me. After a deep breath, I propped myself up on my shoulders and stuck the finger up at him, but OF COURSE the news bulletin group came along and snapped a photo of me. Stacey's crying got louder and the whole mall had gathered around us. Eventually I couldn't take it and yelled,

"ENOUGH!"

All was silent.

People hushed back to their previous states and Stacey looked up at me with mascara dripping down her face. I ripped her from the booth and stomped back to the privacy of my car.

"Stacey," I said, "You have NOTHING to worry about, except maybe buying me a new shirt because you're rich and this one's ruined, but seriously. You don't need to cry because nothing will change. You'll always have me." I put on my seatbelt and she whined, "But I won't always have youuuuuuu."

I sighed again.

"What the hell do you mean, Stacey Johnson?"

"Hang on, you said you needed a new top, right?"

I nodded hesitantly.

She held her hand up and ran into the mall. A few minutes later, she returned with a brown bag and produced from it a black shirt. "It's black just in case you spill coffee on it." I snatched it from her hands and looked at the price tag. "$380?! Are you serious?" She smiled and nodded. "No need to thank me." I bowed like they do before sumo wrestling, then undid the buttons and put it on. It was a bit big, but I didn't complain. "So anyway, what did you mean before?"

"Well, now that mummy is leaving daddy, daddy is a bit sad, but is acting all tough to cover it up. One day I came home and spent like only $250 over my credit card on a shopping trip, so he like absolutely flipped and enrolled me into a boarding school..."

Only $250?

I blame Obama Care.