The Boys in My Life (The Cliché Collection #1)

'My little Millie is growing up'

A/N I basically just decided to write the most cliché story I could. Hope you like :D Dedicated to @knowmoreorless for the AMAZING writing of Run From the Devil

It’s a beautiful day, but I’m stuck inside.

Staring at this screen, working 9 – 5.

How I hate this job, coz the days do drag.

They work me like a dog, and the money’s bad-

 

I groan as I fumble around my bedside table for the button I can use to stop my alarm clock. I manage to hit it a matter of seconds before the chorus starts. I find myself hating the lead singer of the band Scouting for Girls, despite the fact that they are my favourite. If there is one piece of advice that should be taken to heart, it is that you should never use one of your favourite songs as your alarm – it can seriously put you off them.

Returning from an unusually short shower due to a lack of hot water, I take my phone off charge and switch it on, grinning when I see I have five messages from my friends already. I mentally pat myself on the back for having the foresight to turn it off before bed last night. If I hadn’t I would have been woken up at midnight to be wished a happy birthday by Aimee and Mattie, who were the first two to text. There was another from Hamish at one thirty, one from Lily at seven and from Izzy at seven fifteen. I’m glad that at least Lily and Izzy had the sense to text once they’d woken up, instead of waiting up. Although, for Hamish, that was his usual bedtime – he, um, ‘partied’ *cough cough* until then, often later.

I frown when I realise there is someone quite obviously missing from the list of contacts that have given me their happy birthdays – my best friend, Samuel Jenkins. I try to ignore the stab of hurt that shoots through me – he never forgets; neither of us do. We always remember.

But today he didn’t.

I dress feeling a little put out. I wear a navy blue, halter neck top that leaves my pierced belly button on display and faded (by design) white jeans. As I do my make-up and hair I can’t help but check my phone every minute, hoping that I’ve missed the text ringtone and there’ll be a message waiting for me.

There isn’t. And for some reason it feels important.

I sigh and make my way downstairs where my parents and brother are waiting and smile when they cheer and wish me the same as everyone else. I’m sad that my sister, Eleanor, couldn’t make it because she was tied up with uni, and I can tell that Harry, her twin, misses her too. Harry didn’t go to uni, he threw himself headfirst into an accounting job and was enjoying it immensely. I tend not to ask about it, not being a fan of numbers myself – they make my head hurt.

I hug my parents in turn and offer Harry a grin as we’re not really that kind of siblings. Yesterday night we decided to do presents in the evening after dad got home from work as otherwise I would have had to get up far too early this morning, leading to me being exhausted and grumpy for my birthday – let’s just say I was learning from past experiences.

Harry drops me off at school on his way to work and as soon as I step out of his second-hand Toyota I am assaulted from the side. I stumble under the weight of the thing that has attached itself to my arm and have to put out an arm to steady myself before regaining my balance.

I glance round at the blonde limpet and laugh, shaking her off as she screams ‘IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY!’ at the top of her voice. ‘I know,’ I assure her and pull her into a hug. As I pull away, she grabs my cheek.

‘Eighteen,’ she coos. ‘My little Millie is growing up.’ She wipes a pretend tear from her eye.

I look at her weirdly. ‘Uh, Aimee?’ I say.