"Quinland." Three rapid knocks.
"Quinland." Three rapid knocks.
"Quinland." Three rapid knocks.
"OH MY GOD, I'm coming!" a voice saturated with irritation finally sounded.
Heavy footsteps pounded towards the door and I listened as the deadbolt and chain were being unlocked from the inside of the apartment of which I stood outside. Without opening the door, the footsteps started up again, receding farther into the abode. How rude, I commented to myself. I pushed the door open and closed it behind me once I was inside. I proceeded through the dimly lit apartment with ease. Pretty much everything around me, I was aware of it. There was the low-as-shit glass coffee table in front and to the left of me. It had been broken once or twice because of careless passersby. Then, of course, there was the leg of an armchair that stuck oddly out into the walkway. For most people, if you didn't trip over or step through the coffee table, you caught the leg of the chair and face-planted into the hard wood floor. If you were lucky enough to pass both of those up, you were, ninety-nine percent of the time, going to end your little jaunt through Quinland's apartment by facepalming the corner of a fireplace. As in, your face would slam into the corner of the fireplace as you tried to enter Quinland's room or her kitchen. Honestly, I think the people who designed the apartment complex were really half-assed. Me being me, Quinland's best friend, however, I navigated the apartment with ease.
I stopped at her bedroom doorway and observed the scene. Quinland, in all her sleep-riddled glory, lay sprawled across her bed in nothing but underwear and a bra. Quite classy, this one was. "You watch way too much Big Bang Theory," Quinland mumbled into her comforter.
"You sleep in too little clothing. See? I'm not trying to deny the truth," I shot back. We stayed silent for a few seconds without change. Then I decided I'd had enough of Quinland's stubborn attitude, so I walked around her bed and to her windows. I threw the curtains open without trying to quiet the sound of the rings sliding over the metal poles. "Get the fuck up," I deadpanned. Quinland sighed, still lying face down. She lifted her head and glared at me.
"You know, I sure as fuck have an idea of where you can shove all that sunshine," she hissed. "Why didn't you just use your key to get in?" She stood up and began rifling through her half-opened closet. She pulled a shirt over her head and a pair of shorts onto her legs. "Could've spared me the possibility of being seen by Mrs. Winter's little kid by just coming in, easing me awake, and being nice about it."
"I was trying to spare you that possibility by making you answer the door," I replied. With a shaking head she exited the room and walked into the kitchen. Her black hair hung in messy strands from a bun at the back of her head. She yawned while sliding a K-cup into her coffee maker. I pulled up a seat at the kitchen's island and watched as she did the same, propping her head in her hands on the countertop. She yawned again. "What time is it, anyway?"
"About 8:30, the last time I checked," came my automated reply. We went through the motions every morning, but it somehow never got old. It was our little routine, effective for us.
"I still don't know how you can get up at six o'clock in the morning," Quinland commented. I shrugged. She rolled her eyes and turned around, grabbing her cup of coffee. She sipped until a sudden thoughtful look sprung upon her face. "Oh," she began, voice alert, "after you left last night, I got a text from my cousin Rory. Remember my cousin Rory?"
"Queen Rorigan of Cardigans, sure," I affirmed in a low voice, using a nickname conjured up about the redhead with an infatuation with the sweaters.
"So," she continued on unperturbed, "he texted me last night saying his friend's band was playing at South By So What?!—that great big metal fest, you know?" I nodded. "Well, his friend gave him two or three extra VIP passes, and... he told me I could use two of them. Cheyanna and Kres both have things to do the days of the festival, so I wanted to ask you to go with me." She beamed over the marble top at me.
YOU ARE READING
The Second Chance Theory
Teen Fiction"I was a broken girl. I acknowledge the fact that I was horribly so. Yet now I stand before the world as someone changed, someone changed by the sheer power of love provided by those who cared for me, and I them. I'm better, and I always will be." L...
