wrong number.

twenty-three;

arizoné.

Now that Jahseh and Ski ruined our prank plans, Pump and I just sat on my bed talking and smoking. We weren't even talking about anything. Just some dumb shit.

"Pump?"

"Hm?"

"What language do deaf people think in?"

"The universal langauge."

"What the fuck is that?"

"The hell if I know," he shrugged.

"Then-" I cut myself off by laughing. Pump started laughing too.

"Ari, your laugh is fucking ugly," he said in between gasps.

"How are you talking? Your laugh sounds like someone thats outta shape just ran a mile."

"Oh shit, you tryna roast?"

•••

I woke up the next morning, halfway off of the bed. I looked down at the floor to see Pump snoring. He was slumped. I got off the bed and stood, quietly walked to my closet and pulling out some shorts, a crop top, and above-knee socks.

Tip-toeing around Pump, I made my way to the bathroom to do my morning routine. I brushed my teeth and did my little skin care routine after taking off last nights makeup. After I took care of that, I hopped in the shower. Since I'm that person, I started singing Estelle's American Boy.

"I just met this five foot seven guy who's just my type
I like the way he's speaking, his confidence is peaking
Don't like his baggy jeans, but I might like what's underneath them"

At that moment, Wifi bust into the bathroom. "Ari?"

"Hmm?"

"You like my nigga Ski?"