My phone rang. It was Chester, tired of my moping. He screamed, “Cheer up, emo kid!” in my ear, like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. I flopped onto my couch, sighing. “How long did it take for you to come up with that gem?” “Not long. Lily always calls you that, so I thought it would be funny if I did too.” “Lillian is retarded, dear.” “Touché.” “Sometimes I wish I could reach through phones and slap the dumbass on the other end of the call.” “Ouch. So mean. Stop moping already. No one’s going to see your chi-chis…” “Chester! Don’t mention the unspeakable bastards!” He cracked up. “Wow. Just…wow. You should dig out that ‘Would You Rather…?’ book and get on Stickam or Twitter and ask people things.” “Holy shit. You actually had a good idea!” I applauded. “Bitch. I’ll come over and shove my good idea up your ass.” “Oooh, careful. I might like that…” “Weirdo. I’m coming over. Bye.” I could hear the eye roll in his voice as he hung up. I dropped my phone on the coffee table and got up to fix my makeup and find that goddamned book. My long black and blue hair was teased at the top, and fell straight around my face. It looked fine, so I didn’t bother it, but my makeup looked like a hot mess. I re-outlined my eyes with thick, dark strokes, making the warm chocolate color of my eyes look like liquid in the light. My black lipstick was missing, and I wasn’t entirely convinced that Chester hadn’t stolen it. There was a knock at my door. “That’s not the secret knock!” I yelled, quoting one of my favorite movies, Stand By Me. I kept digging for my lipstick, coming across it as Chester returned with “I forgot the secret knock!” I applied a quick coat of lipstick, and rushed to the door. “I see you remembered the password at least…” “Password? Are we four?” “Fuck no.” I laughed. “So, you gotta help me find that book. It disappeared after our last drunk question session.” “If it disappeared while we were drunk, check in the sleeper sofa. Things always manage to find their way in there when we drink.” I hadn’t looked there, so I went over and pulled the cushions off the couch, and pulled out the bed. There was a pair of zebra aviators I’d lost, Gabe’s missing red rosary, a few neon plastic shot glasses, and the book. “Is my couch the party lost & found?” “Pretty much.” I shook my head. “So, where should we do this broadcast at?” He pondered for a moment. “Your bedroom. On the bed.” “Ugh. Let me guess, you want to call it “In bed with Our Cathartic Threnody” or something?” “Nope, but that’s a better idea than what I had.” I put my hands on my throat and pretended to choke myself. “Haha. Drama queen.” He rolled his eyes, and I flipped him off. “Ow. That hurts so much…” He sniffed in mock indignation. I tossed the ‘Would You Rather…?’ book at him, and he caught it. “Ugh. Come on loser, let’s go vlogging.” “A ‘Mean Girls’ reference, really?” I nodded. “Yes, Regina…” “I AM NOT REGINA GEORGE!” “I rest my case.” He picked up my laptop and pulled up Twitter.
“@immortalmorte: Stickam show in 10. @acidicdreaming will be naked ;D”
“Gross. Now we won’t get any viewers.” He flipped me off and opened Stickam. “Get your ass on the bed before I do this all by myself.” “Actually, why don’t you? I need to pack for tour.” He did the broadcast by himself, whining that it was no fun without me.
