Okay guys. WE’VE REACHED A HUNDRED READS!!!!
I FUDGING LOVE YOU ALL!!!!!
I’m calm. I’m cool (not really) So here’s a rather early update for you my loves and this chapter is dedicated to all you who are reading this. I truly, madly, deeply appreciate it!
Oh! And the term “AHRA” was thought up by my fluffy little monkey bear editor! (and she said she hated thinking) You’ll understand that term soon, I promise. Onwards to Spartaaaaa!!!
Nah. I’m kidding.
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I woke up, feeling strange. I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was that was making me feel like this. Auuuuuuuuuuuugh.
Maybe you’re about to be visited by the ketchup rain? My V.O.R. enlightened me. Good to see she’s back.
Where were you when I fell on Pizza Hottie? I asked her, extremely annoyed.
I suffered AHRA when I saw him.
AHRA? What on this good Oreo-ridden earth is that?
Acute Hopeless Romantic Attack genius .
So, you were fangirling?
Yep. Pretty much. Now quit procrastinating and get up, you still have school today.
Alright, alright miss bossy-pants, geez. Taking my Voice Of Reasons advice, I got up to get ready for another day of school.
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Walking around school without the guys kind of made me feel...free. But a bit lonely.
They had this program they were required to attend for college. It was supposed to help them pick out what they wanted to take up and to see what college offered the best education for it. The whole program took up the majority of the morning which explained their absence.
Nobody still got close to me, which sucked. I mean, come on, do they really have to take Blake seriously? He’s my goofy older brother, but, then again, he’s my older brother, not theirs.
They don’t know about his fear of spiders. They don’t know his favorite artist is Christina Perri. They don’t know he peed his pants on my seventh birthday because my parents hired Barney to come. To them, he’s the Mighty Blake Jordan Jones, athlete, player, popular guy. All labels and power. Typical.
Seeing as I had time to kill, I headed off to check out the library. I’ve been meaning to but something told me bringing the guys there would be a big problem seeing as they couldn’t keep their traps shut.
Opening the doors, I was greeted by air conditioned air (redundant?) and the smell of books. Now, if you weren’t a book lover, you wouldn’t know that books had this wonderfully specific smell to them that is heaven to us bookworms. I walked up to the librarians desk to sign my name in.
“Hi, excuse me, where do I sign?” I asked the retro woman. She was wearing this flowery white top that was cinched tight at the waist with long sleeves that were tight on the upper arm but flowed down after they reached the elbows. She was also wearing matching white pants that, again, were tight at the legs but flowed down at the knees. I couldn’t see her shoes but I bet they were just as retro, which, was honestly the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. She offered me a very heartwarming smile. I looked at the name plaque at her desk. Even her name sounded retro. It read: Ms. Delilah Jenkins.
