Cobalt

1:3

Cobalt

1;3

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(Original playlist in external.)

        As I enter past the front doors of Sunridge for what seems like the hundredth time this week, I smile. This is a bad idea. But I so happen to love bad ideas. Yeah, I'm gonna have to deal with a ticked-off, now bankrupt Frances and a cheater of a father, but in this moment, none of that seems to be relevant.

        Adrenaline flows through my veins effortlessly as I fidget with the plastic card in my jean's front pocket. This was gonna be great. I can't wait to see Frances' fuming eyes and wrinkles creased on her forehead when she realizes. She deserves all that's coming to her.

        Lance stops on his heels and points to Roots with a puppy look glued to his face. Usually, I would've rolled my eyes and told him to go on his own, but with an open mind and an open wallet, I tread after him past the clear glass doors accentuated by oakwood and gawk at the countless clothing pieces on hooks.

        "No offence here Brookie, but this doesn't seem quite up your alley," Marshall mutters under his breath as he follows me, looking at salt and pepper style sweatpants.

        "Let me let you in on a little secret, Marshall," I begin to say as I check the price tag on the loose fitting pants, looking for the size. Once I find a medium, I balance the hanger against my phone as I begin looking at other overpriced shirts. "I've got revenge to plot in the form of maxing out a credit card, and so if you want me to buy you shit, I suggest you be real nice to me."

        A smirk emerges on Marshall's face as he glances out of the corner of his eye and notices Lance consumed in cozy cardigans and hats. "Why is it that I'm the only one getting this offer?"

        I look down to the ground as I pout. I didn't think I would get this far. A lady and her children pass us, the hood of her fur jacket brush briskly against my cheek. The song playing fades out into a Cage the Elephant song and my eyes light up. Although I can barely hear it because of it being drowned out by the sound of scanners picking up the bar codes in bleeps and the ear piercing sound  of hangers rubbing against each other, I still smile. Indie music is getting popular.

        Marshall seems to notice it too, tapping his foot to the beat of the song as a shirt hanging on the back wall catches his eye.

        "Because Lance is no fun," I shoot back, a grin of my own growing on my lips. 

        "And I am?" He inquires, making his way past countless obstacles getting in the way of him and that plain black shirt with a Tom Thompson emblem on the left chest pocket. I swear, he almost gets stabbed in the chest by multiple hangers because of how little leg room there is in the store.

        Aesthetic-wise, the store is great. It looks like it's taken straight out of a vintage tumblr page with the oak wood walls and flooring, green accents every now and then and moose antlers serving a purpose as wall art.

        But quality-wise, it's an obstacle course.

        "You're about as selfish as I am," I begin to say, "which means you won't try to guilt trip me into returning everything, unlike Lance."

        Marshall tries to get the shirt down, but even with his insane 6'4 height, he can't unhook the shirt from the rack. I wave on one of the cashiers and notice Lance making his way towards us.

        "I'm pretty sure it's just cause you like me more," he replies just before a cashier - who goes by the name of Lily, as her name tag declares - approaches us.