| Wren's POV. |
I leaned back on the doorway, as my mother argued with the man who brought the different designs for the cabinets.
"NO! I want white!" She shouted, with her bloodshot eyes. "I-I'm so sorry, Mrs. Cunningham, we don't have white.." The stubby man said, petting his bald head. "I'm so sorry that a man like you can't do your goddamn job!" She yelled, swiping the designs from the counter, and storming out of the kitchen.
Finally...she didn't get what she wanted...
I smirk, as the stubby man bent over – groaning – to pick up all the papers.
I passed him, and walked to the refrigerator, and took out a pack of grape popsicles, and went to the living room.
I popped open the pack, and took one out. I needed something cold on this hot ass day... I clicked the on button for the TV. I watched Catfish, and propped my feet on the coffee table.
"I..I just want him...to be HIIIMM!" A young guy on Catfish cried – and very ugly cry. I choked, as I started laughing. The guy scrunched up his pale face, and tear streamed down his cheeks.
I wiped my grapy mouth with the back of my hand, as I ate the rest of the popsicle.
I heard someone come into the living room – Brittany. She was texting on her phone, as she popped bubblegum in her mouth. That was one of the things I hated. Gum popping...
She slumped into the couch, "Hey, I'm meeting a friend, wanna come?" She asked, finally looking up at me.
I shrug. I had nothing else to do on a Saturday...
"Sure. Who's this friend?" I asked, opening another popsicle, keeping my eyes trained on Catfish. "Chelsea Lynch..." Brittany said, texting on her phone. "Where?" I had finished my second popsicle, fortunately, I hadn't had a brain freeze yet.
"Um...at her place.. Up for it?" She asked, putting her bedazzled phone next to her. "Sure...let me go get my jacket..." I say, pausing the TV. I run up the stairs, and grab my leather jacket, from where it sat on my bed.
"Ready!" I say, stuffing my arms into the sleeves. "C'mon.." Brittany leads to her Jeep, and we get in. Before leaving, she hooks up her phone to the radio. Anaconda by Nicki Minaj starts playing – blasting – actually...
Like fifteen minutes of Brittany's terrible song choices, we arrive at another pretty mansion.
In the curved driveway, there is a Lamborghini and Ferrari, waaait.
Lamborghini?
Ferrari?
Lynch?!
Max Lunch?!
Oooh...no!
Brittany stopped her music with the car. "We're here!" She sang, like a cat dying from getting hit by a truck...
I groaned, and rolled my eyes, "How many hours?" I asked. "Um...like two?" She says, getting out without me. I growl, and get out, to follow her in.
She knocks, and about a few seconds later, a bleach blonde comes to the door.
"OMG! BRITTANY!" This must be Chelsea... I rolled my eyes, and grunted. They squealed, and ran into each other's arms – having their own little sad hug.
