It's a [B]oy g[I]rl Thing (re-writing)

P A R T - 3

On that Sunday afternoon my parents left for a trip to Minneapolis.  There was some history exhibit that they wanted to visit and it was only going to be there for a few days.  My mom was a history teacher and my dad was an archaeologist.  Sam and I would secretly talk about how all of these historian gatherings they went to were actually time when they could contact the mother ship without us humans finding out. That conversation may have been after several hours of smoking with Jared, but it was still accurate.

On Sunday I woke up with somewhat of a positive attitude. I had come home the night before with Sam and then fallen asleep. Apparently I was way more tired then I first thought. The next morning I woke up to the sound of my alarm. For some reason I had an alarm set for Sunday morning. I sat up in bed and leaned over the excessive amount of pillows and picked up my iPod, where the annoying beeping sound was coming from.  There on the screen, in front of my Kellin Quinn background was a label that read ‘Haha.’ That was it, no explanation, but ‘Haha.’

I looked at the clock above the little banner and realized that it was only 10 am. I could have slept for another 2 or three hours, but since I was up there was no going back to sleep. That was the weird thing about me. And whoever had set the alarm had known that.

I sighed and then plugged my iPod into the dock. I wasn’t sure why but I felt like that morning was a Beatles and painting kind of morning.

I turned on the music and pulled on my faded white v-neck I always painted in. I pulled up my desk stool to my easel and took out the paint brush. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to paint so I just let my brush travel over the rough canvas. I just kept adding colors and water.

I was so involved in the painting that I didn’t even hear Sam walk into my room. Then I heard his voice come out of nowhere. “Paint me like one of your French girls!”

I jumped a little and looked up at him. He was lying on my bed, with his head propped up on his hand. “What the hell?” I asked, smiling slightly.

“What do you mean? I want you to paint me. Do it Livie!” He smiled and adjusted his position on the bed. “Is this lighting OK?”

“Go away.” I said shaking my head and looking at the abstract piece of art work in front of me. I had managed to paint a picture of an apple in a tree, but it was abstract and black and white.  

“I don’t want to.” He said, flailing his arms and laying on the bed, his head buried in the pillows.

“Don’t you have friends?” I asked as I put my finished painting on the window seat to dry.

“Fuck no.” He said laughing and sitting up, pulling my iPod dock onto his lap. He started to change the channel to a faster beat of music; apparently The Beatles weren’t doing it for him.

“Where’s Adam?” I asked, taking out a fresh canvas and setting it up on the easel. 

“Riley’s in town today, so I was ditched.” He set down the dock and walked over to the my window seat, looking at the painting.

“That’s weird, who would pick sex over a friend date?” I asked sarcastically looking up at him and he put his hands on his hips, examining the painting.

“You.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, a bit taken a back. Then I set down the brush on the desk and watched him as he slowly turned towards me.

“Are you kidding me? You completely ditched Jared for Mandy.”

“That’s untrue.” I said, looking back at the painting. I still felt awful about the look on his face as I walked up those stairs. I knew that Jared hated her, but I slept with her anyways.