Cheers, Mathletes, and Touchdowns

Cheers, Mathletes, and Touchdowns Part Eighteen

A/N: I’ll be using Wattpad’s little crashing problem as an excuse for not writing or uploading, even though in reality I was stuck. I had an epiphany recently and just had to get some stuff out of my head, and solve some personal issues. I realised that life was too short to take any kind of crap (sorry for the language), and that realisation took a lot out of me.

So, we’ll just pretend I had this chapter written out a long time ago and not just on the 26th at 3am, and blame it all on Amazon.

You might recognise some lines here from 90210, but the series is stuck in my head for an unknown reason, and there seemed no better way to get it out.

Getting Shelley to snap out of her (very understandable) funk so she could go back to being the hating, plotting b*tch we all know and probably hate, was the hardest thing I’ve ever made myself do, but hopefully I hope I’ll achieve that with this chapter.

I hope I’ll be able to keep my long-windedness in check and make the next chapter about the party (that should be more fun to write, I think  :P).

Have fun reading.

Celine Dion – Sorry for Love

Part Eighteen

Shelley

Alright, I get it. It’s not my fault.

Or at least, that’s what April spent this week trying to make me understand. I try my best to believe it, but in face of the evidence presented before me, I find that it’s easier said than done.

I had no idea how pathetic I must have seemed in the last couple of days. I mean, I didn’t even take offense at anything that nerdy, boyfriend-stealing whore’s best friend said. Funny enough, it didn’t even register in my brain that I was at the mall. Also, I cried when I told April about the divorce. Why would I do such a stupid thing? I never cry!

I know I never see my parents and I don’t even like them much, but my life had some sort of pattern that was comfortable for everyone, most especially me. I never had to see them as long as I was provided for and nobody butts into my business. But I’ve seen marriages fall apart, and I noticed how annoyingly patronizing the parents become after a divorce. They never get out of the kid’s life or leave them alone. The truth of the matter, however, was that I was scared. I like my life and didn’t want it to change.

I needed a wakeup call, but I didn’t have the gumption to do it myself. But if anything could be said for April’s frantic pacing, I’d say I was about to get one from my best friend. I watched as the last recesses of her calm slipped out of her control and she stopped turning tired, angry eyes at me.

I gave her only a minute before she lost it completely and yelled at me, and some twisted part of me was cheering her on. Come on, let’s face it, I know I’m depressed, but being depressed is so depressingly sad and boring; and the sympathetic, considerate, sensitive April was starting to get on my nerves.

59, 58, 57, 56, 55, I started counting down the minute holding the last of her patience.

April sighed and started pacing again.

54, 53, 52, 51, 50.

I swear she was going to burn a path in that carpet.

49, 48, 47, 46, 45. She stopped finally in front of me and turned now frustrated eyes on me.

44, 43, 42, 41, 40.

“Just snap out of it already!” she yelled.

I would have smiled if I could. She hadn’t even lasted thirty seconds. I gave her too much credit. I don’t know she couldn’t see the obvious, I would love nothing better than to snap out of it, but wallowing seemed easier than manning up and getting on with my life.