Different With You (An IM5 Story) | ✔️

Chapter 2: Meet Maggie

Magnolia’s POV

 

To say “I told you so” to your sobbing best friend is hard to do. You should let nature take it’s course. Maybe compliment her once in awhile because you know her boyfriend doesn’t. Probably leave a few hints here and there that maybe her relationship wasn’t working. All those things seem pretty practical to do right?

 

To finish what I’m getting at, I am not practical in any way, shape, or form. But when you see Azalea Abel with red eyes and just a smudge of makeup, you can tell something is wrong.

 

This is when things get difficult for me. I can either shut my mouth and not say anything, or do the only Magnolia way to get things done: party. I felt slightly bad for using her for a good party, but it’s not like it’s for my own benefit. It’s all about her. My life will always be around her. She is family, my soul sister. And if I think a party is in order, then a party it must be!

 

“Tell me all about it, hun.” I told her. Lea wiped her eyes, avoiding smudging her newly redone mascara. Azalea was one of the prettiest girls I knew. Her hair was a unique brunette blend and her eyes shined beyond stars. I don’t even know why she put on makeup in the first place. Lea already had long, dark eyelashes and pink, plump lips. She may not be a stick bitch like most of the girls in our school, but it was totally acceptable. Her sense of fashion was way beyond basic t-shirts and ripped jeans and always included those nice blouses and designer jeans. I’m not going to lie, I still have some of those shirts she let me borrow.

 

While my best friend told me about her douchebag of an ex-boyfriend I did a self check. I don’t want to sound selfish but I’ve already heard the rant in my head. To say Azalea was predictable was a lie, but I was her best friend. I was supposed to know these kind of things. First she’d laughed about it. Then she would talk to me like I knew what had already happened. Then she would go into denial. Lastly she’ll cry again and the process repeated. Oh, look. She’s crying. And repeat.

 

We made a left turn onto Lea’s street and followed the line of never-ending trees to the one lifeless yard. Seven perfect green lawns later I pulled my car into her long driveway. I slowly drove past the slightly bent mail post that Lea hit last year and held in my laughter. It’s been months since it happened and I still found it funny. The lawn of Lea’s prim Peach house was slightly wilting from not being worked on. Did they fire another gardener? The last one was pretty hot... “Mom thought the gardener was fooling around with weekend maid. She fired both.” Lea told me. See, this is friendship. I didn’t even have to ask!

 

“But this one was hot!”

 

“So was the last one.” Lea grumbled to me as I pulled up beside a fancy white Audi R8 Spyder. The Audi? Does this mean- “Nate is home.” Lea interrupted my thought.

 

“Yay!” I turned off my baby and slammed the door on my way out. As I waited for Lea to get her stuff out I gazed up at her cheery house. The paint seemed new, even though it’s been the same color of pale brown since I could remember, and the windows were sparkling clean. Not to mention the large garage doors that held the most beautiful secret known to man, hot cars. I felt my mouth water at the thought of Lea’s silver CNG Chrysler 300 SRT8.