The next morning, I woke up before Spencer, and was already showered and making my toast when she walked into the kitchen, her curly hair going in a hundred different directions. She opened the fridge, looked inside, then asked “Is it Sunday?”
“Yes it is,” I told her. “Why?”
“Sunday is Toast Day.”
“What’s Toast Day?” I asked, buttering my toast as Spencer pulled the loaf of bread out of the breadbox.
“The day when I run out of muesli, so I eat toast for breakfast.”
“Well then the toaster is all yours,” I told her, animatedly motioning to the toaster.
“Why thank you kind sir,” she said in the most pretentious fake accent I had ever heard. As she put her bread into the toaster, then fiddled with the toaster settings, she reached behind her to rub her lower back, lifting up the hem of her shirt and exposing some painfully red skin in the process.
“Nice tubeburn,” I teased. “Now what’s your view on wetsuits?”
“That they turn people into assholes with painless backs,” she retorted miserably.
“That is hilarious. My new favorite Spencer moment,” I laughed.
“You shut up or you’ll be finding your way to school on your own on Tuesday,” she threatened.
I laughed. “Like you know where you’re going as it is,”
“Fine then. I’ll spread rumours about you so no one wants to date you or even be your friend.”
“You don’t have a mean bone in your body.”
“I have read The Cask of Amontillado and am perfectly capable of re-creating it.”
“I doubt it.”
“But would you like to risk it?”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Pass the jam.”
“What?” Spencer always did that. We’d be going back and forth, and she’d catch me off guard with some random comment.
“Pass the strawberry jam. My toast is done.”
“Of course it is,” I mumbled, passing her the jam. “Have you got your class schedule yet?’
“Of course I have. We got them with our report cards at the end of last year.”
“Then we should compare schedules.”
“Don’t think for one second that I will be your guide around the school. We’re going to need Adelaide for that.” Almost as if on cue, the doorbell rang. When Spencer opened it, Adelaide walked in.
“Nice hair,” she told Spencer.
“Thank you, but I have trouble believing you came over to compliment my hair,” Spencer said sarcastically.
YOU ARE READING
Part of Her World
Teen FictionSpencer and Ethan have been friends since they weren't even six months old, but distance, bridged only by email, cell phones and occasional visits, has kept them apart. But soon Ethan's family plans to from the city to Carmel, the small town where S...
