The Devil Wears Girl Jeans [BEING EDITED]

The Devil Wears Girl Jeans (Chapter 18)

"I'm the F to the E, R, G, the I, the E, and can't no other lady put it down like me ,"

My body jolted into unwelcome consciousness, and I let out a noise that sounded similar to a duck caught in a bicycle tire. My heart hammered in my chest as I took a slow, disoriented look around my room, my brain swimming with thoughts, not a single one of them coherent .

“Im Fergalicious, so delicious, but I ain't promiscuous...”

My phone buzzed happily on my desk, and I stared at it, not completely believing that I was actually awake. According to my clock, it was 4:45 in the morning, which meant that whoever was calling me this early was willing to risk being punched in the face just to get a hold of me.

“What the hell do you want?” I growled, but all I heard on the other end of the line was panting, as if someone was running. I waited a second, and was just about to hang up when someone spoke.

“Hartley? You have 30 seconds to get ready and get outside, go go GO.”

“But I'm tired,” I whined, and there was a frustrated sound from the other end.

“You can sleep in the car, just GO.”

There was a click as he hung up, and I groaned, debating whether or not I should get back into bed, or go outside. I decided that it had to have been pretty urgent to get me to haul my ass out of bed this early, and so I angrily stuffed the bottoms of my sweatpants into my combat boots before swinging through the kitchen and grabbing half of a stale cheese scone. I jogged towards the front door, desperately trying to get my arm into my hoodie and eat at the same time.

"C'mon c'mon lets go, LETS GOOOO." Tristan yelled from the drivers seat of his car, and I practically dove inside, miraculously managing not to drop my cheese scone. He sped off down the street before I even got a chance to close my door, and I angrily slammed my seat belt into the little seat belt slit thingy with more force than necessary.

“You are such a douchebag and I hate you.” I greeted him, and he smiled at me warmly. “I was sleeping, and was having a very nice dream, actually. You know what made it nice? The fact that you weren't in it, because its very hard to like someone who drags you out of bed at 4 in the morning for no apparent reason. Also, did you change my ring tone to Fergalicious? Because you know I don't like being reminded of that particular time in my life.”

“Wait, are you talking about that time where you called everything Fergalicious for an entire year? I'd totally forgotten about that, but thanks for giving me something new to make fun of you for.”

I turned a deep shade of scarlet, and pulled my head into my hoodie, turtle style. When I was in 6th grade, I'd referred to everything, and I mean everything as Fergalicious, because I thought it made me cool, and I'd wanted to impress one of the 7th grade guys. More specifically, Tristan.

When I was younger, every single girl in elementary school had had a crush on Tristan, because he ate worms and could go down the big slide backwards, which basically labelled him as a bad ass. I'd wanted him to like me so badly that I basically shadowed him wherever he went, and I'd made him an anonymous pop-up Valentine card that said “I think you're Fergalicious,” inside. It wasn't one of my best moments.