To @JessGirl93 because her stories can make anyone fall in love.
I never thought my best friend Roderick a.k.a "Red" would spend hours crying on the floor of George Watson High's girls comfort room.
Everything is just wrong in this picture because 1.) He's a guy—although he would always debate to whoever stupid enough to call him a "guy" (that would be me) that he's a girl trapped inside a man's body. 2.) He locked the door so no one can enter despite having a lot of angry knocks from the girls who desperately need to pee or just have to look at themselves in the mirror for every thirty freaking minutes. I mean, it is not like their face would suddenly change into something grotesque after being exposed to the outside world for just a couple of minutes, right?
3.) He's wailing loudly inside the stall on the farthest side, the one for the disabled persons, because compared to the other stalls, it's quite big. It enables him to sprawl on the floor. 4.) By wailing, I mean he is singing in his hoarse voice mixed with his dramatic sobs, Miss Moving On by Fifth Harmony. To be honest he sounds like a choking donkey, and I keep telling him that but he would just go full blast if we insult him. 5.) Although nobody can see us, April and I, who are currently knocking on Red's bathroom stall to stop him, and fine, giving soothing words to calm the mad man—I mean, woman—that she is right now, am very embarrassed by our best friend's tantrum.
I cannot even imagine coming out of this C.R. without having a hundred of daggers sent towards us. Talk about a walk of shame. It would be as if the whole student body caught us pooping extraterrestrial matter from Mars that smells intensely horrid and is the reason why the whole air of this planet is polluted.
"I'll never be that girl again, No-whoa-oh, and I," sings Red at the top of his lungs never minding that the people outside can still hear him. I slide on the floor in frustration and April eventually gives up and plops on the counter in front of the mirror, pulling out her book from her favorite old brown messenger bag.
The old me would be irritated by her deciding to read a book in the middle of a situation like this. I mean come on, this isn't the time to read Pride and Prejudice or Romeo and Juliet love story, or whatever. Besides, who even reads a book inside a public comfort room anyway? However, after years of being friends, I am now used to her irritating habit to "nerd-out" in unlikely situations.
On the other hand, Red still continues to sing as if he is having a concert. Well, who said singing in the shower would limit only in the house, the school's C.R. suits him just fine.
However, I am a very impatient person; and I cannot any longer tolerate his drama. We have been here for almost three hours now that everybody is probably in the field for the Frisbee Championship game. I cannot afford to miss that game, ever. I'm probably going to kill Red if—God forbids—we miss it.
So when he sings again the only line he knows of the song: I will never be that girl—
"YOU'RE NOT EVEN A GIRL!" I shout that out to cut him off rather abrasively.
I don't care if I hurt his feelings now, I already ran out of kind words to sort-of help him out. I know the "advises" I gave him a while ago were all in vain, I know he's still too drunk in hurt to comprehend to any of those.
I mean, that's what people with heartbreaks do, right? They want people to give them advises to help them move on but will not really follow it. Like seriously, I wasted my saliva for you.