Excuse the mistakes
dedicated to saxophone_smarty who made the cover on the side!
PLEASE READ THE IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END!
"We need to leave."
My good hand gripped Olive's shoulder, and I turned her from looking at my piece to looking at me. I probably looked a little frantic, but can you blame me? I just found out that I was an angry and unreasonable bitch to someone who didn't deserve it. I was feeling just a tad frantic.
"Oh my god," Olive said, noticing immediately, "Are you okay?"
"No," I replied, shaking me head. "No, but I don't have time to explain right now. Can we leave, and I'll tell you in the car?"
"Just give me some notion of why we're leaving in the middle of this art reception?" Olive asked, putting her hands on her hips, "Because, like, I get this is a come and go at your own leisure type of even, and we've been here for a decent amount of time, but the food is good and I haven't finished looking at the paintings."
I pursed my lips in frustration, and I took a deep breath. I loved Olive, but sometimes she did not understand urgency. "Basically, I fucked up with Duke," I stated, and then I gestured towards the door, "Can we go?"
"Yeah," Olive replied, obviously confused but also intrigued.
"Awesome," I said, and I grabbed her wrist and lead her through the crowd of people.
We wove between mingling bundles until we cam to the door, and I took one last look at the art gallery. I was proud of what I had achieved, and I couldn't help but love the fact that a reception had been thrown to honor a competition I had won. Tomorrow, I'd come back, but right now, I needed to fix things with the person that had had helped me win.
Olive and I walked outside, and we hurried around the building to where we had parked. As soon as we were both inside, buckled, and the car was on, Olive turned to me. "Alright," she said, hand on the gear shift, "Where to? Point me in a direction and then explain."
"Yes ma'am," I replied, and I pulled my phone out.
I thought for a moment, trying to figure out my course of action. The obvious choice was to call Duke, but when I did, the phone went straight to voicemail. There wasn't a ring, which made me think it was off, and that was just fantastic. I groaned, reevaluated, and then dialed my mom's phone number. She answered on the third ring.
"What do you want?"
"Hello to you, too, Ma," I replied.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she replied sarcastically, "Hello, Harper dearest, whom I love. What can I ever do for you?"
"Much better," I said with a strained laugh, "I just wanted to know if the car was still in the driveway."
"No," she stated, "Duke came by and picked it up. Why?"
"I forgot something in the glove compartment," I fibbed, "It's kinda important, though, so do you know where Duke went?"
"He mentioned getting dinner with football guys and the park," my mom recounted slowly, "I think they're doing some weird testosterone ritual."
"Sounds perfect," I said, "I'll talk to you later. Thanks!"
YOU ARE READING
Not His GirlTeen Fiction
There are two things Harper Lynch wasn’t expecting when she made out with an attractive stranger at her aunt’s wedding. One: He would show up on her doorstep two weeks later as the son of an old family friend. Two: That he would be staying in her h...