Twist

Bailey

The sound of our laughter filled the air as we walked down the busy streets of New York.

"Oh shit," Parker said, interrupting the laughs, "we were supposed to be home 15 minutes ago." I looked up at him, "We are, like, two minutes away, we'll be fine."

Our parents' small, lower-class apartments are next door to each other. My mom is a waitress at a diner three blocks away from our apartment. My dad doesn't have a job at the moment, but he's looking. Parker's mom died when he was four and his dad works at a nursing home upstate.

As Parker and I walked up the stairs to our third floor apartments, we passed my dad. Parker smiled and routinely said "Hey Mr. Scott." My dad stopped and looked at him, "Parker, you've known me for 14 years, you don't have to be afraid to call me Brad!" Parker's face became red, "Mr. Scott, you can be a scary man." I laughed, "Awwwe, Parker! You're still scared of my dad!" My dad turned to me, "Anyways, I'll be home in a couple hours, I'm going to a job interview. Afterwords I'm gonna go grocery shopping. Is there anything you want?" Under my breath I whispered "You to have an actual job." "What was that?" He asked. "Nothing dad," I replied, "I don't want anything. See you later!" I pulled Parker's arm and began running up the stairs. "Clean you're room please!" My dad called after me. "Whatever!" I called back. "I'm serious Bailey!!!" "Okay!"

My room is plain and boring. Parker and I walked in and sat on my bed, which had plain white sheets and a plain white comforter. My window sill has two white colored, vanilla scented candles, a green, leafy plant that I don't know the name of, a cactus, and a bamboo plant. On my plain white nightstand I have a large, white colored, vanilla scented candle (again. I know, I'm basic.), a small, black iHome, and the book "Tender is the Night" by F. Scott Fitzgerald. In the North East corner of my room (point of view from the door) is an old, wood, spray painted white vanity and mirror. In the South East corner of my room is a guitar. On the floor on the right side of the guitar is a record player with a pile of records next to it. On the left side of the guitar on the floor is a violin. This room has no closet for some reason, but I don't mind.

"What do you want to listen to?" Parker asked, crouching in front of my record player. I thought for a few seconds, then responded, "Arctic Monkeys. But you choose which album, I can't decide." He smirked, "Definitely 'Favourite Worst Nightmare'." Arctic Monkeys is basically our thing. You could say we are obsessed.

We sat on my bed, doing our daily thing. We talked for a few hours about everything, argued about stupid things, sat on our phones, and did everything every other teen does.

The only thing that makes everyday different for me, is Parker. He's my best friend. My life is boring, but he's helping me figure out that I want to change that. And the best part is, I know he will be with me the whole time.