Part of Her World

Chapter One

And now here I was, living with her. Just down the hallway from her, in fact.

“Hey, you want some help with unpacking your stuff?” she asked me. “Or is it better if I just get out of the way?”

“Nah, you can finish folding these clothes while I put this stuff away,” I told her, pulling out my shampoo, toothbrush, and other toiletries.

“You can put those in the bathroom,” Spencer told me while stuffing my clothes away exactly the same way I had been doing it just moments before. “We’re sharing it.”

I obeyed, and stuck my toothbrush in the cup at the sink, before going to put my shampoo and soap in the shower. “Hey, Spence,” I called to Spencer. “The shower’s full of all your girly stuff.” There were about five bottles of shampoo alone. And don’t even get me started on the body wash. I swear, I will never understand women.

“Oh, dangit, sorry,” she called back. “I’ll take care of that. It’ll be good in the morning.” I went back to my room, sat my things on the dresser, and went back to packing. Spencer had found my iPod and hooked it up to the docking station, so a song by As I Lay Dying was playing. “The great thing about living in the basement is that no one can tell us to turn the music down, or explain to us in great deal why whatever crap C95 is playing is better,” she explained, flopping down on the bed.

“Who in your family likes C95?” I asked. Spencer was an only child, and I never would have suspected either of her parents to be popular music fans.

“Actually, that was Adelaide,” Spencer said. “You remember Adelaide, right?”

Boy, did I remember Adelaide. Spencer’s best friend and next-door neighbour, Adelaide was certainly something. If Adelaide was a color, she would be a bright coral orange. Spunky, energetic, and ditzy as hell, Adelaide was, as Spencer put it, “a piece of work and a half”. When I first met her, she’d giggled a lot, and tried to convince me she was pregnant. Adelaide was the polar opposite of Spencer. She listened to pop music, straightened her hair, went to parties, wore stylish clothing, and read fashion magazines, while Spencer listened to rock and metal, left her hair to do whatever it wanted after brushing it all out for about five minutes each morning, kept away from social events, wore cotton tee shirts and jeans, and read Edgar Allan Poe. “How could I not?” I replied to Spencer’s question.

“Oh, she is so excited to have you here. If we don’t mention it to her, she might not come over until tomorrow, very latest. She’s going to want to include you in the ‘Preparing for Carmel High’ course. Just a warning, it’s preparation according to the pixie type,” Spencer warned me.

“Didn’t we already go thorough that?” I asked, remembering Adelaide’s description of the local high school at my last visit. She was a year older, and, according to Spencer, used that to educate Spencer about how things work in high school.

“Nope. That was the introduction. And just a warning, it’s preparation for her type. There are about three words in the entire thing that pertain to us. And the entire course takes about a day and a half.”

                “Oh no. Remind how you’re friends with her again?”

                “Same way I’m friends with you. Forced together at birth. But don’t worry, you do get used to it fairly quickly. She’s really great.”

                “Surprisingly, I believe you.”

                “Of course you believe me. I’m your bestie.”

                “Please never ever use that word again,” I told her, giving her a Look.

                “I promise. Although Adelaide is rubbing off on me. Soon enough, I’ll be dragging you to dances with me.”