Chapter Four: Monday Mayhem

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Chapter Four:

Monday Mayhem

If it weren’t for Meredith, I would be nothing.

That has been my mantra for years.

Because it’s true, Meredith made me. Ever since she took pity on me at her fourth birthday party, she has made me the woman I am today.

Without her, I am nothing.

It’s a harsh way of putting things, but she gave me humour and love and laughter. She has been my stress ball. Refusing to let me crumble under social pressure.

I am not cool or super talented or anything that is worth holding the array of hunger students’ attention. They feed on others misery for five minutes of undiluted entertainment. And without Meredith, I would have been one of those hungry students.

Feasting on the flesh of social standing.

So it is not much of a price when she demands something from me, or tells me what to do with my hair and what to wear.

She is a ruthless dictator of Grenver High, but damn does she look good in her six inch Mary Jane’s and classy pencil skirt.

All she asks is that she drives to school; she claims that by being seen in my ‘Rust Bucket’, severe cool points will be revoked.

And I don’t mind. In fact it is a preferred evil. With her BMW’s plush white leather seats and crystal clear radio signal. Sure her singing isn’t up to par, but she sure can rock it.

Monday’s are the worst day.

The day after my Walk of Shame and I thank the heavens that she likes to talk or I’m sure I‘d be getting the third degree.

“So, I’ve ordered the Caesar salad and this cute waiter is giving me the eye, when dad’s cell start chirping like mad and then out of his seat he shoots and I’m forgotten. His –should be first priority – daughter is left trying not to burst into tears.

“Then he has the cheek to look sorry when he tells me there’s a jet waiting for him to fly him off to Hawaii ‘pronto’. God, I could have clawed his eyes out! But he tells me he’ll be back as soon as and that’ll we’ll continue our little rendezvous when he manages to supply me some of his precious time.”

Meredith has gone from sobbing-sadness, to red-faced angry in less than twenty-four hours. Not that it’s unexpected, this happens every time.

I listen as she sobs down the phone at how unfortunate her life is and then in the car ride to school the next day, I listen as she threatens certain death.

“But at least I got cute-waiter number!” She sing-songs, waving her phone with a saucy smile. “He really was cute. And perfect for a little ‘Mission-Make-Danny-Drool-With-Envy’. It’ll totally work this time.”

Oh, so clueless.

If she wasn’t my friend, I’d dare calling her desperate.

“Sure.” I mumble through a mouthful of my cinnamon bun and she roll her eyes, taking a sharp turn into the student parking lot.

She cuts into her large space near the front and shoves her Gucci handbag at me.

“Time for my entrance.”

The dreaded visor comes down and she fiddles with a misplaced hair before swinging her car door open and floating up.

She practically glows as her red-hot heels scrap the paving and she sighs at the swiftly turning heads.

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