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Do you know that moment when you are 73 weeks deep from stalking someone's Instagram and you're really trying hard to control your thumb from double tapping the screen or else you'll be doomed. Well, my state is obvious. I am sitting still on the bleachers, my phone tightly clasped on my hands as I cautiously scroll down someone's pictures.

I multi-tasked and shuffled my playlist—causing it to play 'Glad You Came' by The Wanted—and I groaned as quite as possible so that Angela couldn't hear it. She was transfixed on whatever she's reading right now so I am not planning on disturbing her from her little bubble.

Focusing my attention back to stalking, I stopped at 80 weeks and took a moment to study a picture of him and a girl that I really dislike without a definite reason. His arm was indolently draped on her shoulders securely, their bodies squeezed together as if they were afraid of detachment. Huge grin adorned both of their striking faces.

I scoffed at the comments saying that they looked perfect together. Well, they do but let's face it, nobody's perfect. Hannah Montana knows best.

As if the world was turning against me and my own carpals, metacarpals, and phalanges move at its own accord—betraying my brain unpredictably—I stare in utmost revulsion as the stupid red heart appeared on my screen (I nonsensically double tapped the picture on accident). I could feel my blood draining out as I take short rasp breaths.

"[Yn]? What's wrong?" Angela asked, concern flashing through her eyes. Her gaze dropped at my shaking hands and then back to my fear-stricken face. "Did someone die?"

I blacked out everything. My mind was a whirlpool of thoughts and I can feel myself drowning. This is it. I am going to move to Las Vegas, change my identity, and adopt a cat named, Bob. I deliberately look at my friend histrionically. "How can I change my identity illicitly?"

Angela's face lit up for a quick second but then she frowned the second I blinked. "I have a friend—Okay, what it happening?"

Sighing, I handed to her my phone. She quickly grabbed and check what the fuss is all about. I watched as her expression change. At first, her face was painted with excitement, then her eyes went wide as her jaws slacked in surprise, lastly, she returned the phone to me with an empathetic grimace.

"I swear I am innocent." I put my hands up in the air in surrender. "My fingers betrayed me."

"You were stalking Greyson." She whispered in great bewilderment.

A heat spread through my cheeks and I scoffed indignantly. "I did not."

Her head whip back to glare at me. I was scared that she'd break her neck. "You are beyond doubt lying. If you are not stalking then what do you call it then?"

"I am not stalking him, I simply gather information for specific purposes."

"And what kind of specific purposes?"

Before I could answer, Keisha showed and I exhaled a breath of relief. She really is a life saver.

"Hey, guys. You seem to have an intriguing exchange here. Mind if I join in?" She asked, plopping herself between us. Angela is still crossing her arms, narrowing her eyes at me shadily. "Angela, why are you staring like that? Ooh, do you have your Sherlock mode on? Gossips! Me love some!"

"Um, Keisha!" I called out loudly to avert her attention from Angela. "Aren't you practicing right now?"

She shrugged involuntary. "We're taking a break. Seriously, I'd rather spend time heeding to Angela's bothersome perception of how we have different sizes of boobies than to hang out with some Barbie wannabes. If I hear them gloat one more time, I am going to crush them."

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