The Devil Wears Girl Jeans [BEING EDITED]

The Devil Wears Girl Jeans.

        I think the fact that every single call I'd made in the last 2 months had been to my cheesecake connection guy really said something about how pathetic my summer had been. Actually, the fact that I even had a cheesecake connection guy in the first place really said something about my life as a whole.

There was exactly 3 days left of summer break, and I was spending it by locking my Sims in a room full of ovens until they inevitably set themselves on fire. A pretty spectacular way to use your last few days of freedom, if you ask me. On the other hand, it was a pretty nice day out, so nice that I almost felt guilty for shutting the curtains and climbing back into bed.  

I'd spent the last week in my room, only emerging for food and water. I was like some kind of impressive hybrid between a below-average looking teenage girl, and a reclusive troll. Not even a cool warrior troll, at this point I would probably be the poor troll in charge of shining all the other cooler troll’s armor. It was tough being me.

“Hartley!” my mom called from the top of the stairs, in that phony nice voice that all mom’s use when there’s company over and they’re trying to sound like they didn’t just call you a “nasty gremlin who smells like old milk” less than 15 minutes ago.

“What?”

“Tristan's here. Please tell me you’re wearing pants”

I let out a sigh of relief that I'd actually decided to put pants on this morning, even if they were a part of my atrocious groufit. Grey sweatpants, grey hoodie, and the best part, my grey lacrosse shirt that I'd bought from a thrift store last year to make it look like I was athletic. Part of me was grateful that Tristan had showed up, because for a while there I thought no one was going to get to witness this bad boy of an outfit. The other part of me though, the social part, was going into overdrive after having not been used for such a long time. I could pretty much feel that part of my brain squealing in protest.

“Hey, good to see you're still alive. Quinn and I were making bets on whether or not you'd died.” he said, placing a box of cheesecake on my desk.

Of course, the Quinn in question was none other than Quinn Carr, who I had known for years due to the unfortunate circumstance of him being my best friend’s older brother. However, Quinn had done me the single favour of introducing me to his best friend, which was Tristan, over ten years ago, so I kept him around.

“Physically, I am alive. I am cold and dead on the inside though.”

“God, Hartley. You are so morbid. Honestly, your lack of social skills astonishes me sometimes.” he said, ruffling my hair which looked like it was on its way to becoming full blown dreadlocks pretty soon. I was glad that the mirror was on the opposite end of my room than the computer, because I probably would've cried if I’d had to look at that all summer. Once upon a time, I’d had long blonde hair that at least one or two people had probably envied. Now I looked more or less like I'd been pulled backwards through a hedge.

“So did you come here just to drop off my cheesecake or…?” I inquired, and he grinned, flicking his shaggy chestnut hair out of his eyes. I wasn't sure if it had always been that long, or if I was just the most unobservant person ever, but either way, he looked different. Skinnier, I guess, and taller.