The shop where I work was arm robbed a few weeks ago. How that for life imitating art? I shouldn't joke really, it was horrible at the time, I didn't leave the house for three days after. But now I'm pretty much over it :) Anyway usual excuses, sorry it took so long, I'm a bad person, next one will be quicker, etc etc…

Chapter 7 – Crazy Girls

"Jesus Andy would you stop pacing for one minute you're driving me mad here."

I stop in the centre of the lounge and look nervously at Tiffany's irritated expression, slumped over the couch, craning her neck in attempt to see past me to the TV, which I realise I subconsciously paced in front of for the sixth time in the past ten minutes. Casey was laid out, half asleep with her bare feet resting on her mom's legs, on the armrest next to her, hair covering half of her face and arms folded under her neck. I can't help but feel that the two of them are being extremely indifferent considering that I'm supposed to be setting off for my interview and possible first shift at my new job in mere minutes. Or maybe I'm overreacting? No, that can't be it.

"Andy calm down you'll be fine," Came Nathan's voice from the kitchen area. Since Tiffany and Casey were hogging the couch and Brandon had set himself on the armchair long before anyone else arrived Nathan and the girls had been forced to sit at the kitchen counter. "And if you're not at least you're safe in the knowledge that Gemma Pike is more functional in the real world then you despite her one-point-zilch GPA and pot habit."

"Hey, that's my sister!" Hollie gasps from the stool opposite.

"Am I lying?"

She utters unheard words under her breath before trailing off into silence. Nathan, wearing an expression informing us all that teasing me brings him way too much pleasure, casually sips his can of soda without removing his gaze from my anxious figure. If Tiffany's casualness in the face of my trepidation annoyed me then the arrogant attitude and amused smile Nathan had brought with him was really pissing me off. I mean, did no one understand how important this was? I know a stupid little job in a convenience store may seem silly to other people but this was a huge thing to me. And no one cared! I grimace at him, determined not to let him win.

"Not that I don't appreciate the moral support but why are you guys here again?"

"You say that a lot you know…"

"I don't care. Why?" Maybe that sounded a littler meaner then I intended but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Told Brandon I'd introduce him to some next-gen gamer stuff, wipe that smile off his face once and for all." He kicks the black rucksack at his feet, indicating that either his PlayStation, X-box or Wii is packed in there. "So while you're working you ass off we'll be sat around killing Nazis, aliens or The Taken depending on what mood I'm on?"

"The Taken?" Brandon asks unexpectedly, apparently much more alert now he's being included in conversation.

"I'll explain later, it's kind of a long game."

There's another brief silence which seems to last forever. These seem to be occurring more and more frequently and becoming more and more unbearable as time creeps on. Nathan gulps his drink. Casey yawns. Hollie plays with her hair.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"Jesus Christ! It's time to go before I snap and kill you! Brandon seriously get the car keys and get him out of here!" Tiffany half yells, pushing herself roughly to her feet, causing Casey to squeak as she's displaced from her slumberous position. She stands square in front of me and, for a second, I fear she might hit me. I actually flinch when she raises her hands to straighten the collar of my shirt. "Now remember be yourself but be polite, shake her hand firmly and it's not the end of the world if you don't get it, alright?"

"Yeah thanks," I wheeze a little embarrassed.

"And don't let Gemma freak you out before you go in, you know what she's like just ignore her." Hollie says.


"And don't do that hands-in-pocket, rocking backwards and forwards thing you do when you're intimidated, it makes you look stupid" Lottie adds.


"And don't make any lame jokes 'cause she won't be impressed." Nathan.


"And you might want to do an once-over on your hair before you-"

"Guys! I get it! Thank you!" I yell over the three of them. God, sometimes they can be infuriating.

They all look very pleased with themselves.

"Got the keys," Brandon smiles, jingling them in his fingers. "Good to go?"

Yes. God yes. There's a chorus of "good lucks" and "you'll be fines" as we exit the apartment. I'm glad to be out of there for a fraction of a second until I remember where it is I'm going and the heavy weight crashes back into the pit of my stomach. I hope this is just first-timer nerves and not how I'm going to feel before every job interview otherwise I may never be able to find a job in my life. I close my eyes and take several deep breaths as we're walking through the bland hallways which, clichéd as it may be, actually manages to quell my tremulous nerves.

"Don't worry so much," Brandon's smooth voice breaks through my unstable Zen, "Tiffany's just being fussy. And the others were just winding you up. I doubt it'll even be an actual interview. Just smile and be charming like usual and you'll nail it."

Did he just call me charming? "Uh, thanks."

"No problem. Hop in." We've reached the parking lot and Brandon unlocks the small car's doors quickly. It's a bright night for a change, the sky a strange, cloudless shade of red without the hint of a breeze. Even the distant freeway seems quiet. Somewhere along the street there's a loud clatter of a trash can falling and the shriek of an unseen cat as it bolts away. Unsure whether I should take this as a bad omen, I climb into the vehicle and fumble clumsily whilst trying to fasten my seatbelt. I can see Brandon smirking subtly as he watches.

"You sure you know where it is?" I ask purely to try to distract myself.

"Yeah, it's only three blocks. It's a bit lazy not to walk really," he says as he fires up the engine and the car starts rolling. "Environment and all."

"Since when do you care about the environment?"

"I don't really but when all you got to do all day is watch the 24 hour news shit like this becomes burned into your brain."

I smirk a little and he rounds a corner. God, every turn of these wheels is slightly closer to my doom.

It seems like no time at all that we arrive, truthfully it did only take two minutes but a little more time to mentally prepare myself would've been nice. I still have no idea what I'm going to say if she asks me any questions. Gemma's standing outside the shop by herself as we pull up in front of the entrance, clutching a cigarette in one hand waving enthusiastically with the other. A small "My name is Gemma" badge is attached to the top pocket of her blouse. God, I'd forgotten I'd have to wear one of those. She hugs me as I approach her.

"Hey, hey you feeling?" she asks, breathing smoke straight onto me. Great, now I'm going smell like an ash tray on top of everything else.

"Like I'm gonna barf…"

She smiles reassuringly. "Don't worry you'll be great!"

"That's what I keep saying."

Brandon approaches behind us, seeming as casual and friendly as ever. Again this frustrates me. Gemma shoots him a quizzical look at him, squinting her eyes in curious concentration. "I know you." she says sombrely, "Where from..?"

"Brandon Foster."

"Oh yeah you used to date Chloe! Shit how long ago was that!"

"Six years."

"Wow. How you been?"

The two of them continue their conversation as we enter the small shop. Brandon's ability to be able to talk to anyone like he's known them for years always impresses me even if I'm not fully appreciative of it right now. I frantically search cluttered the room for any sign of someone who looks like they could be in charge here but, except one old lady looking intently at cans of soup, the shop is empty. It's only a small shop; three aisles, one wall lined with fridges of milk, butter, yoghurt, cheese, small bottles of pop and other similar items sat behind frosty panes of glass. At the back of the room is a small freezer beside a metal door which I'm sure the boss will appear through when she realises I'm here. The rest of it is usual convenience store things; shelves of wine, stacks of newspapers and the two small tills facing towards the entrance.

"Yvonne and Graeme will be out in a sec," Gemma says as she pushes a small button attached to the wall behind the tills next to racks of cigarettes and tobacco. I think I hear a faint bell sound from the back of the room. "Don't look so worried they're not that bad."

Even if they weren't "that bad" they certainly looked intimidating walk shoulder-to-shoulder down the aisle in front of me. I must seem like a deer in the headlights to them. Yvonne is on the left and looks like what I can only describe as a low-priced socialite. Around forty years old, her hair is dark with heavy bangs hanging in a bob just below her shoulders. Heavy eye makeup and dark lipstick coated her olive face, mascara dragging up the corners of her eyes giving her a quasi-Asian look. Her finger nails were the most impressive thing of all; sharp talons manicured and painted purple and white with a fake jewel on each one. Overall she looks like she's trying too hard to hide her age. In a way she reminds me of my mom.

Graeme, on the other hand, was huge. I'm surprised he could fit down the aisle on his without turning sideways. It wasn't that he was particularly fat, although I'm sure losing a few pounds wouldn't upset his doctor in any way, everything about him just seemed large. Tall, big shoulders, large stomach, tree trunk legs, even his hands and feet made my own look tiny. Facially he was nowhere close to being as elaborate as Yvonne; in fact he looked rather plain by comparison. Short brown hair, a few wrinkles around his eyes and mouth but nothing unnatural looking and dark stubble on his chin. I still definitely wouldn't fight him but he's rather plain. I'm almost surprised when the two of them smile warmly upon sight of me.

"You must be Andrew," Yvonne's voice was low and gravelly. "We spoke on the phone; it's nice to meet you. I'm Yvonne, the manager and part owner here, and this is my husband Graeme, the other part owner."

"Hello," Graeme says in a surprising southern accent.

"Hey, nice to meet you," is the only thing I can think of saying.

"Nervous son?" He smiles amused at me. I don't blame him, I must look pathetic.

"A little," I admit. At least he seems easy going despite his appearance.

"There's no need I promise you. "Do you want to come in the back for a minute we'll have a talk."

I follow them down the aisle towards the door they emerged from. Brandon and Gemma pause their conversation to give the thumbs-up sign and mouth "good luck" at me as I get further and further away. Graeme's size once more seems intimidating and I the sound of Yvonne's heels is unnaturally loud against the tiled floor. I tell myself to breath and quickly try to think of some answers to any questions they might ask. Why should they give me this job? I dunno. What's my greatest achievement? Does punching Anthony Fisher is sixth grade count? How would you describe your work style? Doing as little work as possible without getting myself into trouble. What motivates you? Alcohol and dick. None of my impulsive answers were exactly ideal.

We go into the back, through a small warehouse. In fact warehouse probably wasn't the right word for it, more like brick chamber with a row of rickety shelves and two big, white doors of what I'm assuming were a refrigerator and a freezer. Walking straight past these we enter the office, a small room with a desk, a metal safe and sheets upon sheets of A4 paper scattered over every available surface. Some had notes on them, some were blank. I have no idea how they keep it all in order. Yvonne sits down in one of the two black computer chairs in front of the desk and Graeme stands next to her instinctively.

"Sit down," he says, gesturing to the other chair. I sit down sheepishly. I'm not sure how I should be acting right now; I pretend to be incredibly interested in my surroundings, only occasionally making eye contact with either of the two people in front of me. Something tells me I should be keeping full eye contact all the time but am much too nervous to sustain it for much longer than a few seconds.

"Right, I know this a bit strange," Yvonne starts the "talk." "We don't usually do it like this either, we'd normally interview a few people first and then set up some shifts where either of us can train you ourselves but we're really short staffed at the minute and Gemma's done nothing but sing your praises since she recommended you so we feel confident in offering you the job up front and working out any problems in the coming days."

"Thank you-"

"The reason we can't train you yet is completely her fault by the way," Graeme interrupts before I'm forced to think of something else to say.

"It was a simple mistake!"

"Yeah right," Graeme scoffs at his with. "It's my parent's anniversary meal tonight and she thought if she set you on tonight I wouldn't make her go."

"I forgot OK, I'm sorry," Yvonne rolls her eyes. It's completely obvious that she didn't forget at all and that she's not sorry in the slightest.

"Yeah, OK, it's not like I've been reminding you for weeks or anything, I knew you didn't want to go but this is underhanded, even for you" he retorts back. He looks back at me with an annoyed expression, it takes him a second to really see me before his eyes go wide. "Oh, I'm sorry Andrew. We're always like this. It's not very professional I know, especially on your first day." He laughs a little. "So what we were thinking is if you don't have a problem with staying until eleven Gemma can show you things like the tills and sending newspapers back and facing for now and when we're both her at the weekend we can really get stuck in. Is that OK?"

"Yeah." Is that it? I haven't seemed to say much.

"Great!" Smiles Yvonne, it doesn't suite her face. "You sure you're OK getting home at eleven?"

"Yeah, I only live three blocks away."

"Really? I've lived around here for twenty years but don't recognize you. Where do you live?"

"Bluecreek apartments." My stomach is unclenching slightly and I feel much more able to speak by now. I've decided I like my new bosses for now. Maybe Yvonne seems strict behind her make-up but she is the manager after all she most likely has to be. And Graeme seems like an all-around nice guy.

"Oh, I know that place! The superintendent comes in sometimes, buys a lot of pear cider and rolling tobacco."

"I only know him passively; I've only lived here a few months," I'm glad the conversation has begun to flow at least. I just need to keep it up. "I used to live up near Sitwell Park."

"In one of those posh houses along the river?"

"Unfortunately not, we lived on Clancy Lane, one of the new estates behind those."

"Still, there to here's a bit of a step down isn't it."

"I suppose."

"Ignore my wife," Graeme says, "She likes prying into other people's lives whether they want her to or not."

Yvonne rolls her eyes again but doesn't say anything else on the subject. Which, honestly, I'm quite glad about; it was getting a little personal. Not that I wasn't going to tell people about my parents and such eventually but I'd like to get to know happy, well-adjusted Andy before they find out about abandoned, traumatized Andy.

"Right, come on guys, we have to go," Graeme says suddenly, breaking the short silence. "Gemma knows the plan for tonight so you should cope on your own. I think I have a badge for you somewhere-" he pushes a code into the safe and swings the large door open. From amongst the bags of coins and scattered keys he pulls out a small, white name badge with "Andrew" printed across it in black, comic sans lettering. I inwardly groan but hold my tongue regardless.

Gemma and Brandon are still talking when we exit back onto the shop floor. Gemma very much resembles her sister in the way she chats, seeming to flutter her eyelids and flip her hair inappropriately as she gazes intently at her subject. And this sister isn't a lesbian. Damn it. Fortunately both of them stop what they're doing and turn to stare at me expectantly as soon as they see us approaching.

"So, how'd he do?" Gemma says enthusiastically to the couple behind me as soon as were within earshot.

"Great, much better then you at your interview anyway…" Graeme smiles (well, I assume he's smiling from the tone of his voice but can't tell since he's stood behind me,) "I still can't believe we actually gave you the job."

"I showed character."

"If that's what you want to call it," there's a brief pause as Gemma grins and Graeme grimaces. "Well we really have to go-"

"Can't we stay," Yvonne interjects, "I don't want to leave him on his own on his first day."

"No, you should've put him on Saturday instead. This is entirely your fault you know."

Yvonne holds her arms over her chest and glares but says nothing more.

"Don't worry I'll look after him," Gemma says wrapping her arm around my shoulder and maintaining her broad grin.

"I'm so reassured," Yvonne snarks.

"We really have to go," Graeme repeats more loudly. "Gemma remember what I said about breaks. Make sure you set the alarm and lock the shutter and-"

"Yeah I've done this a million times you know," she interrupts. "Go to your meal. Get really drunk. We'll be fine."

"OK. Andy just make sure to listen to what she says," he turns to face me, "We'll sort out all of the procedure and wages and rota and stuff properly this weekend."


"Right, good luck guys. Gemma I'll see you tomorrow. Andy we'll get started properly on Saturday and ten o'clock if that's alright."

"Yeah, no problem."

"See you!" He grins, shoeing his wife out of the door in front of him. Yvonne offers a disgruntled "bye" before disappearing herself. Soon all is quiet.

"I'd better be off too," Brandon says, "those guys will be wondering where I got to. You want picking up at eleven?"

"Sure. Thanks."

"It's alright. See you later then." He waves as he leaves, leaving me and Gemma alone in the small shop.

"Right, I'll show you how the tills work then," she exclaims suddenly, like it's the most thrilling thing she's ever had to do.

Eleven forty. Twenty minutes until closing. The truth is the last few hours had not been as scary or difficult as I'd expected them to be. Customers had been flowing steadily since I'd arrived, mostly buying beer and cigarettes, so Gemma had been by my side most of the time since, legally, I wasn't old enough to sell them on my own. I'd always known Gemma was popular, but I'd never realised just how many people she knew before tonight. She knows almost everyone's names and business, asking about wives/husbands/parents/kids/friends as appropriate for each person. She didn't dilute her personality for work either, the cursing and vulgarity were in full force. Most people laughed and said something along the lines of "Oh Gemma you're mad sometimes" so I assumed that they're all used to it by now. I wouldn't have dared talk to anyone like that. Especially not customers. I was constantly trying to be polite and helpful as much as possible, answering people's questions (you'd think a new face behind the kiosk at the local shop was the most excitement some of these people had all day) as nicely as I could and making Gemma laugh.

"You don't have to try so hard," she'd said, "People around here don't exactly care."

Anyway, five and a half hours later the forced politeness was beginning to wear thin and I was about ready to go home. We had only seen a few people in the last hour anyway so it wasn't like we'd been incredibly busy. In fact Gemma had disappeared out front ten minutes ago to talk with single-mom-Sammy, Matt and Matt's visiting older brother from somewhere out of the city so I'd been stood here alone, leaning over the till, reading a magazine since then. So far the only thing that I really didn't like about this job was the fact I had to stand for hours on end. I'm barely reading the words on the page; it's one of those gossip magazines so I really couldn't be any less interested if I'd tried. I'm just passing time here.

I'm shocked to be suddenly pulled out of my lull by my cell phone vibrating violently against my leg pocket. Yvonne and Graeme hadn't said anything about not keeping it on me so I figured it was OK. It's not like there's anyone here anyway. I pull it out of my jeans and check the small flashing screen. Hollie.


"Hi I booked a cab twenty minutes ago from Bluecreek apartments and it hasn't come yet you know how long it's gonna be?" He voice is slurred.

"It's Andy."

"…No it's not it's Hollie."

I press the palm of my head to my forehead. "No you've rung Andy not the cab firm."

"Oh… I don't know how I managed that."

"Have you been drinking?"

She giggles to herself. "A little. Brandon had some of this tequila stuff and let us try some. I may have had a little more then I should."

I hear a low, grumbling sound in the background which I'm pretty sure is Brandon talking but I can't make out what he's saying.

"Oh shut up you… OUR TAXI'S HERE!" She nearly blows my ear off. "Gotta go Andy love you!" The line goes dead. I hold the phone to my ear a little longer feeling slightly perplexed. Sometimes she can be just as mad as her sister. It must run in the genes.

"Casey SHUT UP! Sorry mom I can't hear a thing you're saying. ANDY! Get rid of Casey will you!"

Tiffany, holding the phone to her ear, marches to the other side of the room, realises she can't escape any further, so turns around and puts a hand on her hip to show me she's annoyed. I had been sat in the lounge trying extremely hard to pretend I wasn't aware that, for unknown reasons, my niece had decided that screaming so loud that everyone in the building could hear her would be a fun way to spend the past hour. For the most part, with the help of earphones, I'd been successful, but Tiffany had finally reached wits end and the phone ringing on top of that had finally caused her to explode. Miserably realising that a crying child would be easier to deal with then an angry Tiffany, I pull myself to my feet and approach Casey's figure.

She's curled into a ball next to the oven, clutching her bed sheet (Tiffany had given up on trying to take it from her a while ago,) and crying so loud it was painful to be near. I grab her before she even realises I'm there, mostly so she can't fight against me, and hold her awkwardly against my chest, sheet flapping by my feet.

"Let's go see Uncle Brandon," I say, barely audible over her wails.

Awkwardly I manage to open the front door and stumble across the hallway. I'd not knocked on Brandon's front door for a while now, in fact when I do he gets really annoyed, saying I was welcome anytime and I was a waste of energy having to get up and let me in. The door is never locked anyway.

"I wondered how long it would take for me to have to deal with this."

He's watching TV, some sitcom I don't recognise, but turns to face me as I enter. The cut of his face has receded to nothing more than the hint of a scar but it's still visible. I can't say that it looks bad on him.

"Do something. Please." I beg.

He laughs, taking the girl from me and giving her his winning smile and he looks into her creased, red face. Within a few minutes she's sat silently on the rug in front of the TV with a juice box in her hand and blanket against her chest, you'd never know she'd been screaming bloody murder for the past several hours. I had no idea how he did it, he didn't try anything Tiffany hadn't done several times over, but I didn't care. I could finally hear myself think again.

"Thank God for that," I say to him, feeling a relieved smile spreading over my face. "I was going crazy there."

"Casey's easy; you just gotta know how to handle her."

"She's getting worse though. I can see it. Even in the time I've been here she's screaming and throwing and biting more and more."

"Just like her mother was at her age," Brandon smiles. I smile too. I believe that completely.

"So how's work?" He asks as drops heavily onto the couch. I move around and sit next to him much more in a much more poised fashion, putting one ankle onto my knee in a relaxed way and keeping an eye on the back of Casey's head in case she kicks off again.

"OK, Yvonne bitched me out for not tidying the shop well enough the other night but I'm still new enough to get away with it at the moment. It's a bit boring really, same people every day. Why don't you or Tiff ever come down to see me?" I hope it's not obvious that I'm not really asking about Tiffany here.

"Well Tiffany and Yvonne had this massive blow out when she first moved here with your brother. Tiffany was eight months pregnant and needed to piss but Yvonne wouldn't let her, something about not being insured if customers go in the back. Basically Tiffany dropped her pants and pissed all over the flower stand outside the front door. Yvonne went mad, Tiff went mad and your brother just laughed."

"Wow. I'm glad I never mentioned who I live with now…"

"Yeah I'd keep it quiet too. I don't really know Yvonne or Graeme myself though so it doesn't bother me. I just don't want them to find out I was convicted for armed robbery. They'd never let me near the place again." He laughs weakly. "I'm surprised they don't already know. Most places around here do."

"I wouldn't worry about it," I say, "They can't fire me 'cause of who my family is can they?"

He doesn't answer me, just stares wide eyed for a few seconds. Suddenly heat is rising in my cheeks as I become more and more self-conscious.


"You just called us your family."

"Well… You are… Aren't you? Tiffany was married to my brother."

"I guess," he breaks his gaze and turns back towards the TV. I can't shake the grow feeling of mortification swelling in the pit of my stomach. "What does that make me then, your brother?"


"Sorry, stupid thing to say after Rob and everything. Forget I said it."

"Um… Sure." My face must be the colour of a tomato by now. My stomachs in knots.

"So… What am I to you? An uncle? Cousin? Something else?" His eyes are still firmly fixed on the TV and his tone is completely casual. This, I decide, is a very good thing. I think if he actually looks me in the eye my brain would explode.

"Um… I dunno. You're just Brandon. Tiffany's brother who lives across the hall and has weird taste in clothes. You're just here." I know I'm stuttering a little but really can't help it.

"Wow, thanks. I feel special."

"I didn't mean anything by it. Shut up, you know I didn't…"

"Yeah, yeah I know, you love me really." That's when I realise that the knot in my stomach isn't tension, but butterflies. Big ones.

I laugh mockingly anyway. "You wish."

He doesn't reply, just leaves the tension hanging unperturbed between us. I don't know what to think; a hundred thoughts are running through my head, each one making me hopeful and scared at the same time. But one thought in particular overshadows them all. It's a glowing, neon "NO FUCKING WAY" sign flashing behind my eyes. I can practically see it in front of me, floating above Casey's head, blinking on and off in an intimidating way. The rational part of my brain advises me to heed it. The atmosphere I'm sensing is most likely nothing but a mix of wishful thinking and hormones.

My phone rings. Why is it every time something happens there an interruption? Not that I'm completely disappointed this tension has been broken but I'd like to think that, at least one time, sometime soon, I'd be willing to take the plunge and see where it goes. If I ever get the chance that is. I take the phone from my jeans pocket to see Hollie's name flashing at me.


"Andy guess what?" She doesn't give me chance to answer. "I've been discovered!"


"Yeah, me and mom were at the mall and some guy comes up to me totally out if the blue and says he thinks I have a great look and gives me a card for a modelling agency or something!"

She pauses but I can't bring myself to be too excited. For a start she's talking so fast I can barely work out what she's saying, and secondly I'm sure I saw something like this on the news once.

"Hollie, I don't want to kill your buzz or anything but this sounds like a scam to me."

"Yeah do you think I'm stupid?" No comment. "We thought of that too. My dad looked into it and went on the website and there were pictures of all these models and stuff and you know who we saw?" Again I had no time to answer. "Courtney Koolman. Remember her?"

Of course I do. Courtney Koolman is two years older than us and famed as one of the nicest people to ever graduate from Woodsbrooke High. She really was one of the most gorgeous personalities you could ever meet, her looks would have made her just as popular if she'd chosen to take the bitch route but everything she did was for the good of others. She even gave time to freshman and less popular kids like we were at that time.


"Well she was on there so my dad phoned her dad and he knows the guy and it's all totally legit so I'm going in next week for some photos and stuff!"

"Wow Hollie that's great!"

"I know! Gemma and Chloe are sooo jealous it's so funny!"

I laugh. "I bet."

"Yeah they spent all that time at school and stuff and now I get paid to stand around and look hot."

I decide it would be better to let her have her moment. I also decide not to point out that Gemma never spent any time at school anyway. She sounds so excited I don't want to be "that guy." I always have to be "that guy" with those guys.

"That sounds awesome, I'm so happy for you!"

"I know! Anyway I've gotta go I'm still in the middle of telling everyone I know so can't take too long."


"Yeah love you see ya!"

And she hangs up. She really is crazy.

Review replies:

LouiseRel: You're right, it is. I changed it, thanks for noticing :D And a lot of people have commented on the spelling/grammar, honestly I think it's because European English has more differences then you'd think to American English. Honestly when I first started writing I intended for this to be set in England and honestly couldn't tell you at which point it crossed the Atlantic :/ I do proof read and spellcheck all my chapters so I think this is what you're referring to. Thank you so much for the offer anyway tough I really appreciate that you'd give up your time to make my writing better :D

Darkest Bliss: Um, basically see what I just wrote to LouiseRel. If the case is that my writing is just bad I'm sorry and please bitch me out as much as possible until I improve. It's the only way I'll learn :D

Nariki: I think I like Andy being clear headed, it's easier to write :) And not that he's perfect or anything (more on that later on) but I like him being the sanest of the group, whereas the others get to be slightly more eccentric. I suppose I just find it easier to write a boring person's POV (like me :P) then a fun one…

Sirkurtsie: Brandy or Landy? (I like doing that thing where you put people's names together when they're a couple like on TV) I'd like to tell you but it would ruin the surprise :P As for Brandon and Chloe? (Bloe? Chlandon? I don't like either of them…) I have plans for them; it just depends on when they'll be revealed (and how much you can suspend your disbelief) but there's definitely unresolved history between them.

JtheChosen1: Glad you like it, sorry updates take so long lately. I remember a time I could write a chapter a week. I've no idea how I managed it.

Lost in pale blue: You know the more I write this the more I hate Ryan in SP. I mean really hate him. I'm tempted to reintroduce him just so I can kill him off :D And Logan does get a lot of stick, I feel bad for him myself but I do enjoy writing how he always manages to rub people up the wrong way despite not having a bad bone in his body. He doesn't mean it bless him. I have to give him a nice boyfriend at some point (after a little more fun of course :P )

Next time; Um, some more Logan I think. I'll move on with the Brandon and Chloe thing a little too, and resist introducing any more new characters cause there's too many already :/