Our story starts with- with- you know what? That sounds stupid. This isn't a fantasy story. Let me just get started. This story's got two main characters; a dude and a chick. And don't you Tumblr folk whine about how "that's so stereotypical we want gay protags whine whine complain complain."
Just chill and enjoy the story, dammit.
The dude's name is Adam. He's got hair like- like- you know what? It's brown. Plain, boring, brown. I honestly don't want to spend ten hours trying to think up of a metaphor that you'll read in, like, less than two seconds. His eyes are brown too, though for some reason, this one chap in his E.L.A. class insists it's green. It's not. He's basically the most average Joe looking average Joe. He's also, like, super tall. Not sure why. His dad was short. His mom is short. Not sure where the genes came from. He's kind of weird, to be honest. He knows a lot of random facts and he has this obsession with old things. Vintage newspapers, old books, et cetera. He says it's because he likes the idea that they dated back to hundreds of years ago and that they surpassed the age of the owners and that fascinates him. Or something like that. Yeah, I know.
And then the chick. She's got slightly wavy hair that stops, like, a bit below her shoulders and it's kinda jagged because she cuts it herself. You follow? Yeah, I'll pretend you answered yes. She's got bluish greenish eyes. Why did I choose blue-green and not settle for one or the other, you may ask. Well, that's because it was originally going to be blue, but I didn't want y'all to think she was a dumb blonde chick. (She's blonde, by the way.) So I thought about green, but then that would just seem like a ripoff Yuri Plisetsky, so that was a nay too. Hence, blue-green. If you read the summary, you know she's a figure skater. A hella good one at that too, despite being only, like, sixteen. (Adam's seventeen.) She claims she doesn't have any time to think about what she likes. I'm calling bs, but she says otherwise. She likes skating, though. Yeah, I know.
You couldn't tell at all.
Her name's Natalie. Her coach, Alexei, calls her Natasha, because he's Russian and that's the Russian diminutive, I'm, like, 97.5% sure. Her rink mate (mates that share rinks) and only friends, Olivia, calls her Nat. We'll talk about Olivia later.
That's all the characters for now. I'll explain the rest when they come up.
Time to listen up, ya lil shits, because I'm about to start their story.
I'm gonna tell you something about Adam; he is not an early riser. By that, I mean he has raging urges to commit homicide every time he has to wake up for school. And this precious cinnamon roll is definitely not a homicide kind of person. No amounts of coffee could make him feel better, which is saying something. Being an avid coffee drinker, I have no idea how he could survive. Anyway, short story shorter, he hates mornings. So, when Adam woke up one Tuesday in his small, garbage dump of a bedroom in Nowhere, USA, without using his alarm clock, he was very confused. And when he looked at the time, his first instinct was to shriek as loudly and horror struct-ly as possible. The bright red numbers blinked at him over and over again, yet he still couldn't get his mind to process what he saw. He refused to believe what he say, no matter how real it truly was.
He was in shock. And not the "omjesus I didn't study but got an A+ that's so shocking!" shock. I mean real shock. Hyperventilating, heart racing, eyes widening, "what the actual flying fuck" shock. Well, actually, not real shock. Nowhere near Sherlock Season 3 Episode 1 shock. That'd probably kill him. But, well, ah, whatever. You get what I mean. Probably. So, yeah. ANYWAY, when his brain finally kicked into action, his first thought of the day was, Someone get the crucifix. I know, right? What a lame thought. Not sure what was possessing (hohoho) him at the time to think that. But I think he thought some kind of early bird demon crawled into his brain and made him wake up at this unimaginable time. Maybe I really should have gotten that anit possession tattoo, he thought. No, he's not a Supernatural ho. He just spends a lot of time on Tumblr and thought that it looked cool.
Don't ask me why.
The hell should I know?
Funnily (is that even a word) enough, the exact opposite happened to Natalie. She was out cold 'til Olivia managed to force her awake.
Ah yes, Olivia. Natalie sometimes calls her Ollie. Alexei calls her dipshit. (Alexei is an asshole.) Now that's a gal to remember. She isn't a main character though, which is a shame. Anyway, she's got, like, dark bronze-ish hair. It's a bit longer than where her jaw stops. It's a bit curly, too. Her eyes are super dark brown. Also, she's black. And gay. Well, pansexual. But you get it. (And no, she wasn't just shoved into this because I needed diversity. She was shoved in her because she is fucking fabulous. If she isn't your best girl, fight me or get out.) I don't really know why she's still friends with Natalie, a really wet blanket kind of person in comparison to her eccentric and totally extra persona. You'll find out what she likes soon enough. She's really expressive about it. (Aka she fangirl af.) She's only fourteen, so she doesn't compete with Natalie anymore, but they're still friends.
Anyway, Olivia kept slapping her over and over again, shouting "NAT NAT NAT" into her ear like she was Groot or something. And she wasn't quiet, either. She might as well have been using a megaphone at that volume. She didn't stop until Natalie wok up, shoved her off of the bed, and snapped, "Fuck off!"
Now, Olivia isn't a mean person. Hell, her smile could literally revive all of the dead puppies in the universe single handedly. (Single smildedly?) But she gave Natalie a stink eye to end all stink eyes that could probably make a grown dude run away in complete and total fear as she rubber her back.
"It's eight, honey," Olivia stated bluntly, her eyes narrowed at her so called "friend." To any sane person, eight o'clock in the morning was a perfectly normal time to wake up. Literally anyone with school earlier would beg on their knees and burn human sacrifices to Satan to have their school start at that time. I know I would do that, even though technically I'd just be offering things to myself. (I'm a writer. We all have the devil residing in the back of our head somewhere.) To Natalie, though, this was not okay. That's why her first though of the morning (if we exclude "Olivia is a bitch") was...
"Alexei's been pounding at your door for, like, a solid half an hour, and then he just gave up and went back to the rink," Olivia continued, standing back up and flicking Natalie on the forehead. "I lost the keys to your apartment again so I had to find them before he started beating the shit out of me instead of your door. And what the hell, Nat! I bought, like, ten bags of cheddar popcorn for yesterday's movie night and you weren't there! I ran out of episodes of While You Were Sleeping to finish, so I had to re-watch all of the Avengers movies by myself, which makes me seem like a pathetic, friendless loser. And I'm not, okay?"
Typically, Natalie would agree that yes, Olivia was a pathetic, friendless loser, but something the girl said struck a metaphorical bell in her head. Whilst said loser continued to rant on about how she had a crisis trying to decide whether she should marry Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, or have them marry each other (she's a Marvel bitch, giver her some space), Natalie repeated three words in her head.
"You weren't there."
And no, it wasn't because she felt guilty or whatever, but it was because she was there. Well, not at the movie night, but she was with Olivia yesterday.
"Ollie..." Natalie said slowly, her eyebrows furrowed and, in the process, creating a giant dirty blonde caterpillar, "What drugs are you on?'
Olivia stopped because, Holy shit, she actually called me "Ollie" for once in a century what in actual hell, before getting over that and instantly acting offended. "Excuse you, you ignorant slut," she huffed, barely suppressing the urge to bitch slap her again, "but just because I was offered weed once by some seedy dude on the streets doesn't mean I'm actively high." (Oh wait, I forgot to mention something. They live in Canada. Not sure how that's important, but they live in Canada.) "What I meant was that you didn't go Marvel marathoning with me last night! I texted you, like, five hundred times and I even called you! No one even calls anymore! That's how desperate I was!"
"No," Natalie said more insistently, "I mean, yesterday, we were at the rink practicing salchows-" That's a kind of jump. I'll explain more later in the story, or you could just binge watch Yuri! On ICE. (A++ anime, by the way.)- "and Ass-lexei was making us choose songs for our programmes." Suddenly overtaken with a surge of rage (the kind that makes you want to slam your head against the wall and die), Natalie chimed in with, "He said all of mine were too weak or too emo, yet he said all of your stupid pop songs were perfect. Honestly, do you really listen to that garbage? Haven't you ever heard of anything else? It's much better to listen to actual decent music for a change."
(Hahaha, yo see what she did there? Yes? No? I trust that some of you are fans of the right kind of music and get that joke. It's subtle.)
Olivia looked at the blonde girl with a face that could be described as either disgust or exasperation. "For the last time, Nat, all of them were electro or rock songs! How many offences to I have to take for you to get that through your head? And you should at least give my kind of music a chance! I got into P!atD because of you, but you still refuse to listen to, like, one of Marina and the Diamonds' songs! They're good! Anyway, are y'alright? Because last time I checked, that was two days ago." After another pause, Olivia decided that she was totally done with her and told her, "Imma give you five minutes to get your shit together while I go tell Alexei you're suffering from bullshitosis."
The alternative was whooping her ass.
Olivia is sensible.
After watching Olivia leave her bedroom, Natalie collapsed back on her bed, purposely ignored the fact that she used "while" instead of "whilst" and "two days ago" instead of "ereyesterday," and tried to wrap her head around what the Louisianian girl told her. "That was yesterday," Natalie told herself repeatedly, "That was yesterday. That was yesterday. That was yesterday." I'm not too sure why she took turns emphasising the different words. But, you have to admit, each one of them sound totally different, right? They did to me and this isn't even my native language. Natalie stared up at the ceiling and concentrated, because no one actually closes their eyes when they concentrate. What day was yesterday? she asked herself.
"Sunday," Natalie muttered, "Yesterday was Sunday."
"No." The blonde girl jolted when she heard the familiar and horrifyingly accented voice of her coach. "Yesterday was Monday," Alexei growled, his eyes shooting laser beams and burning holes into her like an evil Russian figure skating coach version of Superman, "and you better have an explanation to why it's eight thirty and you're still in bed."
Now, back in the colonies- ahem, States, Adam was having basically the same- the same- what's the word? (My editor: dilemma.) Right! I totally knew that! He was having the same dilemma as Natalie. But before we get to that, let me backtrack. After his futile attempts of trying to fall asleep (by futile attempts, I mean burrowing himself under his duvets and blasting new age music and ASMR on loop at top volume through his headphones), he basically gave up and went downstairs to make himself some breakfast. "I don't feel tired so it doesn't really matter," he assured himself, because he found talking aloud therapeutic despite the fact that it annoyed the crap out of anyone in a ten foot vicinity. "Two hours of sleep isn't a big deal if I can still function. So it's perfectly fine if I'm awake at five in the morning to make myself eggs and toast."
It wasn't fine.
He knew it.
I know it.
You know it.
He was just too tripped out to be bothered by it.
His mom, however, was very bothered by it. "Addie?!" she hollered, causing him to cringe at not only the sheer volume and anger in her voice, but the totally embarrassing mom nickname. Just for comparison, It was equivalent to looking at your phone and seeing 27 missed calls from mom. Because, you know, moms are the root of all terror and strike fear into the hearts of men. And women. And non-binary folk. And golden retrievers. Basically anything. "The hell are you doing this early?"
"I'm making myself breakfast," he replied as nonchalantly as possible, doing his best to try not to piss his pants. We've all been there.
His mom reached the bottom of the stairs and her eyes darted between him and the Grade A free range egg carton in his hands. When she finally unfroze, she lunged for the meat cleaver and swung it at Adam's direction, pointing it straight at his throat. The boy jumped and nearly dropped all of the eggs and his wits. "Get out of my son," his mom barked, her face a literal sheet of ice, "Or I will cut off your limbs piece by piece, rip out the internal organs you don't need to survive, and cook them into a stew, making sure to keep you alive because that way it won't be illegal and I can't get arrested."
That moment was the moment when Adam realised he probably shouldn't have told his mom that one fact in particular.
His brain switched from panic mode to ultra panic mode.
"Uh- uh- some radar detectors use radar detector detectors to detect radar detectors to prevent detection," he blubbered, but he slurred all of his words so much that his mom actually heard something along the lines of, "hmrudbsskfhsie radar detector skfndksnvkdks detector detector detection." However, this dumb fact that serves no purpose in life was enough to convince Adam's mom that this was, indeed, her shitshow of a son.
"Goddammit, Addie," his mother groaned, putting down the cleaver as she rubbed her temples in exhaustion, "What the hell is with you these days? Yesterday, you were stretching at four, now you're making breakfast at five. What's next? Jogging at three? Going to school early at six?"
"Uh, mom?" he asked, tilting his head at her in confusion. To be honest, I don't know why people do that. Like, what? Why? You're not giving, like, puppy eyes, yet some people still do it? (My editor: Probably 'cuz humans are little shits. Stupid mortals.) "I was not up yesterday at four. Yesterday was Sunday. Why would I do that?" To be completely honest, I agree with him. Anyone who wakes up before nine in the morning on a weekend is crazy. Anyone who wakes up before five in the morning on any day is positively insane.
"How stupid of a son did I raise?" his mom muttered, earning an offended gasp/squawk/noise thingy from her son. "Yesterday was Monday, dumbass," she stated, shooting him a deadpanned expression. Her voice was like that of someone trying not to roll their eyes as they're explaining something incredibly simple to someone that doesn't understand it. Well, she did roll her eyes, but that's not the point.
"Yesterday was Sunday!" Adam insisted as he cracked eggs into a frying pan. "I woke up at noon and you had to drive your hungover coworker back to their house because you owed them a solid!"
"I'm so done with you," she muttered, shaking her head in complete and utter disappointment, slinking back up stairs. I'd be so done with him too if I was in her position, to be honest. "Tell me when it's a reasonable time so I can make myself some TopRamen."
On a normal daily basis, Adam would be a polite young boyo and reply with something along the lines of, "Got it, love you." However, he didn't today. Why not? Well, because he was fucking tripped out as hell. Yesterday was Sunday! he thought, aggressively stabbing the eggs with a spatula. Leo messaged me and said it was National Leif Erikson day or something stupid like that! (Don't worry, you'll meet Leo later.) Suddenly hit with a "genius" idea (I mean, I guess it's pretty smart?), Adam rushed out of the kitchen, completely ignoring the fact that his eggs were still on a lit stove. Which, by the way, you SHOULDN'T DO, because IT'S A FIRE HAZARD. TURN OFF THE FUCKING FIRE WHEN YOU EXIT THE KITCHEN! I DON'T SPEAK FROM EXPERIENCE! He scrambled to his room and lunged over his bed, grabbing the phone and nearly pulling one of his muscles in the process. He unlocked it and opened up his pathetically short list of contacts (like, three people minus his mom), selected the group chat labeled "Newspaper Club," and scrolled through the handful of messages.
- Does anyone have a good recipe for huge amounts of guests? Preferably with potatoes. My parents are holding a family gathering and I need to buy ingredients on my way home.
- literally just thro pot8os into a big pot n stabby /w whatevr
- mayb + butter n milk
- I need to please a crowd with high standards. Potato mash will not work.
- lolol ask +m he cooks
- Adam either responds instantly or not at all. Since he hasn't responded yet, that means he won't see this until the end of the week.
- just googl 1 lmao
- I just found a written recipe for my gran's cottage pie. I'm not taking suggestions anymore.
- its shepherds pie lolol
- Cottage pie and shepherd's pie are comprised of different meats. Cottage uses beef and shepherd's uses lamb.
- look outside
- u c all those flying pigs?
- they r all the fucks i give
- haha isnt that funny rofl
[TWO DAYS AGO]
- ho boi
- guys guys guys guys
- IT'S LEIF ERIKSON DAY
- fuck you chris columbus
- my homie leif came first
- and he didn't commit genocide
- historical accuracy bitches
A feeling of horror built up in his stomach, like a worm thrashing around and trying to crawl out through his belly button. Holy shit, he thought, the grip on his phone loosening and causing it to fall onto the floor. Yesterday was Monday.
Leave a review and I'll try to message you back. They're much appreciated.