Whenever I try to write a story, I end up writing it for like two days and then I lose interest. I have written like 10 potential stories, but I've never gotten past page 4! Yeah, you could say I'm not really committed, but maybe this time it'll be different. My friend's begun her own story so some of it is inspired by her. Tell me what you honestly think. Keep in mind that I'm not a really good writer (I got mostly 3's on my state test) My intro starts out pretty cliche. . . and my attempt at humor is a lil odd. . . ^.^
It wasn't that easy. I couldn't just walk right up and tell her. That would be similar to smacking gangbanger Stan with my badminton racket and hoping to recieve a prize. She hates me because she thinks my friendship with Marc is something more. If I tell her that Marc doesn't want to go with her to the club, she'll have me off the team and headless in a heart beat.
Why did I have to be his appointed BFF anyway? If it hadn't been for our parents, we wouldn't even know each other. Maybe then, I wouldn't be the one sent to reject all of his fans' rosy love confessions! I should go back now and tell him to find someone else to do his dirtywork, because I for one want to keep my head. Marc was gonna have to reject Nelly himself! Just as I'd reached my decision and moved to leave, Nelly herself comes storming over.
"Do you need something?" she says while her neon blue sneaker taps impatiently on the shiny gym floor.
"Uh. . .no. I was actually just leaving." my response comes out muffled.
"Well, if Marc sent you to remind me about our date tomorrow, don't worry about it 'cause I didn't forget." As she speaks. her sharp, green eyes stare me down and her lightly-bronzed hands wave in the air. Her white tee, with the light-blue Nike logo, hugs her model-perfect body. I let out a sigh of despair.
"Actually, Marc kinda said he might be busy and that maybe you should call to confirm if he can still go?" While I'm trying to deliver Marc's message, I'm not letting him off easy this time. Especially when Nelly's face is contorted with hate.
Her glossy lips purse and her black-lined eyes narrow, as she crosses her arms. Even her chocolate-colored ponytail radiates hostility. It doesn't help that she towers over two inches above me.
"Well, I need to go." I say turning away.
"You do need to leave," her cold voice cutting through the gym, "'cause you really don't belong."
I don't reply and I don't turn around to face her. I walk away and I walk quickly. Its what I'm best at; leaving situations which make me feel awkward. A while back, I admit that I had thought that there was a remote possibility that there might've been something more between me and Marc, but since I wasn't gonna confront the situation and Marc was oblivious to my feelings, nothing even came close to happening. Lucky for me, I got over it.