instafamous ✩ lrh [DISCONTINUED]

04. but you're famous.

Instafamous
04. but you're famous.

✖️

I'll admit, most of the time, I'm playing some stupid game on my phone instead of doing something productive, like my homework. Most of the time I'm on a new app I'd downloaded that day, and it can range from the latest dating website to the crappiest version of Flappy Bird that exists. Only tonight, Bailey's Maths textbook is open right in front of me, and my head is ducked down in an attempt to get something done.

In all honesty, I like to leave my homework until the deadline is just seconds away. This is a fact. If it's not due, I don't do. But tonight is different, because tonight, I'm doing homework that isn't mine because I have a plethora of things on my mind; tonight is the night I received a private message from Luke Hemmings on Instagram. Tonight is also the night I'm not the least bit guilty for deleting the conversation altogether.

"Are you crazy?" Ashley's robotic voice sounds through the speakers of my computer, her hands gripping her own laptop tight as she tries to balance her way down the stairs. We never Skype, but in dire situations such as this one, a video call is mandatory. "You left him on read?"

"It's not like he's gonna notice," I shift some of my papers to the side, attempting to clear my desk, though there's a possibility that I'm cluttering it up even more. "What did you get for question seven?"

"Sixty-nine. And no offence, but I think you're insane."

"And I think you're bad at Maths. The answer's seventy," I state as-a-matter-of-factly, wiping my calculator clear of numbers.

I can practically hear Ashley rolling her eyes. "Wow, you sure told me. You want a medal?"

"Trophies are more my thing."

"You're funny," she mumbles, not amused in the slightest. "Wait, did you change your password?" she then asks, furrowing her eyebrows before staring directly at the screen of her laptop. I smirk as I hear her constant clicking, accompanied by a frustrated keyboard tap and the odd backspace.

"Yes."

"What did you do that for?" Ashley whines, her head falling back in frustration at my answer.

"Because I knew you'd try to log in after I told you about Luke," I reply, quite simply. All she does is groan.

"You know, I kind of really hate you right now."

"The feeling's not mutual, but okay." I say, entertained, before ditching the first sheet and moving on to the next.

I sigh, already feeling a migraine coming on despite doing the easiest three of the ten questions I have to get through tonight. "I fucking hate Maths."

"So do I. Why do you think I fed my paper to Rodger?" Ashley notes, referring to her dog. I smile slightly. "I also think you're trying to kill yourself. Slowly, but surely."

"How so?" I ask. "True, but how?"

"Well, for one, you don't even do the subject. You're a Literature student for a reason. And isn't that Bailey's sheet?"

I nod, somewhat solemnly, as Ashley chuckles. "You need to stop punishing yourself. So Luke found your Instagram, big deal," she says, giving me a dismissive wave. I look at her. "Doesn't mean you have to torture yourself with freaking matrises and equations you'll never need later on in life. Forget it."

"Says the girl who made the biggest deal about it last night," I raise an eyebrow, still not over her cyber-screaming fest. Ashley grins.

"Not just last night. Right now, too, because on the inside I'm freaking out enough for the both of us."