“Alright, that’s it. I can’t take it anymore,” Ava said Friday night when she returned home from classes. I looked up from the magazine I was absent-mindedly flipping through on the settee and looked at her with raised eyebrows.
“What?”
“You’re at stage four of your moping cycle and I can’t handle it anymore. It is my duty as your best friend and roommate to correct your moping cycle.”
“I have a moping cycle?” I replied, cocking an eyebrow in amusement.
“Yes. Stage one: baking. Exhibit A, the cookies, which we have yet to get through and are probably extremely stale by now. Stage Two: silence. Stage three: stress and immersing yourself in homework. And now we’ve reached stage four. Where you convince yourself you’re okay when you’re really, really not.”
“I’m fine, Ava,” I replied, throwing the magazine on the coffee table and standing up.
“Denial,” Ava sing-songed, taking off her coat. “We’re going out tonight.”
“I can’t. I was just about to start crocheting a beanie for you. I thought you might like one. Your grandma taught me a new cross-stitch that I’m dying to try out, and you know how winter’s coming on…”
“Crap,” Ava muttered. “We’re moving through the stages quicker than I thought. Already you’re at stage five: grandma projects.”
I snorted. “Crocheting has no age limit, dumbie.”
“Lemme guess. Your Saturday night plans are bingo at the country club?”
I smacked her in the arm with a gray crocheting needle. “Shut up. I’m totally fine.”
“No. Tonight we are going out with our friends. Winter break is next week, and we’re going ice-skating. And you’re coming along.”
I looked at the thick wool mournfully. “Ava…”
“I swear to God, if you pick a cross-stitch over your friends, I will hit you,” she warned, and I sighed.
“All right. Fine. I’ll go ice-skating. But you’re buying my wool for the next month.”
“I thought I wouldn’t hear that phrase until I was on my deathbed in a nursing home,” she muttered, and I giggled.
I went into my room and applied a thin layer of makeup. I dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with a thick hoodie over the top, topping the outfit off with a thick woolen scarf.
“Oh, by the way, Chance is going to be there,” Ava said as she breezed past my door, clipping earrings into her ears.
YOU ARE READING
The Girl Who Wrote The Dating Manual
ChickLit*Watty Awards 2015 Winner* Ever since Candice Sinclair started college, her life has consisted of books, studying and classes. She's never had time for romance, but she doesn't believe in love, anyway. Brought up in a life where true love didn't exi...
