journals.
"Sure, if you don't mind," I said, bookending my journals on one of the shelves. As we worked, I could see Farrah eyeing the journals curiously, though she refrained from commenting. By the time we finished unpacking, three of the shelves were dedicated to my journals.
I broke down the boxes and stacked them in the corner while Farrah fluttered around my room checking everything out.
"I like your room," she said, sitting back on my bed.
"Thanks. It's a bit of a work in progress at the moment," I answered, folding a shirt and putting it in my dresser.
"I like it. It feels like your own place," she said, looking envious.
"I know, right? I think that's what I love about it the most."
She nodded her head. "So, I actually came over to see if you wanted to stay the night at my house."
"Sure. Your parents won't mind? Did you tell them I was a hardened criminal?"
"I told them to hide the good china and to sleep with one eye open."
"Good call." I grinned at her, dusting off my hands. The boxes in my room were covered in construction dust from my bathroom renovation.
"I figured we'd watch scary movies all night on Netflix while we munch on popcorn."
"That sounds fun, but I should warn you I'm a baby when it comes to blood and guts. I'll probably have my hands over my eyes the whole time."
"Really? I love slasher flicks. This is going to be fun," she said, rubbing her hands together in a sinister fashion.
"You're evil," I groaned. "Let me clean up and then we can head to your house."
Chapter 7
Farrah sat on my bed entertaining Player while I quickly showered and then gathered my stuff. Once I finished we headed into my house to tell Butch and Buttercup my plans for the evening. They were embarrassingly thrilled to meet Farrah. It wasn't like I didn't have friends back in Huntsville. Of course, they rarely saw them since I tried to keep my two lives separated.
After reminding Buttercup to check on Player and feed him, Farrah and I left for her house. We passed Evan's place on the way. It was too bad he turned out to be such a douchecanoe, especially after getting a little insight from Farrah. Not that I wasn't still pissed about the party.
Farrah kept up a steady stream of conversation as we walked past several houses that rivaled Evan's. Finally she stopped in front of a house that was easily the largest around. Farrah unlocked a white wooden gate and I followed her along a concrete path that led to the back of the house. I tried to hide my intimidation over the pool with multiple waterfalls and perfectly sculpted yard with tropical-looking plants everywhere.
"I'm surprised everyone doesn't hang here," I said to cover my shock. "Your pool is easily twice the size of Evan's," I added so she'd get my point.
"My parents can't stand my friends long enough," she said, pulling open a large set of French doors. "They're both writers and work from home. Dad says he'd have to drown us."
"That's funny," I laughed as we stepped into a living room that could have held my entire house. The decor was vibrant and warm and would have made Buttercup buzz with excitement. The walls were painted in a patchwork of different colors that shouldn't have worked, but somehow with the right accents all seemed to complement each other. I was entranced by the multiple framed pictures scattered around the room that all showed Farrah at various ages in goofy poses.
"My parents don't believe in formal pictures," she said dryly when she saw me checking out a picture where she looked to be about two years old. She was smiling broadly at the camera with a face smeared in spaghetti.
"I like them," I said, feeling a kinship with her.
"Come on. I'll introduce you to them," she said, leading me down a long hallway that was lined with enlarged canvases that matched the smaller pictures of her in the living room.
"Sorry. My parents have a picture fetish," she said apologetically, seeing the way I was studying them.
"I think they're
"Sure, if you don't mind," I said, bookending my journals on one of the shelves. As we worked, I could see Farrah eyeing the journals curiously, though she refrained from commenting. By the time we finished unpacking, three of the shelves were dedicated to my journals.
I broke down the boxes and stacked them in the corner while Farrah fluttered around my room checking everything out.
"I like your room," she said, sitting back on my bed.
"Thanks. It's a bit of a work in progress at the moment," I answered, folding a shirt and putting it in my dresser.
"I like it. It feels like your own place," she said, looking envious.
"I know, right? I think that's what I love about it the most."
She nodded her head. "So, I actually came over to see if you wanted to stay the night at my house."
"Sure. Your parents won't mind? Did you tell them I was a hardened criminal?"
"I told them to hide the good china and to sleep with one eye open."
"Good call." I grinned at her, dusting off my hands. The boxes in my room were covered in construction dust from my bathroom renovation.
"I figured we'd watch scary movies all night on Netflix while we munch on popcorn."
"That sounds fun, but I should warn you I'm a baby when it comes to blood and guts. I'll probably have my hands over my eyes the whole time."
"Really? I love slasher flicks. This is going to be fun," she said, rubbing her hands together in a sinister fashion.
"You're evil," I groaned. "Let me clean up and then we can head to your house."
Chapter 7
Farrah sat on my bed entertaining Player while I quickly showered and then gathered my stuff. Once I finished we headed into my house to tell Butch and Buttercup my plans for the evening. They were embarrassingly thrilled to meet Farrah. It wasn't like I didn't have friends back in Huntsville. Of course, they rarely saw them since I tried to keep my two lives separated.
After reminding Buttercup to check on Player and feed him, Farrah and I left for her house. We passed Evan's place on the way. It was too bad he turned out to be such a douchecanoe, especially after getting a little insight from Farrah. Not that I wasn't still pissed about the party.
Farrah kept up a steady stream of conversation as we walked past several houses that rivaled Evan's. Finally she stopped in front of a house that was easily the largest around. Farrah unlocked a white wooden gate and I followed her along a concrete path that led to the back of the house. I tried to hide my intimidation over the pool with multiple waterfalls and perfectly sculpted yard with tropical-looking plants everywhere.
"I'm surprised everyone doesn't hang here," I said to cover my shock. "Your pool is easily twice the size of Evan's," I added so she'd get my point.
"My parents can't stand my friends long enough," she said, pulling open a large set of French doors. "They're both writers and work from home. Dad says he'd have to drown us."
"That's funny," I laughed as we stepped into a living room that could have held my entire house. The decor was vibrant and warm and would have made Buttercup buzz with excitement. The walls were painted in a patchwork of different colors that shouldn't have worked, but somehow with the right accents all seemed to complement each other. I was entranced by the multiple framed pictures scattered around the room that all showed Farrah at various ages in goofy poses.
"My parents don't believe in formal pictures," she said dryly when she saw me checking out a picture where she looked to be about two years old. She was smiling broadly at the camera with a face smeared in spaghetti.
"I like them," I said, feeling a kinship with her.
"Come on. I'll introduce you to them," she said, leading me down a long hallway that was lined with enlarged canvases that matched the smaller pictures of her in the living room.
"Sorry. My parents have a picture fetish," she said apologetically, seeing the way I was studying them.
"I think they're
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