Camille

Wednesday was quite the unproductive day for me. I lounged on Amy’s bed, flicking through a random magazine, not bothering to glance up every time a whine or complaint sounded from my friend.

I reminisced about my awkward time at Herbert’s. Even after finding out the information I did, I couldn’t quite bring myself to say anything about it. It didn’t seem like my place to know or inquire. I remember fidgeting my way through with the occasional lip bite or fake cough.
Today the silence felt slightly heavier as if weighed down by my accidental stumble upon someone else’s secret. There were a few times when I could see Henry giving me a confused look which I pointedly ignored and where the fake coughs came in.

“Argh, bloody straighter.” Amy cursed the sleek, black and inanimate object in her hand.

Finally raising my eyes to meet the sight in front of my, I laughed, “Jeez Ames, you really suck at this.”

She didn’t reply but instead through a bottle of mascara at me.

“Temper, temper” I teased, “But seriously, your hair looks fine. I think you can stop now.”

“Are you sure?” She was on the brink of hysterics. I guess the idea of a date can be pressurizing. It was the standard, ‘Guy she likes finally asks her out and now she’s shit-nervous’ scenario.

“I need to look perfect.” She said, trying to stress the ‘obvious’ importance of it to me. It’s rare to see her this on edge or this anxious. So I did what all best friends should do and assured her she looked brilliant though it was in vain.

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one who needs to be impressed.” She grumbled.

Ungrateful, I’d say.

“N’aw thanks.”

Ignoring me, she asked “Can you side-braid my hair for me?”

“Yeah sure” I replied, getting up and then gestured for her to come sit in front of me. I started work on her long, dark hair while trying to keep her as calm as possible. Which proved to be harder than assumed.

About twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang signaling it was show time-for Amy at least. My plan was just to lie about, watch a couple of movies, stuff myself and wait for Amy to return. I had been here so many times that the Munson home felt like a second one.

I waited at the top of the stairs, watching in amusement as Mr. Munson interrogated Josh-from our Trigonometry class, to see if he was worthy of taking his daughter out. From what I was told, they were going to the movies, cliché move but safe. I could see poor Amy who was a mix between flustered and embarrassed. She turned her head to me, mouthing the words ‘Help me’. I stifled a laugh and shook my head, letting her know she was on her own for this one.

I walked back upstairs, into her room and flopped onto the queen-sized bed. I felt my eyes droop, my lack of sleep yesterday finally taking its toll.