Kennedy laughs and the sound is one of my favourites in the world. Unlike my wheezy laugh, she has the most child-like giggles ever. I don’t think she’ll ever grow out of it, and I love it. It’s also extremely contagious.
“You’re so dramatic,” she concedes when her laughter dies down.
“Dramatically necessary,” I correct, pinning her with a look before looking back at the ceiling. “Plus, you and Wren hardly like him, so don’t act like it’s just me.”
“He’s…fine,” she says through a sigh. I turn to her again, raising my eyebrow, silently urging her to go on. “He’s nice, okay? Like,reallynice. And I know that you hate him because of your family feuds, and I respect that. You know, ‘Romeo and Juliet’ is Shakespeare's greatest play, but he’sniceto me.”
I snort at her rambling. “I’m happy for you, Ken, truly. You’re just lucky you don’t have to put up with his dipshittery every day at school.”
She sulks, pouting. “I think you’re refusing to remember that day he brought us home from the bar.”
There is no way I’d be able to forget that day, no matter how drunk I was.
Wren had just found out some shitty news from her sister who had just told her she was pregnant, and we all went to a lowkey bar that didn’t check our IDs. Before we knew it, we were drunk-singing Taylor Swift songs on the karaoke machine. Wren called Miles to pick us up and Evan was already out with him, so they both helped us up to our apartment. It’s the bare minimum, but unfortunately, Kennedy’s standards aren’t the highest.
I distinctly remember frantically telling him not to dye his hair brown, no matter how much I loathe the fact that he’s blonde. He didn’t even seem to care. He told me that he’d basically do anything I asked him to and that confused the fuck out of me.
“Yeah, because he was there by proxy. If Wren hadn’t called Miles, he wouldn’t have been there,” I explain, trying to justify it. She makes an exaggerated sigh, looking away wistfully. “What are you trying to get at, Ken?”
“He just seemed sad that you weren’t here, that’s all,” she says. I really try to conjure up a picture of a sad or lost Evan and I come up with nothing.
“Evan Branson does not do ‘sad.’ He does a douche-bro face, stressed, and pissed. That’s it,” I say, almost laughing at the idea.
She shakes her head. “He also does a dreamy ‘I-miss-Scarlett’ face too,” she adds, grinning like an evil genius.
“Really? You better take a picture next time,” I mutter, hoping that’s the end of the conversation about him. I get up, going into the kitchen for a drink because just talking about him gets me hot and bothered. And not in a fun way.
“Why don’t you just sleep with him?” Kennedy shouts and I almost drop the glass I had to climb up onto the counter to get. We really need to reorganise these shelves.
“What?” I choke out.
“Yeah,” she begins as if that solves everything. “Just bang out all that sexual tension and see what happens. You can get it out of yoursystems.”
I bring my glass of water into the living room, sitting down next to her on the couch. “Ken, have you met me? I look like this and he’s allthat.I'm not letting any ofthatnear me. Plus, there is no sexual tension to bang out. You’re making that up.”
“Boo. You’re no fun anymore,” she says, slipping further back into the couch. “When did you turn into such a prude?”
“When I realised that I’d rather sit naked on a hot grill then let him anywhere near my private parts,” I say with a shudder for extra effect. Ken doesn’t take the hint to end the conversation and instead takes another deep sigh, batting her long eyelashes at me.
“He’s like a lost puppy trailing after you,” she whines. Since when was she such an Evan supporter? They must have all hopped on the bandwagon that I’ve missed because I can’t deal with this, as well as my already conflicting feelings about him.
“That's what it looks like toyou. He's more of a leech, picking up on my every mistake and never letting me live it down.”
“You do the same thing to him. Minus the leech part,” she says, shuddering. She nudges me with her leg. “Come on, Scar. Just give in. I know you want to.”
I laugh. “How much is he paying you to say this?”
“Not nearly enough,” she murmurs, and I tilt my head, smirking. She barks out a laugh. “I’m kidding. I just think you guys could work well together if you weren’t so set on hating him.”
“We work together fine. Not everyone has to be best friends to make a decent team,” I say, and she nods, flicking her eyes towards the screen. “Okay, let’s see who is being voted off this week.”
I get another infectious giggle from her and we’re deep into our favourite reality TV show. This is how I want to spend my nights instead of worrying about what’s going to happen. Sometimes all I need is a hyperactive best friend and a so-bad-it’s-good TV show to laugh at.
11
Evan
I’ve spent the last two hours listening to Anderson drone on about shit he probably has no idea about, followed by a twenty minute conversation with my dad on the phone. Today is going great.
