Me: Tell me at least one of you is awake.
I bite the edge of my nail—a habit I thought I’d long ago given up, but it appears that stress has decided to make it to turn up again. A minute passes, then two, before my phone vibrates.
Whimsy: What’s up?
Me: What’s up? That’s all you have to asy after you tww let me get married to FISHER last night?
Me: *say and *two
Me: I’m not drunk texting. Just ragey.
Whimsy: I didn’t think you were that drunk last night.
Sabrina: HIIIIIII MRS. GRANT!
Me: Never say that again.
Sabrina: I’m with Whimsy, I didn’t think you were THAT drunk last night. Besides, you and Fisher seemed to be getting along a lot better.
Me: SO THAT WARRANTED MARRIAGE?
Sabrina: Don’t blame us. You’re the one who said “I do”
Me: Don’t remind me.
Whimsy: Whether you want to admit it or not you BOTH have always looked at each other like you crave more, so maybe this was your subconscious working to get you together.
Me: Oh my God my brother! He was there! I married his former rival’s coach!
Whimsy: Don’t waste your time freaking out. Confession, he’s known you two had a thing since you were together the first time.
Me: DID YOU TELL HIM?!
This is why I never confide shit in anyone. People are blabbermouths.
Whimsy: God, no. He’s just not stupid and has eyes. I think you’re under some delusion that you two aren’t obviously checking each other out all the time.
Me: I never check him out.
Sabrina: The photo album on my phone titled EBBA STARING AT FISHER’S ASS says otherwise.
Me: You better be kidding.
Sabrina:
Whimsy:
Me: You BOTH have albums?!
Whimsy: Yes.
Sabrina: Yep.
Me: Do you guys hate me or something?
Whimsy: No, we’re just Team Ebisher.
Sabrina: I thought we decided we liked Fisbba better?