“Trace, can you stop that please.”
He’s either pretending to not hear me, trying to piss me off, or genuinely can’t hear me. Well, as for the latter, there’s more chance of rats flying out of my ass, so I’m going go with the first two.
“Trace, please, stop that,” I repeat.
The little fucker keeps on doing it. He’s got a stupid bouncy ball and keeps on bouncing it from the floor to the ceiling, from the floor to the ceiling, from the floor…
“Trace, would just quit that shit and listen to me for once in your goddamn life!”
“Woah, where did that come from?” he asks, sitting up straight on the couch.
“Sorry,” I say, rubbing my head. “I’m tired and you’re being a dick.”
“Say it like it is, J,” he mutters bitterly. He turns to look at me. “I’m bored.”
“What are you, five years old? I don’t have to entertain you.”
He jumps off the couch. “Let’s do something.”
“Like what?”
He shrugs. “I dunno. We could play golf, go bowling, go shopping —”
“You could meet Cat,” I interrupt.
“Oh, yeah, that might be cool,” he says, throwing his ball up and catching it again.
I take it from his hands and throw it to one of my dogs, who eagerly begins to chew it. “So, you want me to call her?”
“Dick,” he mutters, staring wistfully at his bright green ball, which is now streaked with saliva. “And do what?” he asks, turning to me.
I shrug. “We could just hang out here, or go out. We can ask her.”
“Okay,” he agrees, reaching beside him and throwing the phone towards me. “Phone your little girlfriend.”
I roll my eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend, Trace, she’s just a friend.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because you two have been spending an awful lot of time together recently.”
“So? You and I spend a lot of time together, are we dating?”
He shoots me a disgusted look. “Don’t be repulsive, J.”
“Well then don’t be stupid, Trace,” I mock before dialing the digits onto the phone.
I can understand why Trace would think there was something going on between Cat and myself. We’ve spent days together, just watching Friends, eating, talking about random shit that means nothing. I’ve actually grown pretty attached to her, despite only knowing her for just over three weeks.
She’s become a really good friend, but there’s still a lot of things I don’t know about her; she's a very private person. For example she’s not from Tennessee, she’s from Ohio, but whenever I ask her why she moved she clams up and says it’s not important. The same goes for when I ask about ex boyfriends. I just don’t feel like I know her, you know? Apart from being clueless about her past, I’ve never seen her cry, or get angry, or be ecstatically happy. I’ve only seen sarcastic, funny, full-of-random-facts Cat, which is great, but I wish I could see more.
To be fair, I haven’t told her about Britney or any of my ex girlfriends, but it’s simply because she hasn’t asked, or expressed any interest in them. It’s kinda funny; that’s usually the first thing people ask me, but not Cat. She really doesn’t show any curiosity in my “other life”, where I’m a popstar. She’s never asked about Nsync, or any solo stuff, or Britney. I think if I talked about it I would just bore her, but that’s a nice change and exactly what I wanted when I decided to take this break. She really does go against every cliché anyone could have about her.
I’m surprised her and Trace haven’t met yet, seeing as she has been round to my house at least seven times, but I think they’ll get on great. I’m just worried Trace might joke about something, like the fact she’s a little heavy or something and really upset her. But I don’t think he’d do that, he’s not that much of an asshole.
Shaking myself from my thoughts, I listen to the phone, which is ringing. “Hello?”
It’s Diane. I’ve briefly met her, but just once when I was dropping Cat off after one of our Friends sessions. She. Is. Gorgeous. And trust me, I’ve seen a fair few gorgeous people in my time, but she takes the cake, with her honey colored hair that flows to her shoulders and this amazing body that looks effortless. I probably would have hit on her had I not been so loyal to Cat, who I think might be a little jealous of her. Hell, I know I would be. But anyway, she already has a boyfriend, so that sort of puts me in my place. I’m not too upset though; according to Cat he’s a hillbilly. But then again, according to Cat, Elvis is still alive. Don’t ask.
“Hi Diane, it’s Justin.”
“Hey Justin, how are ya?” comes her chirpy tone, so unlike Cat’s slightly bored one.
“Good, good. Yourself?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Do you wanna speak to Cat?”
“Please.”
“Just be careful she doesn’t bite your head off,” whispers Diane, before handing the phone to Cat. “Phone for you, Cat.”
“Hello?” I hear a slightly flustered greeting. Yep, it’s Cat.
“Hey Cat, it’s your boy Jizzle.”
“Do you want me to hang up on you?”
I laugh. “No, sorry. How are you?”
I hear a sigh. “Not great, I have this fucking article that’s proving to be a complete bastard, my mom has just called to say she’s coming to visit me, which is never a good thing and, just to top it off, I keep on hearing how it’s the last series of Friends.”
I laugh. “What can I say to cheer you up?”
“That you’ll buy me a huge chocolate bar next time you see me.”
“Cat, I will buy you a huge chocolate bar next time I see you.”
“Thank you, that’s very generous of you. So, did you call just to display your admiration for Snoop Dog, or can I help you?”
“Fo shizzle ma nizzle.”
“What does that actually mean?” she asks. “Sorry Justin, I guess I'm just not streetwise.”
I laugh. It seems I do nothing else around the girl. “I was wondering whether you wanted to come over and meet Trace, but I’ve obviously gotten you at a bad time.”
She groans. “Kinda, but I really wish I could come.”
“How long will that article take you?”
She snorts. “About as long as it takes for you to do your hair in the morning.”
“You love me girl, you know you do.”
There’s silence on the other end. “I should be done with it in about and hour and a bit,” comes a quiet voice.
Before I can dwell on why she sounds upset, I suddenly cry out, “So you can come afterwards?”
“I dunno…”
Uh oh, there’s resistance. “Come ooon Cat. I’ll make it worth your while,” I add in a husky voice.
“Oh my god, is Nick Carter there?” she says sarcastically.
So disappointed Cat, so disappointed. “Pretty Boy? Nah, you got me and Trace.”
“Oh, how can I resist that winning combo,” she says blandly.
“Exactly, so you’ll come round?” There’s a silence. “You know you want to, Cat,” I add teasingly.
I hear a sigh. “Fine, fine. But make sure Trace knows he has worship me.”
“Of course. See ya later, babe.”
Her voice goes all small again. I wonder what could be wrong with her. Must be the article. “Bye.”
I knew she couldn’t say no to me.
----------------------------
I knew I couldn’t say no to him.
He should be a salesman, with his smooth voice and persuasive tone. God, that guy will be the cause of my downfall one of these days. Now I can’t concentrate on the asshole article because all I’ve got in my head is him calling me “Babe”. If anyone else called me babe, I think a castration would be in order, but when he does it, it makes me feel all…warm and safe, as though he really is my boyfriend.
Psht, I wish. And he always goes on in this jokey way about how much I love him. That’s like joking about heart disease in front of an obese person; it’s just so insensitive.
Okay, let’s get this straight. I don’t love him, I’m just mildly infatuated by him. It’s just a stupid crush that I’m praying will fade out in time because if it doesn’t, I honestly don’t see how we can be these past few weeks have been. We’ve spent hours just watching Friends and talking.
Of course, we always get into dangerous territory when he asks about why I moved to Tennessee or why I dropped out of college. Oh shit, he doesn’t know about the whole college thing, does he? Well, anyway, it's far to early in our friendship to go into that crap.
The computer screen stares blankly back at me. Come on Cat, just write. Okay, okay, what’s my subject again? Ah yes, the decrease in ducks at some pissy pond that only gets visited by the elderly, and that’s just because they’re too busy dying to notice what a craphole it is.
“Just give it up, Cat.”
I jump at the voice behind me. “Diane, Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry,” she grins and sits on my desk. “I was just wondering whether you wanted to come out to dinner with Joseph and me.”
And play the loner best friend? I’d rather get my nipples pierced, thanks. “Sorry, I already said I was going round to Justin’s.”
“Oh, how are things with him?”
I shrug. “He’s still being amazing, and I’m still falling for him. Same old thing it’s been for the past three weeks really.”
Diane of course knows about the whole Justin issue, she’s the one that’s had to listen to me bitch and moan these past few weeks. I don’t know what I would do without her amazingly dramatic scenarios where he admits he loves me and asks me to marry him.
She strokes my hair affectionately. “I’m sorry sweetie.”
“That’s life,” I say, shrugging.
“You know, all you need is a boyfriend that will take your mind off Justin. That way, you’ll get over him but still be able to stay friends and you’ll be getting laid.”
I laugh. “A boyfriend, huh? Yeah, I’ll just pull one out of my pocket.”
She rolls her eyes. “You could get one so easily. Do something with your hair —“
“It’s fine the way it is.”
“Wear more make-up.”
I shake my head. “No, people know me as this. Cat, the normal girl, with normal brown hair and normal make-up. And I’m fine with that.”
She gives me the Look, the one I get everytime I put myself down. “You don’t seem fine with that.”
Things would be so much easier if she wasn’t a psychology major. “Don’t worry about me, Di, I’m fine.”
She sighs, before the doorbell rings. “That must be Joseph.”
“Have a nice time with the cowboy.”
“Have a nice time with the pop star.”
Shit, she got me there. I grin at her and wave goodbye, before turning back to my computer.
I actually managed to get a few hundred words out of it before I just swore at it and turned off the computer. Commitment is not my best quality, obviously. I quickly change into a turtleneck and some jeans, which, in my opinion, would look so much better if I lost twenty pounds, before rushing off to Justin’s house.
I ring the doorbell and hear the running of feet to the door, as well as a few shouts. “Hello, welcome to our humble abode,” greets Justin in a fancy accent, smiling and holding the door wide open.
I look behind him to see another man lying on a crumpled heap on the floor, clutching his stomach. “Justin, nothing about this place is humble and what the hell did you do to that poor man?”
He looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “That’s just Trace. Come in, come in!”
I laugh at his eagerness and get dragged into the house. Finally, the man on the floor stands up and brushes off his trousers and shirt. He’s kind of cute, with curly brown hair and tattoos on his forearm. But compared to Justin, who looks as yum as the sundae I had earlier on in his usual outfit of a t-shirt and jeans, he sort of pales. Oh, pot, kettle, black, right? It’s just like me and Diane, although Trace is actually better looking than I am.
Great, I’m resenting this guy already.
“Hi, I’m Trace,” says the man, holding out his hand to me.
“Cat,” I reply, taking it.
Justin puts his muscled arms around our shoulders. “So, homies, what do you guys want to do?”
Trace and I share a look. “Well, let’s start with eliminating the word ‘Homie’ from your vocabulary, for one,” I say, disgusted by Justin’s second attempt that day to be black.
Trace holds up his hand and gives me a high five. “I like you already, Cat.”
I grin at him as Justin pouts. “I knew it was a mistake letting you two meet each other, now y’all are gonna gang up on me.”
“Justin,” I begin, taking off my coat. “Y’all isn’t a word. And while we’re there, neither is ain’t.”
“When did I say that?”
“Yesterday. Remember? 'That just ain't right, Cat',” I imitate, hanging up my coat on the stand. “Trace, I hope you don’t speak like you’re from a country western too, otherwise I’m going to have my work cut out for me.”
He grins at me. “Nope, I’m the cool, reserved one of our duo. I don’t use crap words.”
“Excellent.”
Justin is staring between us, mouth open. Apparently he’s still not used to my hourly insults.
“Hey Cat, ever played basketball?” asks Trace.
Oh no, not basketball. He’s GOT to be kidding. Shake your head Cat, just say NO.
“Yeah, in high school.”
Shit. Brain, mouth, listen up. Work together. We’re a team. The mouth DOES NOT open without the brain's consent.
“We got a court outside, we could play on that.”
No, we cannot all play on the court outside because one, it’s freezing, and two; I will not be subjected to physical exercise. I’m one of the girls who had their periods for weeks at a time in school so I didn’t have to participate in gym classes, and I have no desire to break the habit of a lifetime.
But no, Justin and Trace are already pulling me outside by my hand, chattering excitedly about how renowned they are for being great basketball players.
“Guys, guys, I can’t play,” I begin to protest, my breath coming out as a little cloud of mist in the cold.
“Why not?” they say together. Woah, that’s a little scary. I didn’t know I was spending the day with Twiddledum and Twiddledee.
“Because…” Um, good question. “Because I haven’t got any sneakers!”
They both look at my shoes. I’m so glad I decided to wear my high-heeled boots today, so glad.
“They’ll be okay.”
“Justin, have you ever tried playing basketball in heels?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you really want to know?” I laugh before I can stop myself.
“Fine. Whose team am I going on?”
“Mine,” Trace pipes up, before pulling me to the side. “Cat, I have an idea.”
---------------------------
I’ve yet to decide whether having Cat on your team is an advantage or a disadvantage. Trace and her devised a cunning plan that consisted of Trace getting the ball off me and passing it to Cat, who would shoot it nicely into the hoop.
Great plan, too bad it’s not working.
If Trace actually passes the ball to her, which he has learnt not to do, she rarely catches it and if she does, she sort of flops it towards the hoop. Of course, most of the time it just bounces of the rim and she shrugs and continues inspecting her nails.
But at least she’s having a good time, I can tell. I’ve never seen her laugh so much. Trace and her are getting on like a house on fire, just as I suspected they would. I would be lying to say I wasn't a little envious of they way they're gently flirting with each other.
We’re both trying to impress her. Why? I don’t know, but we’re playing our best and being extra malicious with the comments towards each other, being the show offs that we are.
“Come on, Timberpond, give it your best shot.”
Cat’s giggling, I can hear her. “My momma could do better than you, Shortstuff.”
“Not what she said last night, Timbo.”
“That is wrong Trace, so wrong.”
The sound of Cat’s laughter distracts me and I turn to see where the noise is coming from. Once my concentration is disturbed, Trace knocks the ball out of my hands and passes it to her. She catches it, for once, and saunters over to the net. She aims, waits, and then throws the ball, sending it neatly into the hoop.
“Woohoo!” Trace whoops, running up to her and lifting her up. Wow, Shortstuff must have more muscles than I give him credit for.
“Trace!” she screams as he spins her around.
“You scored Cat, you scored!” he exclaims.
She giggles and wraps her arms around his neck. “I know, I’m amazing!”
He hugs her tightly. “You most certainly are,” he says, somewhat muffled by her hair.
What the fuck is this? Yeah, she scored, great. But is it really necessary for Trace to hug her? I’ve never hugged her; Cat isn't really an affectionate person. Well, that’s what I thought before, but now there is like, no space between them. Why has she never hugged me? Granted, I’ve never tried to hug her either…wait, why again? She seems like a cuddly person because she’s a little chubby, so hugging her would be like hugging…the marshmellow man I guess.
Oh man, I just compared a girl to the marshmallow man. I'm a toilet brush.
But I can’t deny the rush of jealousy that’s coursing through my veins as I watch them together. They’ve just met, and already they seem to be as good of friends as Cat and me are after three weeks. I wonder if something’s going on between them.
I make a mental note to ask Trace about it later, before jogging towards them to break them up.
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