{SPIN-OFF TO LET'S PRETEND}
{CAN BE READ AS A STAND ALONE}
"Are you joking? That's absurd - that is, that's straight ludicrous! "
─────☆*: .｡..｡.:*☆IN WHICH
Atalie Anderson is a cynic for love.
She absolutely hates all the puppy-
love shit. She ju...
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────── L U D I C R O U S [ chapter 42 • a fan base ] ──────
I DRAG THE coffee cup to my lips and take a small sip of the iced coffee, the cold flavor pours into my mouth and brings me to life. The aroma of coffee is part of the rhythm of the day, another anchor in the routine that soothes and gives me a sense of normality and predictably.
My eyes glaze over the school parking lot, watching as students crowded the place. Sighing, I sink further into the driver seat, coffee today just wasn't giving me enough life to get me through the whole day without breaking down at least once.
The sound of knocking as the sound of a soft heartbeat, coming thrice and loud, pulls me from my trance. I shift my gaze to the passenger window, looking at Hunter. "Open the door."
I deadpan him an annoyed look, moving my fingers over to the switch and unlocking the car door. Hunter grins as he places his sports bag and book bag on the floor of the car and gets in. "Why is it so cold out?" He asks, turning the heat up in the car.
"Because it's getting closer to winter, dipshit."
Hunter gives me a bored look, rolling his eyes. He leans the seat further back, closing his eyes. "Listen here, I suggest you be nice to me, I'm letting you see that HillCrest boy."
"Since when did I need to ask for your permission?"
Still, with his eyes closed, he shrugs before moving his forearms to lay atop his forehead. "It's my job as your brother."
"Well, that job needs to get dumped and buried six feet under because it's annoying."
"I'm so underappreciated." My brother feigns a look of hurt, mockingly placing his hand to his chest.
I lean my head against the cold window, listening to the soft tunes of my playlist. "No, you're so dramatic," I correct. "Did you finish your creative writing assignment?"
"Yeah, I stood up all night finishing up assignments," He mutters, tiredly. "And, it's called creative writing for a reason. You can't exactly copy."
"Um, twin telepathy," I say in a duh tone. "The teachers can't question that. We have the same thinking."
"Like Mr.Hall will fall for that."
"Hey, it's worth a shot. So can I pretty please get your paper?" I question, curling my lips into a pout.
"What the fuck are you doing? You look crazy. And, no."
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