Status: ongoing (updates every Saturday @ 5pm uk time)
Jeremiah is the last person Dee should be friends with - after all, he broke her best friend's heart. But when both of them get entangled in a strange extraterrestrial experience, they're forced...
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DEE.
deelilahjc: We can't let Peyton find out about this
jremiah56: Now you're making it sound like we're doing something else 😒
jremiah56: But don't worry, I got it
deelilahjc: So, no communications at school at all. Don't look at me or Peyton
jremiah56: That's rich coming from you
jremiah56: Seeing as I'm always being glared down for breathing by you two
Typing: You deserve it
deelilahjc: dw, I won't glare at you as from now
jremiah56: Wow! Thank you so much how nice of you
🛸🛸🛸
"Dee?"
My room door opens and my mom steps in. She's wearing casual clothes and doesn't look to be in a hurry.
I smile at her briefly and turn back to my closet, trying to find an outfit for today. I usually have them prepared before the day but last night I was...preoccupied. Jeremiah and I texted for quite some time which is weird because, the reason I texted him was to talk more about what happened to us but along the way, we lost the script a couple of times and branched out to other topics. Specifically his hate for every good flavour imaginable. Then this morning, I woke up again in the living room, so I spent quite some time disoriented and confused.
"Got a day off?" I ask, taking a hold of a shirt. It's a long sleeved green crop top, one of my favorites. Peyton and I got matching pairs.
"I wish, still got a night shift." She sighs tiredly. "But at least I got the day to myself."
I pick out a pair of grey coloured jeans and throw them on my bed.
"Finally got it," I say to her despite knowing she wasn't aware of my desperate search for an outfit.
She doesn't comment on it, confirming that she isn't. "Have you and Peyton made up?"
I turn to face her with my eyebrows lifted. "Made up? We weren't fighting."
She gives me a puzzled stare and as I look at her face longer, the bags under her eyes and overall facial tiredness becomes clear. But if I feel sorry for her, it's fleeting.
"Oh? I thought that's why she wasn't coming to pick you up anymore."
"No, our schedules just conflicted that day," I say, going to sit down in front of my dressing mirror.
