The Girlfriend [discontinued]

V. "Ouch, Pooh."

V. “Ouch, Pooh.”

Tracy rings me bright and early Saturday morning, putting me in a horrendous mood that I wasn’t really expecting to descend on me at least until after I’d had my first coffee. But, apparently this woman not only extremely dislikes me, but she wants everyone around me to hate me as much as she does – the look Riley gives me when my phone wakes us both up can is nothing short of murderous.

I’d answered with a curious, if not admittedly a little pissed off, ‘Hello?’ To which a familiar voice had replied, ‘Oh good, you’re up.’ Which, yeah, but only after you so rudely woke me up.

“Tracy?” I now question, straightening up in my bed, as if Tracy can actually see me and is frowning down at me from the end of my bed while I lie snuggled up in the covers. I feel like she wouldn’t approve of one taking a phone call lying down. I’m actually sort of disturbed by myself for worrying about this.

She doesn’t even acknowledge my question, instead beginning to inform me on what’s happening tonight. “I heard you ran into Noah and that he told you what’s happening tonight.”

“Well,” I begin, because actually, basically the only thing he told me was that there was a tonight to be discussed.

Yet again, apparently I don’t require a response. “The car will be outside your building at quarter to seven. Dress appropriately. You’ll take some pictures at the rink, and then have a go at skating. Make sure you look like you’re enjoying yourself,” she instructs. “And don’t let Noah get into any trouble.”

I don’t bother pointing out that I highly doubt I’ll be able to do anything in regards to Noah, whether he’s in trouble or not.

“Okay,” I say slowly, still trying to process it all, because I don’t even think my mum will be up yet, and she’s an early riser. And I’m not a morning person, not to mention the total lack of coffee in my system right now. “Is there anything else?”

“No. I’ll send you my number in case anything happens,” she says, and then the tone signalling the end of the call goes off. When I see ‘Private Number’ on my call log, I realise that Tracy’s sending me her number – however she gets it to me – because I can’t just save it from my call log. Which brings up the slightly disconcerting mystery of how she actually got my number in the first place. I figure she looked me up in the university’s system or something, because I’m pretty sure she’d have access to files like that. Hell, I think she could probably find out where I was on this day five years ago, if wanted to (judging by her apparent dislike for me, I highly doubt she’d deem it worth her efforts).

“What was that about?” Riley asks, pulling me from my thoughts. Judging by the excitement in her expression, she’s already figured it out though.

“Tracy was telling me about tonight,” I scowl, confirming her suspicions.

“Cough it up,” she orders, looking a hell of a lot more awake than she was five minutes ago. She’s not completely pissed at me for waking her up on a Saturday morning anymore – despite the fact that it actually wasn’t my fault – so I’ll take this over-enthusiastic Riley with open arms if it’ll keep the death glare at bay.

“I didn’t swallow a furball, Riley.”

“Whatever,” she scowls. “What’d she say?”

So I fill her in on what’s going to happen tonight. She nods along in solemn understanding, a calculating look in her eyes.

“Okay. I’ll make sure you look good,” she states, like that’s exactly what I was expecting her to say.

“Um… thanks?”