the bet → brad simpson | ✓

2

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗
𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙬𝙤: 𝙝𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚𝙝𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙚𝙩𝙗𝙖𝙡𝙡
╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

"How was it?" My mom asks as I sit next to her on the sofa, slinging my bag at my feet.

I look at the television and saw that it was the news channel, "How was what?"

"Don't be silly," she sighs, taking one of the crisps from the packet she held in her hand and ate it quickly. "How was school?"

"It was alright: I made a friend and they seem really nice." I shrug, purposely leave any pronouns—my mom would freak if she found out I was hanging out with boys.

Blake, however, was the first person to introduce himself to me properly and had insisted on us both hanging out at lunch. He didn't mind not being with his friends at all, which was a relief because I felt bad.

My mom's not a fan of guys, not since her and my dad split up a couple of years ago because he was having an affair with his secretary. Dad moved to California to start his business somewhere else and me and mom stayed in Brooklyn.

"Your dad called." She said and sipped some of her coffee that was in a green mug. I look up at her to see she was still fixated on the TV before looking back down and fiddling with my fingers.

"Great," I say, just as disinterested as she is.

"I told him you started a new school and he said he'd deposited some money into your bank incase you need anything," she continued.

"I don't care about Dad and his money," I stand back up, taking my shoes and flinging them to the wall that was only a couple of metres away. Quickly, I change the topic, "have we got any food in the fridge?"

"There's a microwave curry on the side for you," mom replies and I thank her, putting my bag at the side.

We lived in an apartment in Brooklyn, New York. We both had a room each, a dining room, a kitchen and living room-the kitchen and living room is one huge one joined together.

I walk to the microwave and put the curry in, waiting for it to warm up. I grab my phone, scrolling through Instagram. Already, people have found it from my new school or added me on snapchat and facebook, which was bizarre for me since people actually took an interest in me.

The microwave begins beeping and I slide the curry package out, trying not to burn myself in the process—it's really hot.

I poor the contents of the curry into a bowl and mix it up—I personally believe it makes the curry less spicy if you include the rice in it. Or maybe that's just a known fact.

"Tasmin, do you mind going to shop after dinner?" My mom asks as I sit on the sofa.

"Sure," I say, taking a bite of my curry: microwave meals are the best meals. "What do you need me to get?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The trip down to the shop was uneventful by many means: besides the fact I saw a hedgehog get run-over.

Rest in peace Herbert the Hedgehog, your family loved you.

Currently, I'm walking around the shop, constantly checking the list to see if I'd missed anything as I grab things off of the shelves. Sugar, tea bags, milk, jam, pas—