the bet → brad simpson | ✓

10

Blasting Hannah Montana at eight in the morning wasn't the way Brad wanted to wake up, but I didn't really care. Instead, I just laugh as he walks out of his room in a huff and slams the bathroom door shut. It's payback for saying Hannah Montana is dead.

Thankfully, by me making us some pancakes for breakfast, he was in a pleasant-ish mood. Anne and Derek were talking to me as he played on his phone.

"So, have you two got any plans?" Anne asks and Brad shakes his head, causing his mom to look at me.

"I was actually hoping to go to my mom's apartment and get some more clothes and stuff," I smile. My mom had gotten back from California a couple of days ago. "I've got to ask my mom if she's in first, though."

"That sounds fantastic! I'm sure Brad wouldn't mind taking you," Anne says, and Brad actually looks up from his phone.

"Taking her where?" He asks, confused and obviously not up for a trip out the house.

"Were you not paying attention to our conversation? To my apartment," I say with a tight smile, and Brad sighs, putting down his phone. "But it's fine if not—I can always get a bus or taxi."

"I'll take you," he replies with a sigh and I give him a small smile. Honestly, I had no clue of the bus routes around here, and had no money for a taxi.

"I'll message my mom," I say and pick up my phone, simply asking my mom if she was in. It took her ten minutes, but she replied with a no, saying I could let myself in if I had a key.

I've got my key. Miss you, mom, see you another time then x

As I shove my phone in my jean pocket, Brad disappears upstairs to get ready for the trip. My phone pings and I look down to see another text off of my mom.

I haven't tidied the apartment, how about you come down a different day to get your clothes and see me as well? x

I frown—why does my mom not want me to go because it's a mess? It was always messy when I'm there anyway, so it shouldn't make a difference. I sigh and send her back a message, telling her it doesn't bother me and I'll tidy it up whilst I'm there, but she doesn't reply to the message.

"You ready?" Brad asks as he walks into the kitchen and I nod, slipping on my shoes quickly. We both walk out to his garage, and he looks around. "Pick a car to go in, then."

I walk into the garage, looking around—there were so many different varieties of expensive cars and I wasn't sure which one to pick. Obviously, the Simpsons were very rich: his dad had his own Golfing company for God's sake.

Eventually, I spot a red Lamborghini and point to it, "that one."

"Good choice," he grins and takes one of the keys from the side. "I'm driving."

"Why was this one a good choice?" I say, confused. He laughs as we climb in.

"Because I broke most of them," he says with a smirk. "I'd have let you sit in the drivers' seat and try to turn it on as it didn't work, just to see your face. This one, however, is one of the two that aren't broken yet."

"Why would you break most of the cars?!" I ask in disbelief, astonished. We pull out of the garage and onto the road before Brad replies.

"I get bored," he rolls his eyes. "That's also why I don't have my own car, since my mom says I need to not break cars before I get one for myself."

"Wow," I reply, shocked. "Are you even insured?"

"Of course I am," he chuckles, amused, and turns on the radio. We fall into silence, listening to the pop music blast quietly from the radio, and I tap my fingers to the beat.