You're Crazy

Chapter 1

Hello there!

I'm currently editing  this story [N.B NOTHING TO CHANGE THE PLOT] in the hopes of touching it up a bit. So if you're re-reading it, it should be better, if you're new - firstly - HEY! Thanks for reading - I'm so grateful! - and secondly  - you've not missed anything! 

Just a warning in case the chapters look a bit mis matched - that's why:) 

Enjoy! 

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I checked my wrist watch. It was 6.30pm. "Eeep!" I screeched and rolled off the sofa onto the floor, accidentally kicking the bowl of popcorn from  Briony's lap. Ignoring her protests of indigence, I scurried from the living room, up the hall.

I lived in a small flat in Greater London. Briony was Charlie, my flatmate's, little sister. She regularly complained that the flat Charlie and I had bought after moving here from France together one year ago, was basically just a hallway, with tiny cupboards that we had the audacity to call 'rooms'.  Despite her constant, and loud, complaints, there would rarely be a day when I would return home from work and Briony wouldn't be sat on the sofa in front of the telly. Her mother must think that both her children had moved to London, given the amount of time Briony spent here.

Charlie and I have been friends since he first moved to my small village in the North West of France by the coast. I had first moved there myself when I was six, when I was adopted by a young french couple, despite being from Scotland originally. Charlie, a Cheshire Boy, moved to the same village with his father two years later when his parents got divorced and they decided he would stay with his father, while Briony stayed with their mother. Given the rural area we lived in we had to commute to a school in Paris; the long Met journeys giving us plenty of time to get to know each other.

Be it due to the stereotypical romanticised view of France providing ample inspiration or the fact that I was somewhat stunted educationally and needed some form of talent, I found music to be the only thing I could ever fully understand. Living a life confined to the rural french coast gave me plenty of free time to attempt to teach myself instruments. I've never had the greatest confidence in my abilities, mainly because I knew they were infuriatingly average, but despite all that - I was determined to make the whole music thing work, mainly because it was all I had. 

So the day I turned sixteen I quit the school I barely attended, Charlie, being three helpful years older than me, might not have approved of my actions, but being my best friend he immediately offered up his services and moved with me to London to kick start my incredibly naive life plans. 

A year on; however, and I was settling into my new life well. It was early January, almost my seventeenth birthday, and I  had just returned home from a New Years visit with my parents and four year old sister, Gemma. I wasn't yet back at work, hence why I was lounging around on the couch with Briony. I had been spending more time with Briony since Charlie had managed to drag himself away from his computer monitor and secure himself an actual girlfriend, a medical student named Sasha. I'm sure his skin must have seared in the unfamiliar sunlight on their first date. 

But tonight, I was ditching Briony as I was meeting my friend Ceallach for a much needed catch up after our weeks apart and the terrible phone reception at my parents' house. 

I ran down the hallway ignoring Briony's shouts of "EVANNA MOREL!" and slammed the door shut behind me. Yanking open the door of my wardrobe I faced the dilemma of choosing an outfit. I loathed the compulsory social norm which made everyone feel judged by what they wore. But at the risk of sounding hypocritical, I was often victim to this very norm. Trying to work in the behind the scenes of the music industry, appearances were absolutely essential, as shallow as that sounds. A major obstacle I had over looked in my naivety is that I'm probably the most self-conscious person you could ever encounter.