Candy Hearts | Watty's 2015

| 05 | Wednesday, April 2

|  0 5  | Wednesday, April 2

            “Now tell me again, how did you think that was a good idea?” Romy leans against the locker next to Arizona’s open one as the latter switches her textbooks for her backpack.

            “Excuse you, I never said that it was a good idea,” the blonde points out, slamming the locker door shut and swinging the bag over her shoulder. “I only summarized what I did.”

            “Dude, trust me on this,” Romy flicks her fringe out of her eyes, “if you keep this up for any longer, everything’s gonna blow up in your face.” Arizona glances at her friend and feels an undeniable sinking feeling in her stomach.

            “I know, I know. But there’s something off about Jeremy, too, if you didn’t notice.”

            “Dude, you think? How the fucking fuck does a guy lose his girlfriend’s number? If he didn’t want to see you he should have come up with a better excuse.”

            “Geez, thanks for the vote of confidence, Romy.” Her friend only shoots her two thumbs up and an over-exaggerated grin.

            “Don’t mention it. Where are you going, now?” Romy slips out her phone to glance at something before sliding it back into her shorts’ pocket.

            “The Number. Meeting up with Alex.”

            “Oooh, fun, tell him Romy says hi,” Romy grins and runs a hand through her hair, hoisting her shoulder back to a more comfortable position.

            Arizona’s mom’s old husband is…interesting, for lack of better words. He thinks that Arizona might as well be his own daughter and when she was seven, he had dropped by for the first time.

Her mother doesn’t mind that Arizona has quite a healthy relationship with her ex-husband, because the only reason they are divorced is that Alex is gay. Arizona can only imagine how hard it had been for her mother to be the one who made her husband realize that he is actually so very into the other gender, but the two are still relatively good friends. Alex’s boyfriend is pretty awesome, too. “To see what my daughter would look like,” Alex had said, though his real daughter would most probably look nothing like Arizona May, seeing as that basically nobody looks like Arizona May. But, it’s not like she can complain, because Alex really isn’t that bad. He’s quite fun, actually. He’s a writer. Alex always says to call him a writer, not an author (though, he has published quite a few novels), and when seven-year-old Arizona had asked why the hell he’d rather be called a writer than an author, he had handed her a dictionary and said, “look up the words.”

So, she had, and it had taken forever because like any normal seven-year-old, she never really used dictionaries.

au∙thor \ ’ờ-ther \ n  1 : a person who writes or composes a literary work (as a book)

Seven-year-old Arizona couldn’t find anything wrong with that, so she had flipped all the way to the w section to find the definition of writer. It has always been funny to her, how w was pronounced double u and it was a double u. She has, since then, grown out of these tiny things that amuse her, because Crosley had told her she was weird the first time she pointed out the little things she laughed at.

writ∙er \’rit-er \ n 1 : AUTHOR 1 (here, she had laughed because the dictionary literally told the person to reference to the definition of author—which Alex had said was not the same as writer—which the dictionary then said it was.) 2 : one that can write