Plant New Seeds | H.S.| AU

Chapter Thirteen - Halloween, Part Two

H A R R Y

"How the actual fuck do some bitches wear heels everyday?"

My Sunflower unstrapped her seatbelt to relieve herself of the pain she complained of all night.

I beamed over at her during the red light, constantly allured by every little thing she did.

The way she swore like a grown man, the way her hands felt as she grabbed my shoulder for support, the way her head flew back and mouth flew open as her feet breathed, and the way she was able to climb out of a heaviness and step into a lightness exclusive to her in an instant.

Best friend. I was her best friend.

And I didn't realize she was slowly starting to become mine.

We hated using the word friend when it came to describing us, because we were obviously much more.

But—a friend affectionately called you homie, a friend made you Bakes at midnight, a friend is there for you without hesitation, and a friend made you feel needed and appreciated as much as possible, regardless of time and distance.

However you wanted to spin it—Book Club members, homies, or the Stevie Nicks appreciation foundation: we were friends.

Friendship was like the soil of every great flower waiting to bloom; a strong foundation only promotes the growth, filtering out all the impurities that may hinder the beauty of the flower when it is fully blossomed. The soil is the chance for new add ons to encourage a healthy life span, and to work with what we already have.

"The light is green, Jackass." The jokingly crass tone of Sunflower's voice leads me out of my own head, as well as the parade of blaring car horns coming from every direction.

"Damn it!" My body jolted from its slumped position before I floored it on the gas pedal without saying another word. The sudden speed made Nia's body slip around—she had forgotten to put her seatbelt back on. The fear of hurting herself seemed to escape her, because all she did was stare at me in amusement, relishing in the hold she had over me.

I tried to hold in my laughter, holding my right index finger under my nose as I drove with my left. But the longer I felt her unwavering attention on me, the harder it became.

"Seatbelt back on, miss," I demanded as sternly as I could through my chuckling.

"I really wanna take this wig off," Nia announced suddenly, clicking her seatbelt back on afterwards. "It's fucking itchy and the bobby pins are tight."

I shot her a confused look momentarily, "So just do it, darling."

"I can't-uh," She nasally whined. "It ruins the Diana Ross experience."

"Diana wore her curls au naturale sometimes, too," I pointed out.

As much as I loved the Diana Ross look, I missed seeing Nia's luscious curls all night. I was developing this weird habit of stretching one out at random; the one that seemed like it needed a little more attention than the rest.

I liked to stretch it out as far as it could go, seeing how much shrinkage she had, and watch it bounce back into place faster than elastic.

"Not for Central Park Live," Nia argued; her stubbornness was becoming less appealing and more frustrating by the minute.

Half of the time I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake the bullshit out of her.

But the rest of the time, she made me laugh. Translated into a win-lose, win-win kind of deal.