Some say getting out of The Friend Zone is hard. Well, try getting out of The Sister Zone.
Vanessa Hayes-Wong has been best friends with Oliver Morrison for five years, one month, and fourteen days. Just as she starts to realize her feelings for him...
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National Bacon Day without Nessa sucks.
The usually fun road trip is dull without her cheesy jokes, her crazy choices of songs, and her annoying but beautiful singing voice.
I thought spamming her with photos of me hunting for bacon around the city would make her change her mind, but she hasn't even read any of my texts since this morning. Worse, my stomach now bloats as a result of eating twelve meals in a day.
Why am I even doing this?
I slurp my Spaghetti Carbonara and stare at the chubby dumpling figurine I just bought. Standing on top of a wooden steamer basket, the cream-colored dumpling wears a red jumpsuit with #NationalBaconDay written in white on its chest. He carries his golden chopsticks in one hand and a plate of bacon-wrapped egg cups in the other.
I can't believe I just stood in line for three hours and twenty-seven minutes to buy this.
This year, Lovejoy's offers limited edition keychains of their mascots, all of which are available at different outlets across the city, and I've spent the whole day hunting for every one of them for Nessa.
Yes, I was lying when I told her I was going to sell these on eBuy.
I was going to drop by her place tonight and give them to her as a surprise souvenir. But considering she'll spend the night in an underwear model's penthouse, I'll have to postpone that plan indefinitely.
I stab my fork into one of the octopus-shaped sausages, rip it into pieces with my bare teeth, and glance at my phone.
8:15 P.M.
No new messages.
What if TJ's right? What if Nessa replaces me with a handsome, buff underwear model?
As much as I hate to admit it, what TJ said yesterday affects me. The thought that Nessa is having the time of her life with an underwear model at a fancy wedding, while I'm sitting at a cheap fast-food restaurant eating my thirteenth Joyful Meal today irritates me to the core.
I can't believe she dumped me for a stupid underwear model—wait. That doesn't sound right. We're not dating, for crying out—
The persistent buzzing of my phone grabs my attention. I drop my fork on my plate, snatch my phone from the table, and glance at the caller ID.
Annoying Second-Best Friend
Great. What now?
There's nothing I want more than to reject TJ's phone call and block his number. But I can't. I lost the game yesterday because he kept breaking my concentration with his absurd questions. So instead of stopping him from asking more questions, I ended up promising him I'd answer all of his calls today and keep him updated—whatever that means.
