Page 2 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

“If this is your way to be all ‘Team iPhone,’ I don’t want to hear it,” she groans. “My brick of a phone can have cute themes, has more games in the play store, and can last longer than a year without purposely slowing down, so I go spend another three fucking grand on it.”

“Are iPhones that expensive these days?” I ponder to myself before I shake my head. “Bitch! There’s no body!”

“What?!” She’s back to looking at me like I’ve grown three heads.

Only to scream again.

“BITCH!” She points at me in shock while I sigh and put my hands up to stop her.

“God, I know I fucked up.”

“Fucked up?!” she questions and shakes her head. “Mikayla Cross Johnson. That color is fucking AMAZING on you!”

I’m actually surprised she hasn’t collided with me yet.

“You haven’t hugged me since your arrival, so I’m unsure,” I admit with a sly grin that has her hollering.

“Not with all that dye everywhere. Like what the fuck, Mickey? You jump into Kingdom Hearts to Keyblade fight your arch nemesis?” She’s laughing even harder. “Who were you missing more, hmm? Jacky the Good-Boy-Gone-Asshole or Manhattan’s Fuck-You-On-A-Tricycle?”

I look helplessly at her before pinching my nose.

“Jayce and Maddox,” I correct for what has to be the millionth time. We won’t get into her nicknames for them. “And it’s not like I was missing anyone!”

“Oh right, right,” she brushes off before adding, “You weren’t missing anyone. Just missing some good manly cock and doing the freaky in public for the thrill of it.”

“Ugh! No!”

“Why you fucking lying? Why you always lying? Hmm, oh my God.” There goes McDs, singing and shaking her hips like the guy from the viral clip from the good old Vine days. “Stop fucking lying!”

“Are you done?” I have to get this convo rolling elsewhere because it’s going down the ‘let’s not talk about my exes’ train, and I don’t want to get on board and talk about missing not one but two ex-lovers.

Did enough damage, Mkaykay.

God, Maddox loved calling me that. Just like Jayce, who enjoyed teasing me with Mickey.

“See, I’m just going to blame this on Jayce one because he’s the one who had to get you addicted to the ‘thrill’ of doing all the illegal shit in public movement,” she complains as she slips her phone into her bra. “If you didn’t have a brilliant best friend who cares about your safety and freedom from prison, I have a strong feeling you wouldn’t be here, looking like you stepped into a murder mystery game after getting drunk and horny for cock.”

“I wasn’t horny,” I mutter.

“Right. Not horny for just ANY cock. GOD FORBID!” she exclaims. “Gotta be a minimum eleven inches, or else you’ll never reach Miss Johnson’s standa—“

“God. Who wants eleven inches of un-erected cock?” I cringe at the mere idea.

“You. That and a pierced cock would be lovely,” she says, as if it’s so obvious, before she points to her left boob. “That’s what you texted me last night.”

I DID NOT!

“Alright. Change subjects for my own humility,” I cry before pointing back at her left breast. “And get that phone out of there. How many times do I have to remind you that androids can explode and that you don’t need breast reconstruction?”

“Now you’re being a worry wart like Wyatt.” She rolls her eyes.

At least she listens to me and takes the phone out to toss it onto my bed. Crossing her arms, she looks at me long and hard before she gives me a serious stare.

“Alright, Mikayla. What the fuck really happened here? ‘Cause unless you’re on your period, I can’t justify this sudden ‘let’s become a redhead’ movement,” she announces as her greenish-teal eyes land on my head. “You were my brunette bestie. The Midge of my perfect fantasy life. You can’t suddenly decide to become a grown-up Strawberry Patch doll without asking me.”

“Margaret Hadley Sherwood, otherwise known as Midge, was discontinued from Barbie,” I point out. If you weren’t a Barbie fan, you wouldn’t know who the hell she was talking about.

Or smoking.

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