The Story Of Us

We were best friends. Then the big city with the bright lights called to him , and he left. Who thought his terrible driving could bring us back together.

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1. Best Friends

'Hey, Eliza, I've got something AMAZING to show you! Come on.' He cried as I opened the door to see his beaming face. One second later and he was sprinting over my lawn back to his own house.

I ran after him, letting myself in through the front door. 'Eliza! Quick!' I followed the shout to his room and found him sitting at his desk looking at his computer screen. He was grinning.

'What? Is something wrong?' I asked quickly, glancing around the room to see if anything major was missing or if something seemed odd. There was nothing different. His room was just like it always was. Slightly messy, but mainly tidy. His bed was made, with his navy blue quilt and matching pillows. His draws were open but the clothes inside were neatly folded. The posters on the walls always made me laugh. He had so many that there was hardly any room left. You name a singer and he had their picture on his wall. I looked back over to Justin.

'Nothings wrong, its perfect, amazing, I got signed..... BY USHER !' He looked at my completely astonished face and added, 'He saw all my videos on youtube, you know the ones you helped me with. And I'm flying out there this monday! Can you believe this?!' He cried out.

Woah, this was big. I was happy for him. Justin had had a rough childhood, no dad, he deserved this he really did. 'OMG! That's amazing! WOOWW!' I screamed and he laughed. I calmed down then looked at him seriously, he quietened. 'Right well Justin, you promise me that if you get like, megga famous, you dont forget me, ok?' then as an after thought I added. 'And also you have to invite me to all the amazing partiess!'

'OF COursee, how could I forget you Eliza. Fame can change somethings, but it won't change our friendship!' He exclaimed as I grabbed him into a hug. I could feel his heartbeat through his shirt, I knew how much this meant to him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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