Chapter 5: Pizza
November 26, Day 3, 9:12 P.M.
Let's go, don't wait, this night's almost over
Honest, let's make this night last forever
Forever and ever, let's make this last forever
I took a bite of my now sixth piece of pizza. The pepperoni pizza tasted superb in my mouth, which I had crammed way too much pizza in, so that I looked like a chipmunk. I know that I’m not the most lady-like girl out there, but I’ll tell you that there a worse people than me.
“One time, my sister, Ema, she went on a field trip with the first and second graders, and she ate too many corn-dogs, and while we were walking past the flamingos, she puked on them.” By this time I was laughing hysterically at a story I knew and loved. “But that wasn’t the worst part, she had to apologize to the flamingos, and the teachers made her apologize to the students.” I heard little snorts from Harry as I literally was dying from laughter. Of course, he would be the one who wasn’t laughing while I was dying over here from shortage of breath.
“No, but I think my story of Gemma and I carved pumpkins, and mine was pretty cool.” When he had told me that story, I looked up his pumpkin, and it was a stick figure head. Sure it was nice, but it wasn’t Picasso.
“That ain’t no Van Gough.” I told him in my best cockney accent, ridiculing the island which he comes from.
“Hey!” He objected. “I worked for about an hour on that! And I do not sound like that!”
After about an hour or so, Harry finally decided to walk me back to the small, paint-peeling-on-the-walls, apartment.
21523. I stopped immediately in front of the plain, beige door. I really hope Harry didn’t want to go in. It was a small apartment with paint peeling in the most unusual spots, clothes covering the wood floors so much that you couldn’t actually see the wood, and scripts, revised and highlighted from past plays, littered the coffee table, which had coffee rings stained on it.
I stood in front of the door, my arms covering the knob.
“Okay, this is your queue to leave now, Harry.” I said in all seriousness, shooing him away from the simple door.
“What? No good-night kiss?” He said jokingly. As he said this I lightly punched his arm, telling him to knock it off. “I’ll take that as a no.”
That night, I sat in my bed, reading A Catcher in The Rye. It truly was a good book, it’s too bad it’s banned from schools. I stared at the clock: 10:25, 10:26. It was like time had slowed down or something. Maybe it had.