Here's my new story idea. First story of twenty ten. I'm excited. I hope you all like the idea as much as I do.
Disclaimer: Here we go with these things again. I do not own the characters, the plot, the idea, whatever. This is strictly for fun.
"You know, you're a little too obsessed with them," Sierra said, as I gripped my phone waiting for the number to get free backstage passes to see Connect 3.
"SHHHHH!" I silenced Sierra, as I rolled my eyes. If only she knew why I was so obsessed.
"Be the third caller to call us," The woman said; as I pressed send on my phone. My hand started to sweat. I was so nervous that the phone would slip out of my hand. My heart started racing a mile a minute as the dial tone kept going and going and going and going.
"Hello, lucky caller number three-" That was all I needed to hear. I let out the loudest, highest pitch shriek that had ever been heard, "- Your name?"
"Mitchie," I said, forgetting my last name for a moment, "Mitchie Torres."
"Oh my god," Sierra said, as she flopped onto my bed. My tongue was a twisted knot. I could barely breathe right. I swear, I'm going to have a heart attack. I put my free hand to my chest as if to slow down my pulse.
"Mitchie Torres, you just need to come down to the station by noon tomorrow to collect your three backstage passes to Connect 3's show this Friday," The woman finished saying. I knew where the station was. My cheeks started to hurt from smiling so much in such a short time.
"Thank you. Oh my god, thank you so much," I said, shaking. The woman said goodbye and hung up. I put my phone on my dresser before screaming one more time. It was out of my system now. I started to jump around my room.
"What's going on?" Mom asked, poking her head in my room.
"Connect 3. Take me to the radio station. I need to go," I said, as I tried to stop smiling. My mom nodded her head towards the hallway.
"Come on girls," My mom said. She knew why I was so obsessed. Sierra put on her flip flops and followed me down the stairs. We got in the car, Sierra and I both in the backseat. My mom turned on the radio, Connect 3's hit single Play My Music. I saw Sierra roll her eyes in my peripheral vision. She mumbled something in Cantonese as I tried to dance to the pulsing beat.
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"Mitchie, you're gonna sweat the ink right off of the ticket," Sierra said, as my mom pulled into the driveway. I've had these tickets in my hand for an hour. Stupid traffic made getting home such a chore.
"Oh no, that can't happen," I said, moving the tickets to my other hand, which was indubitality less sweaty.
"So, honey, what are you going to wear?" My mom asked, sending a wave of panic through my entire body. I had no idea. Did I have anything Connect 3 worthy?
"Why would you ask her that? She's panicking," Sierra said. It was true. I had no clue. I jumped out of the car, opened my front door, and dashed straight up to my room. I started rifling through my closet. The concert was tomorrow night. I didn't have time to construct a new outfit. I needed new clothes, and now!
"Can you sleepover?" I asked Sierra from my closet. I heard her flip flop into my room. Sleepovers were regular.
"Not tonight. Sorry. My cousin is passing through, and she's gonna be here for dinner and a good majority of tomorrow. Then, she's back on her journey to college," Sierra said. I found a pair of black beat up skinny jeans.
"How about after the concert?" I asked, questioning skinny jeans or shorts. Would it be hot or cold backstage? I needed to know how to dress. Should I bring a jacket? Summer nights do tend to get a bit colder.
"Of course," Sierra said, picking up the discarded clothes from the floor. She wasn't a huge fan of Connect 3. It was too 'bubblegum pop' for her, but she would go for me. I loved that about her. She is my best friend. But, before she moved to town in first grade my best friend was a boy. But, he moved on to bigger and better things, leaving me behind in the dust.
"Good," I said, smiling into the depths of my closet. I was quickly running out of clothes to throw onto the floor.
"Hey, can I wear this to the concert?" Sierra said. I turned around. She was holding my light purple shirt that fell off one shoulder. It was super eighties, and I adored it.
"Sure," I said, smiling. I went back to tearing clothes out of my closet, "Shorts or jeans?"
"Hm…" Sierra said, pondering the idea, "Tasteful shorts. Not those skanky ones you wear to the pool."
"Maybe these?" I said, holding up a pair of jean shorts. Sierra shook her head, her wild brown curls flying all over the place around her head.
"This," Sierra said, holding up a pair of white skinny jeans. They still had the price tags on them because I didn't trust myself. White is such a hard color to keep clean.
"You sure?" I asked in a tentative voice. I didn't want them to get dirty. I didn't want t look ridiculous with some kind of stain on them. Plus, bleaching then clean wasn't always the best way to wash clothes.
"Definitely sure," Sierra said, checking my clock on the wall. She had time. It was only four thirty. Her dinner always started a six o'clock.
"Alright," I said, taking them in my hands. The last thing I had in my hands were the tickets. Those were the key into my past. Where did I put them? I started throwing clothes back into my closet, trying to uncover any space where I could have put them down. Sierra was smiling.
"What are you doing?" Sierra asked. I probably looked like a madwoman, throwing clothes back into my closet, frantically scanning every surface I could in the mean time.
"I don't remember where I put the tickets and backstage passes," I said, closing my closet door. I started to walk out of my room to check the living room when I had ran through. I needed those.
"Wait," Sierra said, as I stopped. Something touched my butt, Sierra was holding the tickets, "They were in your back pocket."
"Thank you," I said, hugging Sierra. I quickly cut the hug off, and took the tickets and passes into my hand. I put them on my dresser, so I would see them when I went into or left my room. I was not losing those precious pieces of paper ever again.
"Sierra, honey, your mom wants you home," My mom said, walking into my room. It probably was the cleanest she'd seen it in a while, spare the white skinny jeans that were on the floor.
"Alright. I'll be here at like four tomorrow," Sierra said, grabbing the purple shirt I was letting her borrow.
"Sounds good," My mom said, leaving my room and going back downstairs. Sierra and I had a short hug.
"I'll walk you to the door," I said, leaving my room with my best friend. Her mom was sitting in the living room with my mom.
"Hi Mrs. Stocker," I said, waving at Sierra's mom. She was told me a mill – "I told you to call me Janice," – ion times to call her Janice.
"Can I sleepover after the concert?" Sierra asked her mom, as Janice looked at my mom. My mom nodded.
"Sure sweetie," Janice said, as her daughter shortly squealed, "Well, we should get home. I have to finish preparing dinner, and Michelle is almost here."
"Yup," Sierra said, as she walked towards the front door with my purple shirt.
"Bye Connie. Thanks for taking Sierra to this concert," Janice said, as she walked towards the main entrance.
"You better wear those white skinny jeans, Mitch," Sierra said, as her mom opened the door.
"I will," I said, "You better be wearing that purple shirt."
"I will," Sierra said, right before closing the door behind her. It was me and my mom for now, until daddy got back from the hardware store.
"How excited are you to see your best friend from when you were a tot?" My mom asked me, as I watched Sierra and her mom walk across our lawn to their home.
"Very. I just hope all of those magazines are wrong about him being a total monster," I said, as my mom soothingly shook my shoulder.
"I'm sure they are," My mom said, as she took out her cell phone.
"And, I hope he recognizes me," I softly said. A lot had changed in ten years. We both grew up, and went our separate ways. I was just hoping our past would hold us together.
"I'm sure he will. I'm just going to call Denise. Tell her the exciting news," My mom said, pressing some buttons on her phone. My stomach flipped. Telling his mom that we were going backstage. And, that's why I was so obsessed with them.
You like the idea? Yes? No? The green button below doesn't bite, or hurt to click.