april lucille browning had many friends, but one downside of camaraderie with other extroverts meant that your friends also had friends.

ordinarily, this would have posed no issue. she rather enjoyed conversation, truly, and scarcely cared with whom it was conducted. her lab partner in biology, the elderly cashier at the seaside café—the anchor—or even the bus driver of the four o’clock route that carried her from the college dormitories to her family home on the weekends.

she was the light of her parents’ lives, an unrepentant mother’s girl, the beloved juliet in her high school’s production. yet, she found talking to you obnoxiously taxing.

she was not sure what it was; paisley had assured her that you were a sweetheart, but then again, she hadn’t seemed to be the best judge of character in the past.

maybe it was your hair. maybe it was because you'd dated her boyfriend (not that it mattered, of course). whatever the cause, you seemed to befriend everyone but her, like a blight sweeping through an otherwise pristine field of wheat. not the most promising mindset, but she digressed.

she’d nearly refused to go shopping with her mates, because she knew that sidonie would whisk you along, like a new handbag. and april couldn’t even cling to the arm of her boyfriend, sonny stafford, because he wouldn’t be caught dead in an urban outfitters.

“they’re taking forever.” april lamented, fussing with the delicate lace trim of the short pink dress she had chosen for the occasion, casting a dissatisfied glance at her reflection.

petite as she was, standing barely five foot one, and with her golden curls tumbling down her back, she looked every inch the picture of a coquettish doll—a particularly peeved one, at present.

“honestly, how long does it take to try on a skirt? unless sidonie is having a whole ass photoshoot in there.” her icy blue eyes found your face, nose wrinkling as if you were a particularly mouthy shit. “what? being civil was exhausting, you can’t expect me to pretend that i want to be here.”