Darling - K. Ancrum Page 0,2
from the first floor. “I don’t hear unpacking noises.”
“I’m getting to it!” Wendy yelled back. She ducked out of the empty room and into her significantly more crowded one.
She set up her phone on the windowsill and started a video call, then she sat on the ground and started assembling her bed.
“Wendy?” Eleanor’s twangy voice blared loudly into the room. “Is that manual labor I see you doing? Very butch. I’m loving it.”
Wendy huffed. “I’m not doing it for your entertainment, Eleanor, I’m doing it so I can have a place to sleep.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. So are you able to meet up tonight? I want to take you to Ann Sather so you can understand what real cinnamon rolls are supposed to be like. Then I was thinking we could go to Boystown and see if we can get into a club or something.”
Wendy sighed loudly and wrenched at her headboard. “No. My dad says we can’t meet up today. My mom thinks you’re a serial killer.”
“Why does she think I’m a serial killer? I’m vegan.”
“You’re vegan because you like animals. Not because you don’t want to kill people. Those two things are not mutually exclusive. You think there aren’t any vegan serial killers?”
“Anyway, didn’t you tell them that I couldn’t possibly be a catfish because we video chat? Catfishes always work really hard to make sure people never get a chance to video chat with them. Plus, if I was a catfish, I would work harder to look better than … this.”
Wendy looked up. Eleanor had her curly blond hair bundled up into a pineapple on the top of her head and was wearing a gel mask.
“What? You look hot.” Wendy snorted. “Why are you dressed for bed? It’s like four thirty.”
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Well, I WAS going to take a nap so I would be awake enough to take you on a tour of the city, but I guess that’s no longer a thing.” She whipped the scrunchie off her head and shook out her curls. “Why are your parents so strict? Aren’t they tired?”
“Dude, I don’t know. I’m so well-behaved. I genuinely don’t get it. I’ve literally never done anything that they wouldn’t approve of, but they treat me like a criminal.”
Eleanor shrugged one shoulder. “Well, at least you’ll be eighteen soon. Maybe they’ll let you go outside then.”
Wendy dropped the slats over her bed frame, then tugged her mattress across the room. “Mmm. I don’t know. Whenever anything happens that reminds my mom that I’m growing up, she gets all weepy and excuses herself to go feel feelings in another room. Just … like … what do you even say to that?”
Eleanor laughed. “Aww, that’s cute.”
“It’s not cute, it’s annoying,” Wendy griped as she tucked in her sheets.
“It’s cute,” Eleanor insisted. “She’ll probably calm down when the adoption goes through. Then she can focus all her mom-energy on momming someone else to death, and maybe we can finally see each other face-to-face.”
“You wanna see my face, sweetheart?” Wendy pushed her face up close to the camera so it was nothing but a big brown blur.
Eleanor cackled. “Go finish setting up your room. I’m just a distraction at this point.” She grinned at Wendy fondly.
“No, no! Give me five more minutes,” Wendy said. She opened the box that held all her books and dumped them out onto the floor.
“So needy,” Eleanor scoffed. “Okay, five more. What was the school like?”
“Bland. The guys there were actually hot, though.”
“I’m going to stop you right there and let you know that prep school boys aren’t ‘hot.’ You’re just confused because there were, like, eight boys at your old school and all of them had faces like a loaf of bread.”
Wendy scrunched up her nose. “You don’t even like boys.”
“Not again. Don’t say it—”
“How do you even know which ones are cute?” Wendy continued, louder.
“Ugh. I’m just gay; I still have eyes. Please, Wendy, love yourself. Do you want to end up with some boy with a bowl cut named Chet who takes you to dinner with his parents while wearing khakis and sweating a lot, or do you want to get fingered in the back of a club you’re technically too young to be in by a gorgeous fucker named Montana who has a dirt bike, plays bass, and had to retake algebra? These! Are not! Hard choices!”
Wendy covered her face with both hands.
“You want dumb hot Montana, don’t you?” Eleanor asked.
“I want dumb hot Montana,” Wendy groaned through