Tierny

The wind knots my already tangled dirty blonde hair. Teirny sits next to me in the leather driver’s seat, her maroon-dyed curls pulled into a tight ponytail at the back of her head. Munford and Sons plays loudly, and both of us sing at the top of our lungs and laugh hysterically. Cars zoom by us making a whizzing noise through the open windows. I take a sip of my chocolate shake. The cold ice cream runs down my throat. I hand her a gummy worm. We are already late to pick up the tiles we painted with her girlfriend, Taba, who recently became her fiancée.  I giggle as I hear Fender’s tail slap against the window. “Fender,” she tells the pit bull, “Stop it!” She giggles. I’m going to miss her when she moves to California.

 By Molly