Brandon

I wake up feeling more tired than I did when I went to sleep. Lizzie and I chatted until midnight, and I already know that girl is going to be as tired as me. She doesn't do too well with no sleep. I have learnt over the years that Lizzie is a bit cranky when she's overtired.

Peering through my shutters, I can see she's already awake since her blinds are up and her bedroom window is open for the nice fresh morning air. We're supposed to go to school together, have breakfast at Mason's beforehand, and meet up with the others. Although I am very much doubting if Tammy will turn up. I hope so, because just like Lizzie, I am worried about her too. At least there is the housekeeper and Willow's nanny at their home to take care of Tammy's little sister.

Donning my black jeans from last night and black suede desert boots, I walk into my large closet and select a black D&G t-shirt from one of the hangers. Yes, I do like them all hanging up. I really hate that crease mark you get when your stuff is ironed and folded. It turns me right off. So not a good look. I can't be asked to shower; I'll do it tonight before I head off with Lizzie in the jet. I can't believe my dad is okay with us just taking off like that. Ever since he grounded me a while back for drinking, he's been a bit strict. It's super cool he has let up a bit. It was becoming a proper drag.

In my bathroom, I stand in front of the mirror with Art Deco lights on either side and run my hands through my jet-black hair. I check myself and notice that I've got some awesome bags under my eyes. Fuck it. It's only school and who do I need to impress? Lizzie. That's who. I don't want her to see me slipping and looking like shit.

That takes me by surprise. Since when have I been worrying about how I look in front of my best friend? I need to have a word with myself. That girl is going to be dating soon, and it will kill me. Literally. Kill. Me. I don't have time to think about this crap anymore; I have to get going, or I'll be late for Lizzie, late to Mason's breakfast house and late to school. With Lizzie. Not a good scenario. It's a regular pain in my ass this school stuff; I've had enough of it already and just want the year to be over so we can all enjoy our summer break before college.

That fills me with excitement. I can't wait to head to college in San Antonio, hook up with other ball players, and be on the Aztecs' team. Wow. It's been such a huge part of my life since I was about four, and now it's going to happen. Providing I get my grades, and I already know I will. Lizzie helps me endlessly with my assignments; man, I honestly don't know where I'd be without my best friend by my side.

The only thing that's marring it for me going to college and all is that Lizzie won't be with me. She's going to Texas to study business and fashion. Fashion because she's so good at creating and drawing clothes and her vision is amazing, and business because her daddy has stipulated it. He'd really like her to work for him during the holidays to learn the ropes, then when she's finished college. I know, however, Lizzie has very different ideas. She wants to go to Paris for a year and work in one of the fashion houses. That won't be an issue since her daddy is so well connected, like mine, that it'll be a walk in the park.

Paris. It's miles away, I'm thinking as I grab my pick-up keys from my side table, put my mobile in my back pocket and grab my Versace bag with my school stuff in it. Only a few more weeks to go, then school is finally out, and I cannot wait.

"Have a good day, Son." My father yells out from his office, where the door is open, and he has a good view across our foyer. I raise my hand to wave and shout back.

"Sure thing. You too, Pop. Catch you later. Say bye to mom for me." He nods his head. He knows I'm going to make it by the skin of my teeth. When don't I?

And there she is walking across the street. My beautiful best friend, the girl I've known since I was five years old. Her hair, as always, is tied up in a high ponytail, and it swings from side to side as she walks. She is wearing jeans frayed at the bottom and adorable pink Converse ankle boots. On top, she's wearing a white short-sleeved shirt.

"You're late." She shouts out, then picks up her pace and strides onto our drive.

I check my mobile. "Nope. I've got precisely two minutes."

"Wow. A whole two minutes. Any later and I was going to leave without you. Hurry up, we've got to meet the guys at Mason's. I hope Tammy makes it." Lizzie opens the passenger side door and hops in, placing her rucksack on her lap. She hooks on the seatbelt and rests her head back.

"I am so tired. Like my eyes just wanna close constantly."

"Yeah, me too, Lizzie baby." I place the key and press the button to start the engine. My vehicle hums into action, and the engine purrs like a dream. I was going to exchange it for a Mustang, but you know I like this big huge machine, and besides, it's good when you're with a girl. If you get my drift. A Mustang would be too squashed up, but man, I love the sound of them. They're a pure muscle car.

I notice how Lizzie blushes again. "What's with all the blushing?" I ask her and start maneuvering the car away from the house and out onto the wide street. The houses along here are huge. It has the nickname Mansion Road for a reason. No house here sells for anything less than four mill.

"What blushing? Behave, Brandon," she says, staring out the front screen.

"You! You're always blushing. Is it something I'm saying?" I hold my breath; maybe she does like me more than her best friend. There is utter silence. Okay, so that is killing me and, well, it's uncomfortable.

"Don't be so fucking stupid, Brandon. You're my best friend. Why would I be blushing when you speak to me?" She huffs and folds her slender arms across her chest. Which, as it happens, I have noticed looks like her tits have grown. Of course I don't say anything, but I am an eighteen-year-old guy, and we happen to notice these things.

"Just checking." Then she smacks my arm. Okay, so I deserved it. "Maybe it's a girl thing then." I shrug my shoulders and get a glare from her. Right. If looks could kill. Maybe I need a guidebook on how to speak to teenage girls, because right now I feel like I am sucking at it.

"Sucky right?!" I say and shrug.

She flicks me the middle finger. Yeah, totally sucky. I get it.