User:Sadieblackenrose/Sample page

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Erin, Hala, and I decided to paint our nails afterwards. We sat out on the old, large porch porch of the house with our glitter nail polish and nail files. After a while the guys started tossing around an old football that Gibby found tuck back beside the old tool shed in the backyard that was practically falling down. I watched a little jealously as Billy and Court ran after each other, tackling each other to the ground in sweaty laughter. This relationship between myself, Billy, and Court wasn't very good for any of us, I decided as Erin painted my toenails. It was like being in trap that could spring at any moment. But as I watched Court with his dark hair and dark eyes, I knew I couldn't stay away from him. And as sure as I knew i couldn't stay away from him, I knew Billy couldn't either.

Admittedly, Court was straight. My sweet brother was in love with yet another man who would never love him like he deserved. I watched the look that Billy was giving Court as he leaned back to throw a pass to Declan. I knew it was the same look that I had when i looked at him. My heart broke for my brother in that moment. I knew he would be angry if Court told him that he had feelings for me, even though he would eventually be happy for us. After all, he had discovered Court first and we had an unwritten code between us that we never went after the others' crush. I began to feel uncomfortable and unhappy.

"What's wrong?" Erin asked, noticing the gloomy look on my face.

I waved my hand back and forth, dismissing her claim. She gave me a look that told me she knew better but would question me more when we were alone. It wasn't that I didn't like Hala. She just wasn't as mature as Erin and we weren't close friends. If Randa had been there, I would spilled in a heartbeat.

The guys all piled back onto the porch, sweaty and dirty after their play time. Gibby and Butters gathered their junk and left. Hala's mom stopped by on her way home from work to pick up her daughter, so the rest of us trooped upstairs. Billy started making dinner. Billy was an amazing chef. He had never formally trained, but I would have put him up against any of the chefs in any of the fancy restaurants on the square in our small town. And he was just a line chef at a sandwich shop. I constantly tried to push him to go further, make more of a career for himself in the culinary world. He wanted to be in entertainment and really thought that band management was his calling. He certainly had the pull in the small college town we lived in, but in bigger cities he just didn't have the connections to really get good gigs for up and coming bands.

As Billy cooked, he rattled on and on about an upcoming open mic night he had arranged with one of the local bar owners. Generally these bar owners let Billy book these shows because they knew if they accommodated him, he would be willing to help out in their kitchens when they were short staffed. Court helped Billy in our tiny kitchen while Erin, Declan, and I sat around the kitchen table, playing a silent game of Uno. Billy brought out a big plate piled high with fried chicken and Court followed with homemade mashed potatoes and gravy and big, fluffy biscuits. My mouth was watering already.