F.A.T-Chapter Three

After a sweaty workout session, I stretched for the eleventh time, bones popping in protest. Wrapping a towel around myself, I paused the YouTube exercise video and dug into a bag of cheese-flavored chips while scrolling through my contacts. “Pick up, Funke,” I muttered as I dialed. "What’s popping?” came her cheerful voice. I laughed. “Someone’s happy.” “Yea, gist me, joor.” “About what?” “I’m coming over.” “Fine, bring your history notes. We’ve got catch-up to do.” She groaned dramatically. “Ah, nerdiest nerd of them all.” I laughed heartily and hopped into the shower. Minutes later, the doorbell rang. I sprinted downstairs before Mum could get it. My smile froze the moment I opened the door. “What’s he doing here?” Alfred grinned like the troublemaker he was, pushing past me into the house as if he owned it. “Why did you bring him?” I hissed at Funke. “Don’t blame me. You know Alfred,” she said, hands raised in surrender. Of course, I did. Alfred’s persuasive char...