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“God damn it! I swear I need to get a new lock for this door!” I say out loud, trying as hard as I can to unlock the door.

I am so frustrated that when I finally unlock it, it swings open so hard it hits the wall inside and leaves a dent. Well that’s just great, I think to myself. I walk into my little apartment, throw my bag onto the couch, and walk over to the desk to turn the computer on.
“Sarah, you home?” I yell toward her room.

“Yeah, I’m in the bathroom.”

I walk into the bathroom (that unfortunately we have to share) to find my best friend Sarah getting ready for what was probably her 543,743 date of the week. We have been best friends since we were little and are rarely seen apart. It was fate for us to move into this little apartment together in LA. She is probably the only friend I have that I don’t get sick of.

“Hey love, how were the little demons today?” she asks.
“Oh the same. I swear, there is nothing I can do to get them to calm down! I really don’t remember why I decided to become a teacher in the first place.”

Being a teacher was one of the reasons we were stuck in this dump. I had wanted to be one since I was little, but I didn’t seem to take into account the fact that teachers are very poorly paid, hence the little apartment. I also knew I couldn’t count on Sarah for much; she went from job to job so fast I could never keep up.

I walk out of the bathroom back to the computer and open the internet to check my email.

Hmmm…let’s see junk, junk, junk, and more junk. Well, what’s new?

But then I see one email that isn’t junk. I open it up and read it:



Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnna!!!

So guess what? I’m coming home for two weeks and I really want to see you this time! I promise, I won’t bail. I just feel like we need to hang out…I haven’t seen you for like…years… So, write me back and let me know when you have time.

Love,
Nicky



I guess I was wrong. This is the definition of junk mail… I have known Nickolas Gene Carter, of the Backstreet Boys, for eight years. We met at a shoppe in LA and it was instant attraction for me and apparently, it was for him, too. We dated for a couple of months; it was nothing too serious due to the fact that we were so young, but we remained friends after our brake up. But…this was before he became Nick Carter, before girls were throwing themselves at him, before he had everything he ever wanted.

Nick and I have been sending emails and calling each other back and forth ever since he became famous and I have only seen him two times since then. The last time was probably three years ago. Whenever he’s in town, he always promises that we will meet up. But does it ever happen? Hell no. So I groan, click reply, and start to type:



Nick,

I don’t think the question is when do I have time? It’s more like when do you have time? I don’t know about this Nick because whenever you say you want to hang out, you always have somewhere else you have to be or something else that is more important. So I think that you should just call me next week and well see what we can work out.

-Anna


That’ll probably make him mad, but hey, he’s not the one getting stood up every time. I guess we’ll just see what happens in a week..