A jarring buzz sliced through the quiet of my room, wrenching me from sleep. I groaned, barely cracking one eye open as my phone vibrated against the nightstand. Olivia’s name flared on the screen – FaceTime.
I considered ignoring it, but before I could decide, the call connected itself. Stupid touchscreen.
Olivia’s face filled the screen, her expression far too bright for this hour. “Madison! Were you sleeping?”
I let out a tired sigh, shifting onto my side. “Obviously.” My voice was rough, a gravelly mumble. “What do you want?”
She grinned. “Just felt like talking.”
I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips. Olivia always did this – called at the most random times just to chat. It was one of the things I loved about her, even if I pretended to be annoyed.
“Fine,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes. “Talk.”
And she did.
We went back and forth for a while, trading dumb jokes and teasing each other like always. I was still half-asleep, barely registering half of what she said, until she suddenly groaned dramatically.
“Ugh, I still have so much packing to do.”
That jolted me awake a little. “You’re *still* not done?”
She huffed. “Obviously not. Do you know how much stuff I have? It’s a nightmare.”
“Wait… when are you actually moving?”
A pause.
“Tomorrow,” she admitted.
I sat up. “Tomorrow?! Olivia!”
“I know, I know!” she whined. “It just snuck up on me, okay? I thought I had more time.”
I shook my head. “Of course you did.”
She sighed dramatically. “So… are you coming over, or am I just gonna die under a pile of clothes alone?”
I rolled my eyes but threw off my blanket. “Give me thirty minutes.”
“You’re the best!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, ending the call before she could rope me into more pointless conversation.
I stretched, still shaking off the last bits of sleep, then grabbed leggings and an oversized sweatshirt before heading downstairs.
My mom and little brother, Jackson, were already up, at the kitchen table.
“Morning, zombie,” Jackson said through a mouthful of cereal.
“Morning, gremlin,” I shot back, ruffling his hair on my way to grab my keys.
My mom looked up from her coffee. “Where are you off to so early?”
“Olivia’s,” I said. “She’s moving out tomorrow and, shocker, she hasn’t finished packing.”
Mom smirked. “Sounds about right.”
I grabbed a granola bar on my way out the door, then made a quick stop at Starbucks – because helping Olivia pack without caffeine sounded like actual torture.
When I finally pulled up to her house, the driveway was already overflowing with boxes. I let out a breath, shaking my head as I climbed out of the car.
Before I even knocked, the door swung open. Olivia stood there, looking stressed but still managing to grin at me.
“Madi! You made it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, stepping inside. “Now let’s get to work before you have a meltdown.”
She groaned. “Too late.”
I laughed and followed her upstairs, bracing myself for the disaster that awaited.
Olivia’s room *was* a disaster. Clothes were everywhere – on the bed, the floor, half-hanging out of drawers. A couple of boxes sat half-packed in the corner, and a trash bag overflowed with things she’d apparently decided she didn’t need.
I let out a low whistle. “Yeah… this is bad.”
Olivia flopped onto the bed dramatically. “I know. I don’t even know where to start.”
I nudged her leg. “Well, lucky for you, I do. Get up.”
She groaned, but sat up anyway, grabbing a handful of clothes off the floor and dumping them onto the bed. “Okay, so my system is ‘keep,’ ‘donate,’ and ‘I’ll probably never wear this but I refuse to get rid of it.’”
I raised an eyebrow. “That last one seems counterproductive.”
She smirked. “You’d be surprised how many things end up there.”
I rolled my eyes, grabbing a sweater from the pile. “Like this?”
She gasped. “No! That’s my cozy airport sweater.”
I snorted. “Olivia, you don’t even fly that often.”
“Yeah, but when I do, I need options!”
I tossed the sweater into the ‘keep’ pile, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”
We spent the next hour sorting everything, folding, packing. Olivia kept getting distracted, trying things on, or making me stop to reminisce about some random piece of clothing.
“Remember this dress?” she asked, holding up a short black one.
I squinted. “Is that the one you wore to that rooftop party where you—”
“—almost fell over the railing? Yes,” she said, grinning. “Good times.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re lucky I caught you.”
“You did not catch me,” she said, tossing the dress into a box. “You just grabbed my arm while I was already saving myself.”
“Details,” I said with a shrug.
She rolled her eyes, but smiled.
A little while later, Olivia let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back onto the bed again. “I’m exhausted.”
“You’ve done, like, nothing,” I pointed out.
She waved a hand. “Moral support is tiring.”
I threw a hoodie at her. “Get up, we’re not done.”
“Ugh, fine,” she groaned, but she was smiling as she sat back up.
By the time we made real progress, it was already dark outside. I checked the time and frowned. “I should probably—”
“Stay,” Olivia interrupted.
I gave her a look.
She pouted. “You already know I’m gonna need help tomorrow, and if you go home now, you’ll just have to drive all the way back.”
She had a point.
I sighed. “Fine.”
She cheered. “Yes! Sleepover!”
I shook my head, but I couldn’t help but smile. Some things never changed.