<strong>NAME:</strong>Zoe Porter<br/><strong>WEARING:</strong>Tank top + skirt (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/e7/1e/ff/e71effc31d22b719a492b844a999430c.jpg)<br/><strong>DAY:</strong>Friday, June 9th<br/><strong>TIME:</strong>Doesn't mean anything to Zoe, right now.<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong>Old Lady Margaery’s - Backyard, right where the picnic table is.<br/><strong>CONTENT:</strong>Zoe being Zoe. And Zoe being jealous of Naomi and her coolness. Oh, and Zoe... Zoe!<br/><br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong>Jonas, Naomi (indirectly, though) + people in the backyard who happen to be close enough to the old, smashed picnic table.<br/><hr/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/22600000/Krysten-R-3-krysten-ritter-22624733-500-333.png)</div><br/>Zoe took another long sip of Coke from her bottle, immediately followed by a sigh. She then dried her lips with the back of her hand, smearing some of the lipstick she cared to put on for the big event. She read somewhere about that guy who experienced a bad trip and never made it back. The idea of spending the rest of her days locked in a mental asylum made her gasp, and start muttering a question. “Do you… Jonas! Do you think…?”. She stopped. No, the guy had a trip on LSD – not on good ole weed.<br/><br/><em>Oh, Zoe, you dummy!</em><br/><br/>“Never mind.” She stated, instead, her eyes lingering on the face of her ex boyfriend. But then again, ‘boyfriend’ is (probably) too big a word to describe what once was the relationship between the two. Fuckbuddies? Nah! Somewhere in between? Probably so, yup. Anyway, she laughed nervously at his words, unsure if he was just trying to be funny. Or whatever. She partially hid her face behind the smokescreen of that big plastic bottle for a huge sip, then she put the cap back on the bottle of Coke and left it on the picnic table, replacing it with the can Jonas handed her. She let off another sigh, adding theatrically: “Oh, Jonas, I really wish it was true”. She grinned.<br/><br/>But did she? Well, Zoe<em>did</em>decide to sit right besides him. Uninvited, of course – but she couldn’t care less, now, could she? “Your parents are some wise folks, dude. You should listen to them more. Anyway…” A little pause, as she took off her backpack and placed it on her lap. “...I do have some twisted plan for tonight.” She opened the front pocket of her backpack and stuffed her right hand inside. In the meanwhile, her cigarette was slowly burning – held hostage by her left index and middle finger. “How is it in French again…? Voilà!”.<br/><br/>And she pulled off a set of keys. But not just any set of keys. It was that set of keys. A closer look to them – and to the horrible panda-shaped keyring attached to it – would probably help make some bell rings in Jonas’ head. That was the set of keys to her dad’s house – which meant that the old Porter was away for business, and that his place was at Zoe’s disposal. Call it the perks of being the youngest daughter of divorced parents who were (almost completely) blind to their little offspring’s misdeeds. She made the keys jingle in her hand before putting them back. “That is – if I don’t pass out in the next three or four hours”.<br/><br/>“...which is likely.” She added, nodding. Another drag of cigarette – the last one, washed away by a sip of now warmish beer. She crushed the cigarette butt against the table – which was probably creaking under the weight of the two of them – and threw it away. She then looked at the stage, where Naomi was going through her set.<br/><br/><em>God, I wish I was a little bit more like Naomi. And a little bit less like, well… Zoe</em>, she thought.<br/><br/>And then she murmured it: “God, I wish I was a little more like Naomi. And a little less like, well… Zoe.”<br/>