with the CD?’ she asks me.
‘Are you the random girl with the Dylan?’ I ask in return.
She stares at me blankly, yes, she’s just Dylan’s type – nearly naked and entirely stupid.
‘Dylan never came back.’
‘Right,’ I reply. I’d pretend to be surprised to spare her feelings but I don’t think she’d even notice. ‘Well, can I have his phone, please?’
‘CD first,’ she insists.
Funnily enough I’m not in the habit of carrying around signed copies of any of The Burnouts’ albums, but I need that phone.
‘Sorry, we’re all out. It’s a busy time of year for him.’
‘Whatever,’ she replies. ‘No CD, no phone. Get me my CD or I’ll start forwarding photos.’
I cannot believe Barbie’s slutty brunette BFF is holding Dylan’s phone ransom.
‘OK, I’ll find you a CD,’ I promise her.
‘Awesome. Laters,’ she replies, slamming the door in my face.
‘Laters,’ I repeat to myself in a silly voice. I have no idea where I’m going to get one of Dylan’s CDs – let alone one he has signed. I suppose I’ll have to find the man himself for that, but I need the phone to find him in the first place. It’s a Catch-22 situation.
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