FREJA AND ARIZONA ARE FUCKING

Freja Beha For iPod Mini.

    “Ladies and Gentleman,” Freja called out loudly to the attendees of her Fall garden party. The models and rockstars stopped conversing and turned their attention to their hostess, “I present to you a revolutionary product that will change your life,” Freja bellowed out, her hands behind her back, a sly smile punctuating her sentence, “I bring you…” she teased for effect, “THE IPOD MINI!”

    Everyone was silent as Freja held up a scratched  upside-down iPod. Two foreign people took pictures of her doing this, just because no one has seen a fucking picture of Freja in, like, forever. Everyone else was confused. The party was packed. Saskia, Karl, Karmen Pedaru, Abbey and, regrettably, Charlottee Free were all in attendance.

     Arizona clapped amorously at her Demarkian queen and, slowly, the party followed suit.

     ”Why is she doing this?” Saskia de Brauw asked Arizona.

     Saskia had been invited to this party as a sign that there is “no hard feelings” for her taking over Chanel from Freja. Freja was happy to learn that a Saskia de Brauw was a person and not a luxury single cup coffee maker.

     Arizona continued clapping, and leaned in towards Saskia’s weird man haircut. She whispered, “Freja has a lot of free time so she’s gotten really into eBay. She’s very proud of her purchases and last month we had a garden party for a Shamwow so this is actually much better.”

     ”How did the Shamwow party go over?” Saskia asked.

      “Poorly,” Arizona said, flush with memories of Freja pouring red wine on Valentino’s white pants, then attempting to clean it up with a made for TV yellow rag.

      “This does seem better,” Saskia whispered back.

      “This iPod mini,” Freja announced, “Is the most cutting edge piece of technology that has been ever entrusted to a model.”

     ”What about when Shalom’s dress was painted by that robot at Mcqueen?” Karmen Pedaru asked.

      “Shalom was assaulted by that robot, it wasn’t entrusted to her,” Freja said, “If you all showed up and I started pelting you with iPod Mini’s, then maybe it would be comparable, but I would never do that. I respect technology too much and I don’t want to be targeted by paint machines in the future. My wardrobe is black for a reason,” Freja explained.

     ”Did Apple ask you to do this?” Wixson asked, confused by what was happening.

     ”Yes and no,” Freja responded. “After a night of heavy eBaying, I was visited in a dream by Will Gates.”

     ”I think you mean Bill Gates,” Karmen Pedaru said.

     ”Bill Gates is still alive, how could his ghost visit you?” Saskia asked.

     ”The spirit world is not governed by conventional laws of our terrestrial realm,” Abbey said distantly.

      “Exactly. Extraterrestrials created that shit and brought it to us in exchange for human lives,” Charlotte Free said, sitting at the childrens table with that 15 year old that walked for Prada and Ming Xi who would just repeat the last word of everything anyone said, then furrow her eyebrows in a vague expression that showed neither opinion nor comprehension.

      “I don’t mean to be a downer,” Mariacarla Boscono said, but everyone knew this would be a downer statement because no one has ever seen Mariacarla smile. “But I have the new iphone 5 with a gorilla glass retina display and a questionable maps program… that’s why I was late today,” Mariacarla stated matter of factly. She held up her phone and Freja marched over to inspect it.

      As Freja passed by Ming, Ming held up her iphone 3g that was surrounded in a case with little rubber cat ears, “Kitty,” Ming said. Freja continued until Mariacarla’s shiny iphone and Freja’s scratched ipod mini were next to each other.

     ”That sucks and is stupid,” Freja said, looking at the iphone 5.

     ”Ohh, an Android fangirl,” Mariacarla retorted.

     ”No, she hates androids, didn’t you hear her talk about Mcqueen?” Wixson pointed out.

     ”It looks like the perfect size to do coke off of,” Abbey added as she admired the iphone 5.

     ”It looks like like the tool of someone with penis envy,” Freja said.

     ”Penis envy,” Ming repeated, confused.

     ”I’m sorry, but that iPod came out in like 2005,” Maricarla said to Freja.

     ”And so did you,” Arizona said to Mariacarla, defending Freja’s factory refurbished purchase.

     ”Everything that can do, my phone can do,” Mariacarla snipped, becoming competitive, as iphone 5 users tend to do.

     ”Yes, but your iphone 5 accepts calls,” Freja said, “Pointless.”

     ”How is that pointless? It’s a phone.”

     ”When is the last time any of you called someone on the phone?” Freja questioned.

      The party was silent.

      “My agent called me to wake me up for this super early 2pm shoot,” Charlotte Free said and Wixson scolded her, “God hurts when you do lies.”

      “Wixson is right,” Freja confirmed.

      “Wixson right?” Ming repeated and her confusion finally seemed appropriate.

      “Yes. Lies are bad and ipod touches are the truth,” Freja declared. “They are skinny and they are beautiful,” Freja admired, holding the iPod Mini upsidedown again. “They are packed with greatness and they work for up to eight hours at a time without needing to recharge their batteries. They’re replaced by newer sleeker versions ever couple years. They don’t accept phone calls and they break easily when dropped,” Freja said, then, finally, it all became clear as Freja’s thesis was spoken, “iPod Mini’s are the fashion models of the technology world.”

       ”I am ipod,” Ming said and Freja nodded at her, “Yes you are, Ming. Yes you are.”

***NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NONE OF THIS EVER HAPPENED. THE IPOD MINI IS A GREAT DEVICE, BUT IT’S SERIOUSLY DATED AND I HONESTLY DON’T RECOMMEND YOU PURCHASE ONE. NEITHER DOES FREJA.***

If you liked this piece and you are a literary agent, please contact me to read my manuscripts.

FrejArizona and The Closet of the Asian Nudie Mags.

      NYFW was approaching fast. Freja had taken some time off, but she finally felt recharged. She was ready to return. Freja’s NYFW re-debut would be like soft kisses on all the mental bruises that had been caused by John leaving and those sleeves on the Balenciaga Sci-Fi sweaters.

      Since Raf had recently stolen all of Freja’s pants for his boring Dior collection, Arizona decided that she would rearrange the closet. A large amount of Freja’s wardrobe used to be pants and now they’re gone forever.

      Moving barefoot down the marble floored hallways of the opulent mansion Freja allowed Arizona to stay in, Arizona longed for her love, but she also felt content that Freja had rediscovered her passion for fashion. As she got older, Arizona realized that no one should have a cap placed on how much they can love.

      The fading summer sun angled through the window and rested on the closet door. Arizona thrust the large door open, ready to make space for a new season. Almost immediately after she did this, the door was pushed shut, from the inside. Arizona was alarmed about the door shutting. Not really because it was so sudden, but because it probably mean Raf was in the closet stealing more simple patterned garments for his new Dior show.

     “Don’t you ever knock?” an angry voice yelled from behind the shut door.

     “Why would I knock on the closet door before I opened it?” Arizona asked back. She knew that it was not an evil spirit that had slammed the door on her, but instead of beautiful spirit, it was her Denmarkian queen. “Freja,” Arizona said cautiously, “I didn’t really ever anticipate having to ask you this, but whatcha doin’ in the closet?”

      Silence.

      Arizona worried that Abby Lee might be in there with Freja and she quickly grabbed the nob, then threw the door open. Freja looked back with horror at Arizona, then lifted her arms up and attempted to block Arizona’s vision of… issues of Love?

      Freja’s protective gesture proved to be too much of a push and the magazines toppled over, spilling everywhere. Quickly dropping to the ground and splaying out her body, Freja tried to cover the pile of magazines. It was for naught. There were too many magazines and not enough Freja. She had been caught.

      “Freja!” Arizona gasped, “You’ve been hiding in the closet reading Japanese nudie mags!”

      “Have not. There is a hole in your theory. I can’t even read Japanese,” Freja shot back, “And neither can you Arizona, so, as I see it, we’re even.”

      “Freja you’re laying on a pile of naked Japanese ladies, we’re hardly even. I have never laid on a single Japanese lady.”

      “There is room for you on the magazines,” Freja offered.

      “Why are you wearing fake boobs?” Arizona asked.

      Freja looks at the silly top, “I’m cosplaying,” she explained.

      “Cosplaying what?”

      “Pretty much any girl with boobs,” Freja said.

      “I can’t believe you’ve secretly been stockpiling Japanese nudie mags,” Arizona responded, shocked Freja would do this behind her back.

      “For your information not all these are nudie mags,” Freja said, “There is definitely some yaoi in here as well.”

      “What is Yaoi?” Arizona shrieked, “Have you been watching Univision Gameshows in here while reading Asian smut?” Arizona asked, hurt at Freja’s porn party been one invite short.

      “I don’t even know Spanish,” Freja said, “So why would I watch a Spanish gameshow?”

      “The same reason you’d read these magazines.”

      “Oh. Boobies,” Freja said to herself.

      “Yes, and I’m glad we don’t have the Spanish channel, or probably don’t have the Spanish channel, I haven’t really checked because I don’t speak Spanish, but it’s clear that you have more than enough boobies in here.”

      “I could use two more,” Freja said to Arizona in a cute voice.

      Freja always knew how to melt Arizona’s cold shoulder, like Freja was the Arizona heat and Arizona was that place in Demark where Freja was from. That place is probably really cold. Who knows. It’s in Denmark.

      Arizona got down on her knees and crawled across the nudie mags. When she reached Freja, she looked into her soul mate’s eyes and asked, “What’s yaoi?”

      Freja picked up one of the books that was laying near Arizona’s hair (thankfully Az’s hair was finally growing out). Freja looked at the black and white pictures in the book, one in particular, of a man with a creepy long fingered claw-hand on a boy’s shoulder and she started explaining, “Well, as said, I don’t speak Japanese, but it’s called yaoi, which I think translates into Sandusky in American. I am not familiar with that word either. I don’t think we have a word for it in whatever Denmark language I speak,” Freja advised, “but these books seem to be a really loosely based adaption of that Indiana Jones movie where he pals around with Shia LaBeouf.”

      “So the books are about an Asian Indiana Jones?”

      “No, yaoi seems to be about an offduty Asian Indiana Jones who is hardcore gay with Shia Labeouf,” Freja corrected her love as they lay on the periodicals. “And sometimes one of the gays randomly gets preg and no one knows how or why it happened,” Freja added.

     “Understandable,” Arizona said, not questioning this part one bit.

     Arizona put one of her hands on Freja’s cosplay boob and said, “I get it, it’s nice to get away and pretend sometimes.”

     Freja thought about this for a moment and she responded, “I don’t want this to be pretend though. I want to live in a world where Shia LaBeouf has the option to be hardcore gay and Asian with a pregnant Indiana Jones.”

     “I don’t know if we’ll ever live in that world,” Arizona said softly, then she warmly hugged Freja in an effort to ease the frostbite of this cold truth.

***NOTE THIS IS FAKE. THIS IS IMAGINARY. THIS SHIT DID NOT HAPPEN****

If you’re a literary agent and you want to read any of my fiction manuscripts, please contact me.

THE FREJARIZONA EPIC CONTINUES.

This is the second part in a two part saga called “Who the Fuck Stole All The Pants?”

Here is a link to the first half of the story. If you don’t want to read it, here is a summary of the first half of the story: Someone stole all the fucking pants.

PART 2 - July 1st 2012

    “Okay, I hate pants as much as the next person, assuming the next person has no cellulite,” Abbey Lee explained, “but I’d really like my pants back.”

     It was the best of times (because they could look at each other without pants).

     It was the worst of times (because all of their pants were designer and you don’t drop two grand on a pair of pants just to have them walk away).

     No one said anything, except for Wixson, who was twirling in her table cloth dress, while repeating, “Disney princess, Disney princes, Dizzy princess.”

     Freja had been feeling very “evil step sister” lately, and not just because Arizona demanded she play that character during dirty Disney taboo Tuesday fun time. Freja had felt evil step sister-like even back when she had pants. Wixson seemed so sweet in her tablecloth skirt that Freja almost was able to ignore the giant orange juice stain next to Wixson’s butt.

    Searching for innocence in a world full of pants thieves, Freja walked over to a table in the corner of the room and pulled the table cloth off like a bull fighter would wave his cape.

     Karmen Pedaru immediately let out a shriek. It reminded everyone of The Balmain Incident.

     ”Oh no, were your antidepressants on the table cloth?” Abbey asked Karmen Pedaru, worried. Karmen Pedaru was speechless. She slowly lifted her finger and pointed toward Freja.

    “Don’t try to finger me for this crime!” Freja yelled at Karmen Pedaru.

     ”Don’t try to finger my girlfriend!” Arizona yelled at Karmen Pedaru.

     ”No,” Abbey said, her eyes following Karmen Pedaru’s finger, “look, under the table.”

     Freja whipped around and found a man in a blue sweater crouched under the table. His location exposed, the man slowly crawled out from his hiding spot.

     ”Oh my gosh!” Wixson exclaimed, “Why is my dentist here? I’M NOT FILLING MY GAP,” Wixson yells at the man in the blue sweater, then tries to hide behind Abbey, but quickly gives up when she realizes it’s an impossible task.

     ”That’s not your dentist,” Arizona explained flatly.

     ”He looks like my dentist mixed with a serial killer,” Karmen Pedaru said.

     ”I live in the Midwest so it’s safe to assume my dentist is also a serial killer,” Wixson says, unsettled by this man’s presence. 

     These were not Disney Girl Problems.

    “This is Raf Simons,” Arizona announced.

    “No offense, but Arizona once told Donatella Versace she, ‘loved her in Mean Girls’ so sorry if I’m a little skeptical of her ID of Raf,” Karmen Peradu says.

    “May I remind you that Arizona booked Jil Sander,” Freja says, sticking up for her love. In unison, all of the girls in the room roll their eyes.

    Accepting that this is Raf before them, Abbey Lee crosses her bony arms and asks, “Raf Simons, why did you take our fucking pants.”
    “Well, as you may know, John Galliano said horrible things,” Raf says.

    “Oh no! Did he say the J-Lo cover of Vogue US this year was nice?” Wixson asked, horrified.

    “I’ll repeat all the things he sad, but in an accent so you know it’s not me saying these things, but you also will be disgusted with him and I can keep Dior.”

    “No thanks,” Arizona says, “That happened like 7 seasons ago. You know, back when we had pants.”

    “Yes, that brings this all full circle. I have stolen your pants because I am working on my Dior collection to premiere in mere days and I needed some classic Dior Haute Couture pants.”

    “Can you stop?” Karmen Pedaru asks, frustrated to no end.

    “Stealing pants? Yes. My collection is complete” Raf says, then waits for applause.

    “No I meant can you stop doing Dior,” Karmen Pedaru clarified.

    “The world is excited,” Raf announced, then quietly tacked on, “If your view of the world is midly overweight white girls, in front of Macbooks, writing posts about what they deem to be other white people being racist. I am very big in that world.”

    The girls disregard Raf and move towards the table, where they collect their pants.

    “You don’t understand my genius,” Raf said as the girls put on their pants, “I made Kinga cry at my last Jil show.”

    “Um, yeah,” Karmen Pedaru said, “That was because Kinga’s neighbor, who was like a public school social studies teacher, passed away two weeks before the show and then she saw you and she through you were his ghost. She was scared shitless, she told me.”

    Raf then waved half heartedly at seemingly no one.

    The girls had their pants on, and this is when Raf went from neighborhood dentist to serial killer. “You’re not leaving with those pants,” he growled.

     Wixson almost started crying, but she didn’t want to ruin her fun makeup.

     Just then, the building began to rumble and the door flew open.

    A bright light sent everyones hands up to sheild their eyes.

    “Hello!” a creepy, distinct voice said. Freja and Arizona lowered their hands. Could it be?

    “Yes, it is me, John Galliano,” a man dressed like a pirate atop a unicorn said.

    “Hop on,” John Galliano said and the girls helped each other on the mighty unicorn.

    “I’ll never let you escape with what’s mine, like I escaped with what’s yours!” Raf Simons said to John Galliano, then he wheeled his Dior collection out and everyone went to sleep. 

     Days later, Raf debuted the stolen ordinary pants in his first Dior Haute Couture collection and it received universal acclaim in the circles of tumblr and boring pussies with no imagination.

***NOTE THIS IS FAKE. THIS IS IMAGINARY. THIS SHIT DID NOT HAPPEN****

*except the Galliano on a unicorn part.

If you’re a literary agent and you want to read any of my fiction manuscripts, please contact me.

    Freja locked the door. 

    Normally not one to cause a big scene, Freja felt challanged by what was happening around her.

    She also felt cold.

    She was not wearing pants.

    No one was.

    Someone had stolen the pants.

    All of the pants.

    Stolen.

    A group of five girls- Arizona, Abbeybaby, Wixson, Karmen Pedaru and Freja all were not wearing pants.

   This moment played out differently in Freja’s fantasy file.

    It was definately warmer and there were more candles in the fantasy. There were at tops 5 candles in this room and it was cold as balls.

    Karmen Pedaru looked at Arizona in the good eyebrows and said, “I think… that someone here is a pants thief.”

    “I think that someone here is an Esotian bitch,” Arizona said, springing forward, pantless, but confident. 

     ”In Estonia, we have a name for your haircut,” Karmen Pedaru responded.

     ”What’s her haircut named in foreign?” Wixson asked interested.

      Karmen Pedaru smiled at Wixson and said, “Arizona’s hair is called,” then there was a pause, then Karmen Pedaru made noises like she was vomiting.

     Wixson marveled, “Ohh exotic and primal!” 

     Freja stepped in to defend her love and she said, ”Wixson can’t not have pants. This is illegal.”

    “Yes. Wixson you have to wear this tablecloth,” Abbey said, yanking the fabric off a table and a thousand diet coke cans went all over the floor. 
     Lindsey put the tablecloth on her head.

     ”As a dress,” Abbey clarified.

     Wixy took the tablecloth off her head and wrapped it around her hips.

    “Freja, you could design for fashions!” Wixson said, sashaying in her new dress.

    “Did she just say design for fashions?” Abbey whispered to Karmen Pedaru.

    “I’m from Estonia and even I know that’s grammatically incorrect,” Karmen Pedaru whispered back.

     ”Okay, back to business, someone has all our pants,” Arizona says.

     ”How do we know it’s not you?” Abbeybaby asks Zona. There is a moment of tension between the two that turned Freja on.

     ”Maybe we should take off our tops!” Freja suggested, taken by the moment.

     The girls all look at Freja, and, uncomfortable, Freja tried to recover from the statement, “Take off our tops… as a sacrifice… to… the pants………monster?”

     Wixson’s eyes go wide and she takes refuge under the table that her dress used to cover.

     ”Great, now you scared Wixson, are you happy?” Karmen Pedaru asked.

     ”Wixson, I’m sure there is a perfectly normal, non-supernatural reason for why we all have no pants,” Arizona said, crouching down to get eye level with Wixson.

     ”Please don’t crouch without pants,” Wixson requested in a small voice. Arizona complied. 

      PLEASE TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR THE STUNNING CONCLUSION OF “WHO THE FUCK STOLE OUR PANTS?” AKA LOST 2.

****PLEASE NOTE. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. THIS DIDN’T REALLY HAPPEN. EVERYONE STILL HAS THEIR PANTS***** (But if you’re a literary agent who wants to represent my novels and you aren’t someone who wants to sue me, please e-mail me.)

   Arizona bounded out of the closet (physically) and asked Freja, “Does my outfit look hipstery enough for Coachella?”

   Freja did not turn around to check. She merely sat at her desk, looking at her computer screen. Arizona held her pose, and sported a duck lipped face she saw on some hipster blogs she had been looking at earlier in the day.

    When Freja’s “Float” didn’t bend to see her ‘Zona, the silence and inaction was telling. “Frej?” Arizona asked with a slight tremble to her voice. All the memories of last year at Coachella rushed back to AZ and she began to worry. What if things had changed in the 364 days that had passed since then? What if things had gotten progressively worse, but no one admitted it, like Frejarizona’s love was Radiohead’s recent albums. 

      Arizona, in her crop top, jean shorts and rubber boots- her Coachella hipster look- galloped over to Freja.

     “We’re not going,” Freja said, unable to look her lesbilove in the eyes.

     “Freja, I was only looking at those hipster blogs for inspiration. I’m sorry the auto-play on 666-xoxo-princess’ blog woke you up.”

      “No. It’s not that. I just went online to look at the lineups one last time and I saw someone was missing.”

      Arizona knew that this moment would arrive, but she thought she could put it off until they were in the parking lot, trying to figure out how they were going to sneak Hanne’s beers past the gates.

      “They call this a music festival, but they are missing music’s soul,” Freja said, finally looking Arizona in the eyes.

      “Is it…” Arizona asked, then immediately sat on Freja’s lap because she knew that hugs will be needed soon.

     “Yes, ‘Zona. It’s awful. Mandy Moore will not be at Coachella.”

     Arizona hugged Freja and tried to hum the tune to “Candy” like Freja would to for her when Arizona would find out that she was passed up yet again for a fragrance campaign.

     “I mean, what the fuck?” Freja burst out in anger, “They let Mac Miller in. I don’t even know what that is? How many times have you ever heard someone say, ‘Oh, that Mac Miller’s song is very not shit’? Zero times. That’s how many ‘Zona.

     Arizona silently agreed that she had no idea what a Mac Miller was.

     “This is all Bryan Adam’s fault, again,” Freja raged, “Fucking Canada.”

     “I think you mean Ryan Adams?” Arizona corrected her.

     “Who is Bryan Adams then? Probably Mac Miller’s brother.”

     “I know, babe. Mandy made a great sacrifice by marrying Ryan Adams. Canada does seem horrible, and this is coming from a person who lived in New Mexico,” Arizona said as she stroked Freja’s hair.

     “Will you be mad if we don’t go?” Freja asked Arizona.

     “I could never be mad at you,” Arizona responded, now confident that in the past year their love only got better. Their love was the anti-Coachella.

      Freja nuzzled her nose on Arizona’s terrible crop top and asked another question, “Will you do something else for me?”

      “Of course my Denmarkian Queen. Anything.”

      “Will you hold my hair back while I pout and listen to Mandy’s “Best Of” album on my ipod touch?”

      “Forever.”

***NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION FILLED WITH VERY NOT REAL CONVERSATIONS***

    Freja rode in a cab through the busy streets of New York. It was Spring? Or was it Fall? In fashion it’s so hard to keep the seasons straight. That’s one of the reasons Freja stepped away for a bit. She yearned for a Brooklyn ease instead of constantly selling to the fast and impatient UES.

    Freja was away from home, one of her homes, but she was creating something new, something meaningful with Arizona. Finally, a smile found itself on Freja’s face. As quickly as it arrived, it fled as Freja looked out the window and saw a soccer mom placing fliers on cars parked on the street.

    Freja fumbled with her purse to find some money to pay for the cab, but the light was about to turn green and the cabby would be speeding away in moments. His English worse than Freja’s, he’d never understand what Freja had to do.

    “Here,” Freja said, throwing her sunglasses in the cabby’s lap, “Those will cover my fare, they’re worth more than your life,” Freja told him, then fled the cab, able to run, unshackled by those high heels she had spend so much of her life crammed in.

    The woman with the fliers was carefully lifting up windshield wipers and placing her signs which read MISSING in large red letters.

    “Zona,” Freja said out of breath, “What are you doing?”

    “It worked, you’re back! I’m amazing!” Arizona screeched and then wrapped her arms around her sex lion, Freja.

    “I was at the dentist,” Freja said, confused, but happy to accept the embrace.

    “Everyone’s been so worried,” Arizona said, letting go only to show Freja the flier. Zona’s Denmarkian dream took the glossy paper and Arizona said cheerfully, “I printed them on Vogue quality paper… the benefits of being Ms. Wintour’s bitch.”

    “Zona, this is a missing sign, for me, with my Vogue UK cover as the picture.”

    “I know, how many people can say that Testino shot their missing poster? We live a blessed life my Frejysicle. Sorry they are so small though. As I was passing the fliers out, I saw someone made a missing poster for Kate Moss and it was much bigger. They had it stuck on all those construction sites.”

    “That’s for her Supreme T-shirt. It’s not a missing sign.”

    “Oh good, I was confused how Kate could go missing anyway? It’s like if you lost a kitten, someone would scoop that little ball of cute up in a second and be like ‘HI YOU LIVE WITH ME NOW’. “

    Slightly perturbed, but agreeable to Arizona’s point, Freja looked at the flier and said, “This is a really nice gesture, but you saw me this morning.”

    “Oh, don’t think I forgot, I think I ate my weight in whipped cream. Then, after we got cleaned up, I went to (AGENCY NAME REMOVED) and everyone kept asking ‘Where is Freja?’ and ‘Why has Freja been absent from the Fashion Weeks lately?’ and ‘Did we get that girl who cut your hair banned from Manhattan yet?’ “

    “I’m sorry you have to answer for me,” Freja said, depressed that she had burdened her queen with her own personal “stuff”.

    “Oh, I didn’t know how to answer. I was just like, ‘Oh no, she’s missing? I just got this Brazilian for, like nothing?’ and that’s when I called Anna. It turns out you being missing was very serious.”

    “But you have my cell phone number, why were you wandering the city trying to find me like I’m Waldo?”

     “Who’s Waldo? Who’s he signed with? Is that one of Karl’s new boy-toys?” Arizona asked, interested.

    “He’s that guy in the red and white striped shirt and the ski hat.”

    “Ew. Is Waldo one of those Brooklyn ‘alternative’ models that can only shoot Urban and other poor people brands?”

    “Fine, it wasn’t like Waldo, but it’s just weird you were playing where in the world is Carmen Sandiego with me.”

    “Carmen Sandiego? Did I walk for them? If so we’ll have to send an apology letter.”

    Freja sighed, how did a little Denmarkian know more about American culture than a girl named after a state?

    “I’m so glad I found you,” Arizona said, grabbing the tips of Freja’s fingers.

    “I’m glad I found you too,” Freja responded.