Mess To Be Made

36

I stared at my reflection in my mirror and panic ensued for probably the fifty-seventh time in the past sixty minutes.

Was this too much? Not enough? Was I overdressed? Underdressed?

I'd been going to parties, or at least going out, every weekend for three and a half years now. Yet I'd spent the last three and a half hours overanalyzing every article of clothing in my closet, debating what jewelry I should or shouldn't wear, questioning how much makeup I should or shouldn't put on.

So as I picked myself apart in the mirror—a long-sleeve black crop top, high waisted jeans, classic white Adidas, and gold hoops—I still couldn't figure out if I was going to look like a pretentious idiot or a foolish insider who was, for once, on the outside.

Normally, I had an idea of what I was walking into. And even if I wasn't entirely sure, I didn't care. But tonight, I had no idea what I was walking into. And I absolutely fucking cared.

My heartbeat was so loud in my ears that I barely heard my phone vibrate on the bathroom counter in front of me.

From: Tyler

Scott's almost here. You ready?

No, I wanted to send back. Instead, I replied:

To: Tyler

Be down in a sec.

I took one last look at the girl staring back at me, running my fingers through my straightened blonde hair, and inhaled so hard that my chest shook. I tried to remind myself that I was Allie fucking Carson. This was a nerd party, as I liked to call it. I shouldn't be nervous. I was going to be fine.

I threw my phone into my little black purse that already contained my wallet and some extra concealer and lip-gloss, before I made my way downstairs and out the front door. My mom was in the living room watching TV, but she knew better than to try to question where I was going. Until she told my father the truth, I had the upper hand on just about everything.

Tyler was standing on the sidewalk in front of his house. His eyes were intently staring down the street, likely keeping watch for Scott's car. I forced my feet to move toward him as my hands shakily tugged against the bottom of my crop top. Was I showing too much midriff?

Despite the uncharacteristically insane amount of doubt I had over my own appearance, I had no doubt at all that Tyler looked fucking hot. Black sneakers. Dark denim jeans. White t-shirt blanketed by a maroon jacket. His brown hair was pushed to the side and the green in his hazel eyes glowed under the streetlamp.

It took all my power to keep my pace steady as I neared him. Until his gaze landed on me. My left foot caught the back of my right and I stumbled slightly. He made no effort to conceal his wandering eyes as they dragged up and down the length of my body and a ghost of a smile touched his lips.

"Am I too dressed up for a nerd party?" I teased, finally reaching him after what seemed like a mile walk across a single street.

His eyes, which had been lingering on my bare collarbone for a few moments, met mine. The corners of his lips twitched and I chewed on the inside of my cheek to hide my own smile. He had definitely been checking me out. "You look fine."

"Yeah, not too bad yourself," I grumbled and attempted to playfully shove him by digging my shoulder into his arm—thanks to the height difference. My attempt not only failed, but backfired, seeing as he didn't budge in the slightest and instead my entire body erupted in tingles from the contact.