Find a Penny, Pick Her Up

Chapter 8

I found myself pacing my bedroom, the sun on its downward trend in the sky. I knew I solved the issue with my parents, temporarily at least, so that was squared away. I nibbled my nails, the newly painted polish surely coming off. Ask me if I cared, because the only thing I could think of was the impending doom I was sure to be facing in a few hours. 

Crowded hallways filled with my classmates. 

Blaring music, so loud it seemed to shake the bones of the house. 

Drunk guys, getting too close for comfort. 

Drunk girls staring me down, wondering why the public shunning wasn't enough.

Walking into the same house where I'd let everything get too out of hand.

A knock interrupted my pacing, followed by Jess stepping tentatively into the room. 

"What did I just walk in on?" She raised an apprehensive eyebrow, dropping her bag to the ground. It was ready to burst, filled with essentials for the night. 

I walked to the opened door behind her, shutting it softly. "I'm having a major setback." 

"What?" 

I dropped my voice to a whisper, "I really don't know if I can do this. I mean, Eric's house?" 

She looked like she was debating her answer, biting her lip. "You won't know if you can do it unless you try, right?" 

"Everyone will be there." Annie. Her minions. 

"Yeah but," she stepped around me to my makeup desk, "you know who'll be there too?" 

I stared, waiting. 

"Hampton Prescott." 

I rolled my eyes, crossing the room to my bed and sinking into it. "So?" 

"Well if I remember our deal correctly..." she trailed off, un-zippering the makeup bag and pulling out concealer and lotion. She uncapped the lotion, beginning to apply it to her cheeks. 

"I don't know why me talking to him is so important to you." I mean, the possibility of us was impossible. Annie would never allow it. The student body would never allow it. 

I wouldn't allow it. Not after everything. 

I watched her shoulders rise and drop quickly, not giving me a verbal answer. "You have submitted though, right?" 

"You have talked to him, right?"

I sighed. She had to have submitted - there was no way. 

"Assuming you haven't picked out an outfit yet, I'll do it for you." She stood, still rubbing in the primer and getting to my closet. 

I took an hour, maybe even more, to choose the perfect clothes. Eventually, I settled on a pair of black skinny jeans, sneakers, and a gray halter top. I said no to all the flashy and bright-colored articles of clothing; I wanted to blend in, not stand out. It was funny - my flashy clothes assisted what I was driven by most: to be seen. Now, I couldn't think of anything worse. 

"Okay," she said, pulling back the mascara wand to survey her work. "You're ready." My stomach dipped, almost like my body thinking I was on a rollercoaster. Trust me, my life lately could have fooled me too. 

After gathering what we needed, we both made our way downstairs. The kitchen lights were dimmed, the smell of Mom's baked chicken still hanging in the air. 

Mom and dad sat in the living room across from the kitchen, with the TV playing lightly in the background. Mom watched the TV, some cooking show playing, while Dad read. I asked them once why they didn't just choose something they could watch together, but their answer was simple - to them at least.