A one shot
Enjoy!
It's almost a cruel joke: the concept that she had become one of them.
It doesn't make any sense, really. The sheer notion is absurd.
"Exclusivity." Jeremy had said referring to her new friends.
They were arrogant and elite. they had even went so far as to deem themselves originals. And now Bonnie was one of them.
"You love the exclusivity just as much as they do." He said accusingly.
At the time she smiled sheepishly and agreed, but now it rings hollow in her mind.
She did not become one of them. She is not like they were, are. She is not one of them.
But even if she were, is that such a bad thing?
Hasn't she earned that right, to grow up and move on and be somewhat above all of this, this high school bickering?
She's eighteen and finished and it is her life and these are all her choices. She can invite who she wants.
This is not a school-sponsored event; it is her house and her friends and her boy, possibly.
It's all very new and different because things have changed in the past few weeks, changed rapidly, changed in illogical, unpredictable ways before she could catch her breath and settle down to memorize each fantastic moment.
She is happy, and that's a change.
She swaggers, just a little, and feels sexy in her dark jeans and eye shadow and new skin.
She isn't a different person, she hasn't become someone else. She's the 2.0 version, sleeker and faster and sharper than before.
And if that means being a little meaner, a little blunter, a little less Mary Sue, then that's a trade she's willing to make.
A trade she is eager to make.
Because this is what she's been missing, dear, and she isn't in any hurry to go back to sober Saturday nights watching the news on the living room couch.
It's the new her, and this old shit, this insecurity and hesitance and fear of messing up one single thing, this old shit doesn't matter anymore. It's a lovely realization.
