There was nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing. I was certainly making progress. I tossed some freshly laundered Victoria's Secret underwear (XS for my unfortunate lack of ass) in my suitcase, which added to the freshly laundered socks I had thrown in moments before. So, I now had two things packed---try not to pat me on the back too hard. Determined to be undeterred by the fact that I had to be packed and ready by no later than 5 o'clock a.m., exactly half an hour from now, I let myself fall back calmly (and gracefully, I'd like to think) on my unmade bed.
Immediately, the heart-wrenching sound of cracking glass met my ears, and I rolled over to retrieve a freshly ruined pair of my favorite Steve Madden sunglasses from under my butt. Fuck. And lucky me, they had snagged an ugly hole in my mesh tunic. Double fuck. Clearly God was punishing me for constantly lounging around on my huge throne of procrastination. I sat there like an idiot, pondering this unfortunate detail, when my cellphone sang out a sassy little number from Shakira's latest. I jumped to silence it, hopeful the parentals wouldn't stir from their room, which was separated from mine by only a single wall. And a thin one at that, meaning that on most nights they could hear me rustling about in my room; and I, most unfortunately, could hear them doing a slightly different rustling in theirs---excuse me while I cut off my pure, innocent ears with a machete.
Oh God. It was Daniel. With my luck, he and everyone else were probably coming up my driveway a whole half hour early, expecting me to jump in the car with my ass packed and ready to go. I literally laughed outloud at the thought of me bounding barefoot out of my house, frizzy hair flying, in nothing but my sky blue tunic and matching thong, dragging my luggage of underwear behind me.
Well, fuck that. If that's what it came down to, I just wouldn't go. And then I would drown myself in my too-small bathtub, because I would rather kill myself than spend a single second of the Spring Break of my junior year at home.
"Honey?"
Shit. Shit. Shit.
"Yes?" I squeaked. "Yes," I said again, this time with more confidence.
"I'm so sorry, Natalie, but my mom is running behind, so we're going to be there at six instead. That ok?"
Oh Daniel. Sweet, brown-hair-blue-eyes Daniel. And certainly very uninterested-in-me Daniel.
"Yes!" Before I knew it, I had squealed, danced around my room, and almost ran into a door. But finally I got a break! "Um, yes, that's understandable. It's fine. I'll be ready," I replied more calmly. I'm such a loser.
I heard him chuckle. "Um, ok, good. I'm glad. See you then."
As soon as I flipped my phone shut, I was dashing around my room like a tornado on uppers. Although I now had an extended deadline, I would need that time to shave my legs and my bikini line, tasks I had neglected for at least two weeks. Ok, if that's too much info, I understand.
An hour later, I was still running around when a soft knocking resounded at my front door.
"I tried to ring the doorbell . . ."
I laughed. "It's broken," I replied casually. I tucked a piece of my newly flat-ironed hair behind my ear, and he pulled me into a hug. My head barely met his shoulder, but that's neither here nor there. I signaled him to wait just one second as I gathered my belongings, locked the door, and prayed to God I wasn't forgetting anything, all in record speed. Linking arms in a way that only musical theatre freaks like ourselves---and all our friends, for that matter---could, Daniel and I trudged through three inches of snow to his mother's Suburban.
I hate Michigan. Thank God I was getting the fuck out of there, even if it was only for a week. I didn't bother to say goodbye to my family. My mom and I were engaged in our latest argument about nothing at all, and I was still fairly pissed. My little sister was off at a friend's for the night, no doubt planning her next slutty endeavor. And now I would be living mine! Well, minus the slut factor of course. I may be well-endowed in the chest area, but otherwise as sexually reserved as they come.
As the six of us---Daniel, his mom, yours truly, and three of our shared friends---pulled out of my driveway, I caught a glimpse of my mom's face at the door. She looked sad, which made me feel like the worst daughter in the world for purposefully neglecting to say goodbye, but I promised myself I would call her as soon as we reached Myrtle Beach. Or maybe I would cave and call her while passing through Cincinnati. Oh what the hell. I extracted my phone from my purse, punched seven for speed dial, and waited for her to answer. Strangely enough, so such thing occurred, so I left a voicemail telling her I was sorry and that I love and would miss her dearly.
"What's up with you and your mom?" enquired Marlena. She normally wouldn't be bothering with anyone but Daniel---her deepest, darkest, and none-too-secret obsession---on such a trip, but since Daniel was sitting up front to accompany his mother, Marlena probably decided to socialize with the rest of us. But she didn't look too thrilled about it, either. She always reminded me of a cat---one of those slinking felines with mysterious amber eyes that glow mischievously at you in the dark---and if she were one, she'd be angrily flicking her tail right now, growling in a low tone because she was annoyed, but not angry enough to hiss or spit... (wow, the things I come up with, right?). But I digress. She's really not that bad, and her eyes aren't yellow either---they're brown and match her long chestnut hair.
I shrugged. "Nothing; just our usual tiffs. You of anyone . . ." I stopped right there. I was going to say that she, if anyone, could relate to mother-daughter problems, but thank God I was able to keep my mouth shut for once. Her mom was an alcoholic, who on a daily basis told Marlena she was fat, and a bitch, and had no friends. Ok, so that's really not too far from the real truth---besides the having no friends part, because she certainly had us---but no loving mother could say that to her daughter. And I wasn't about to give Marlena a reason to lash out at me for reminding her of bitter situations.
Thankfully, Salem jumped right in from his seat behind us, probably clueless as to the almost-mention of Marlena's mom, but eager to talk and be heard. "Did you say tiff?" He giggled. "That's something one of my ex-boyfriends would say."
Marlena rolled her eyes and settled back into the leather seat. The look on her face clearly read that she would much rather it just have been her and Daniel, instead of being crammed in the back seat with all the extra baggage---i.e., Julia and moi, and Salem behind us---but of course she would just have to suck it up And perhaps it would be a little more roomy if she wasn't quite so voluminous, but I of course kept these speculations to myself.
We (well, most of us) were just so grateful that Daniel's mom agreed to take us. Otherwise, we probably would not have been allowed to go. One hotel, five teenagers, seven days, zero adult supervision . . . do the math. Clearly Julia's parents did, because they were flying down in a few days to join us. They insisted it was for their own vacation, but it was obviously an overprotective parental attempt to keep a closer eye on their precious daughter, who just so happened to sport J.Lo's butt and Pamela Anderson's bust. Also joining us, on their way to Florida, would be Mike (another one of our drama friends), and his soccer buddies.
"So, guys, this is so much fun," chirped Julia in a very Valley girl-esque manner.
Marlena and I ignored this, because we both hated it when Julia put on one of her faux voices. Daniel, however, turned in his seat to face us, and said, "I know!", and proceeded to smile at us, and we---being girls and Salem, well, being gay---returned the favor. All four of us, whether or not we would admit it outloud or even to ourselves---Marlena did both the former and the latter as if she were a fucking broadcasting station---were in love, or at least in lust, with Daniel. Damn that boy.
Essentially, it was a tight fit for most of us---and had Daniel's mom not been present, we might have tried to kill each other---but the rest of the trip was blissfully drowned in naps, DVD's in the flip-down monitor, fast-food breaks, and of course, good ol' fashioned small talk. Oh, and me getting carsick and passing out in Julia's lap. The End.
. . . Only joking. Let me tell you: the rain hasn't even begun to fall yet---let alone flood and start drowning people.