I hate Claire's parents. She hates them too.
It's not so much her mom. She's a very nice woman; all housewife-y and motherly; I've always liked that. But Claire doesn't live with her mom. She lives with her dad and stepmother.
Claire's dad is one of those weird parents who are fakely open to their kids; you know, telling them things they don't want to know like where the kid was conceived and what kind of birth control they use.
As for her stepmother..... let's just say her IQ isn't much higher than a vegetables. She's a model or a secretary or something you expect beautiful women to be. No, not a secretary; requires too much brain power.
So you can imagine how much more willing I was to enter Claire's house with them gone.
"Okay, major problem," She said. "Which lip gloss.. Peachy Keen or Mango Madness? Which lasts longer? Which looks better? Try some on.. If you were a guy, would you rather taste mango or peach?"
"If your biggest problem is which lip gloss to wear, I'd like to be you," I found myself saying, flopping on her couch. She just stared at me. I sighed. "Whatever. Okay, I vote Mango Madness. It's more mysterious and exotic." She seemed satisfied with this, quickly glossing her lips.
"Are you going to wear THAT?," Claire smirked. She eyed my jeans, pink T-shirt, and new sweater (around my waist). I had forgotten I was wearing them. I was caught on stage without my costume. A big no-no. Shit.
"No," I said as snottily as possible. "I just didn't want to ruin my good clothes by walking." What a horrible lie. I was slipping up.
"Well, you can borrow something of mine, I guess," She sighed as if it was the biggest inconvenience. "There's no time for you to go home before the party." She didn't seem to notice the lapse of logic I had just had. Luckily, Claire isn't the quickest one to catch on at times.
"Did you have dinner yet?," She questioned. "I ordered like two vegetarian pizzas by accident. Well, I kind of meant to; the delivery guy was really cute and we started talking.." I zoned out on Claire's ranting.
Something was troubling me, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Well, naturally, the usual thing (my stomach rumbled at this thought), but there was a new feeling of depression towards something.
"God, I feel horrible," She said, clutching her stomach. I said nothing. "I think I'm getting sick or something. I've felt really queasy for the last couple days." She gasped. "What if I'm sick for the game? I have to sit in the stands and cheer the guys on!" She pouted, sitting down next to me. "I can't believe you made cheerleader and I didn't."
"I believe it," I snapped. I wasn't interested in Claire and her petty non-existent illness. She opened her mouth to say something, but shut it quickly. You can't fight with your best friend right before a party. You need someone to survey the room with.
"You know, this is like the first party in a while we both don't have boyfriends," She commented. I paused at this. Kate Sanders, boyfriend less. It just wasn't right. I made a mental note to start looking again. "Ethan's going to be there."
I didn't really give a flying fuck about Ethan being there. He was so oblivious, he probably wouldn't notice.
Oh, god, what have I done?
~@~
"Hey, guys," I greeted some seniors with a plastic smile. "What's going on?"
Claire's older brother was completely useful sometimes. He was a jock who is a complete idiot, but he had amazing popularity status. He, of course, was out with his fiancée. Having one was definitely proving his stupidity.
I glanced at Claire, who was pouring chips a huge bowl. I shot daggers at her as she started eating them. I wasn't going to let my best friend look like a retard at her own party. It would look really bad on my behalf.
I smoothed my blue skirt. Well, Claire's blue skirt. I marveled at the way it made my legs look. I almost didn't look fat.
I smirked as Lizzie McGuire, Miranda Sanchez, and David Gordon walked into the house. Lizzie looked nervous, Miranda looked excited, and Gordo looked none of the above. It was the perfect opportunity to show off. Unfortunately, the opportunity passed quickly.
"Ouch!," I cried, knocking into someone. My new sweater was now soaking. Two new sweaters corrupted in the same week? How? "Watch it-"
I gulped, realizing it was Ethan holding the guilty plastic cup. Lizzie and Ethan had more in common than they knew.
I prepared a snide comment, but it faltered. There's something.. A certain kind of energy that comes from him that just makes it impossible to put him down. His dumb innocence made him untouchable. Or maybe it was the hair.
Whatever it was, it even effected me, the unbreakable. Why didn't I keep him again? Was the very reason I was attracted to him repel me?
All right, attracted isn't the word. My knees haven't weakened at his beauty in many a year. I was more attracted to his status, and the power that came with that.
And yet I stood there, dripping wet, trying to figure out what to say. Be cruel; he's not your boyfriend anymore. No, be nice; he's still popular; being friends would help.
Before I could say anything, a brunette with fish nets on slithered over, putting her arm through Ethan's arm. How tacky.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Kate," Ethan said apologetically. I smiled weakly into his brown eyes and shook my head suddenly. This wasn't the Kate Sanders everyone knew and.. Some loved.
"Oh, Ethan, who's your friend?," I said snottily, my eyes flicking towards her legs. She gave me a up and down look of disgust. Bitch.
"Oh, Kate, this is Katie," Ethan paused for a moment thinking. "Hey, that's funny! Kate, Katie! Ha, I get it!" We both gave Ethan a Look.
"Nice to meet you, Kate," She held out her hand. I detected her subtle sarcasm. I didn't take her hand.
"Can't say I'm as pleased as you," I said coolly. She dropped her hand to her side and frowned, still not replying to my negative tone. I suppose it was for the sake of Ethan. I couldn't stand it much longer. "Excuse me, I have to go wash off." My sweater reeked of beer strongly.
"Sorry again," Ethan called after me. I bet you are sorry.
I descended up Claire's stairs gracefully, drawing attention to the fact I was so much better than them. Not for a particular reason, I just was. Right?
If you aren't the best, at least appear to be.
I stumbled less-than-gracefully into the sparkling white bathroom and uselessly patted the wet spot with a towel. Only an ex can make you so miserable when your potential lover could be out there.
But Kate Sanders doesn't give up popularity. There is nothing more important to her than that... is there?
"Kate!," Claire entered the bathroom. "There you are! God, Justin called me a whore-"
"Maybe he was right," I snapped, annoyed at my sanctuary's interruption.
"What is WITH you lately?," She cried.
"What's with YOU?," I screamed back, pushing past her.
I hate Ethan. I hate Claire. I hate Katie. I hate this party. I hate this house. And I hate Lizzie McGuire. I froze at the randomness of this thought. It was a little unnerving, having your ex-best friend's name just pop into your head.
I knew why I hated her, though. She was perfect and she didn't even realize it. She envies my popularity and social status.. I find this bitterly laughable. I pictured Lizzie knowing how insecure I was. Oh, wait, she did know.
I felt my nails dig into my palm as I wondered if she told anyone. She'd die. She would completely and utterly die if she told. There was no other option. She'd die. Socially, at least. Lizzie McGuire would socially die if I did.
It was a radical concept. I can step on you, and you, and you, and you if you even TRY to step on me. I am bigger, I am the best, I don't care what you think.
Right?
The rest of the night was spent by the snack table. I shoved a handful of chips in my mouth hungrily as I watched everyone dance and drink and get high. How I wanted to be with them. But there was something stopping me. This weird force.
Claire hovered nearby, grabbing the occasional handful and glaring at me.
"What, do you have PMS or something?," I snarled after her fifteenth trip. We never eat like this. Well, not in public.
"No," She said, her voice quivering. I tried not to smile so victoriously. I felt bad for her, I did. But I can't let myself down from my pedestal long enough to console someone I'm just going to be fighting with again next week. Humanity has died and gone to hell.
It's not so much her mom. She's a very nice woman; all housewife-y and motherly; I've always liked that. But Claire doesn't live with her mom. She lives with her dad and stepmother.
Claire's dad is one of those weird parents who are fakely open to their kids; you know, telling them things they don't want to know like where the kid was conceived and what kind of birth control they use.
As for her stepmother..... let's just say her IQ isn't much higher than a vegetables. She's a model or a secretary or something you expect beautiful women to be. No, not a secretary; requires too much brain power.
So you can imagine how much more willing I was to enter Claire's house with them gone.
"Okay, major problem," She said. "Which lip gloss.. Peachy Keen or Mango Madness? Which lasts longer? Which looks better? Try some on.. If you were a guy, would you rather taste mango or peach?"
"If your biggest problem is which lip gloss to wear, I'd like to be you," I found myself saying, flopping on her couch. She just stared at me. I sighed. "Whatever. Okay, I vote Mango Madness. It's more mysterious and exotic." She seemed satisfied with this, quickly glossing her lips.
"Are you going to wear THAT?," Claire smirked. She eyed my jeans, pink T-shirt, and new sweater (around my waist). I had forgotten I was wearing them. I was caught on stage without my costume. A big no-no. Shit.
"No," I said as snottily as possible. "I just didn't want to ruin my good clothes by walking." What a horrible lie. I was slipping up.
"Well, you can borrow something of mine, I guess," She sighed as if it was the biggest inconvenience. "There's no time for you to go home before the party." She didn't seem to notice the lapse of logic I had just had. Luckily, Claire isn't the quickest one to catch on at times.
"Did you have dinner yet?," She questioned. "I ordered like two vegetarian pizzas by accident. Well, I kind of meant to; the delivery guy was really cute and we started talking.." I zoned out on Claire's ranting.
Something was troubling me, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Well, naturally, the usual thing (my stomach rumbled at this thought), but there was a new feeling of depression towards something.
"God, I feel horrible," She said, clutching her stomach. I said nothing. "I think I'm getting sick or something. I've felt really queasy for the last couple days." She gasped. "What if I'm sick for the game? I have to sit in the stands and cheer the guys on!" She pouted, sitting down next to me. "I can't believe you made cheerleader and I didn't."
"I believe it," I snapped. I wasn't interested in Claire and her petty non-existent illness. She opened her mouth to say something, but shut it quickly. You can't fight with your best friend right before a party. You need someone to survey the room with.
"You know, this is like the first party in a while we both don't have boyfriends," She commented. I paused at this. Kate Sanders, boyfriend less. It just wasn't right. I made a mental note to start looking again. "Ethan's going to be there."
I didn't really give a flying fuck about Ethan being there. He was so oblivious, he probably wouldn't notice.
Oh, god, what have I done?
~@~
"Hey, guys," I greeted some seniors with a plastic smile. "What's going on?"
Claire's older brother was completely useful sometimes. He was a jock who is a complete idiot, but he had amazing popularity status. He, of course, was out with his fiancée. Having one was definitely proving his stupidity.
I glanced at Claire, who was pouring chips a huge bowl. I shot daggers at her as she started eating them. I wasn't going to let my best friend look like a retard at her own party. It would look really bad on my behalf.
I smoothed my blue skirt. Well, Claire's blue skirt. I marveled at the way it made my legs look. I almost didn't look fat.
I smirked as Lizzie McGuire, Miranda Sanchez, and David Gordon walked into the house. Lizzie looked nervous, Miranda looked excited, and Gordo looked none of the above. It was the perfect opportunity to show off. Unfortunately, the opportunity passed quickly.
"Ouch!," I cried, knocking into someone. My new sweater was now soaking. Two new sweaters corrupted in the same week? How? "Watch it-"
I gulped, realizing it was Ethan holding the guilty plastic cup. Lizzie and Ethan had more in common than they knew.
I prepared a snide comment, but it faltered. There's something.. A certain kind of energy that comes from him that just makes it impossible to put him down. His dumb innocence made him untouchable. Or maybe it was the hair.
Whatever it was, it even effected me, the unbreakable. Why didn't I keep him again? Was the very reason I was attracted to him repel me?
All right, attracted isn't the word. My knees haven't weakened at his beauty in many a year. I was more attracted to his status, and the power that came with that.
And yet I stood there, dripping wet, trying to figure out what to say. Be cruel; he's not your boyfriend anymore. No, be nice; he's still popular; being friends would help.
Before I could say anything, a brunette with fish nets on slithered over, putting her arm through Ethan's arm. How tacky.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Kate," Ethan said apologetically. I smiled weakly into his brown eyes and shook my head suddenly. This wasn't the Kate Sanders everyone knew and.. Some loved.
"Oh, Ethan, who's your friend?," I said snottily, my eyes flicking towards her legs. She gave me a up and down look of disgust. Bitch.
"Oh, Kate, this is Katie," Ethan paused for a moment thinking. "Hey, that's funny! Kate, Katie! Ha, I get it!" We both gave Ethan a Look.
"Nice to meet you, Kate," She held out her hand. I detected her subtle sarcasm. I didn't take her hand.
"Can't say I'm as pleased as you," I said coolly. She dropped her hand to her side and frowned, still not replying to my negative tone. I suppose it was for the sake of Ethan. I couldn't stand it much longer. "Excuse me, I have to go wash off." My sweater reeked of beer strongly.
"Sorry again," Ethan called after me. I bet you are sorry.
I descended up Claire's stairs gracefully, drawing attention to the fact I was so much better than them. Not for a particular reason, I just was. Right?
If you aren't the best, at least appear to be.
I stumbled less-than-gracefully into the sparkling white bathroom and uselessly patted the wet spot with a towel. Only an ex can make you so miserable when your potential lover could be out there.
But Kate Sanders doesn't give up popularity. There is nothing more important to her than that... is there?
"Kate!," Claire entered the bathroom. "There you are! God, Justin called me a whore-"
"Maybe he was right," I snapped, annoyed at my sanctuary's interruption.
"What is WITH you lately?," She cried.
"What's with YOU?," I screamed back, pushing past her.
I hate Ethan. I hate Claire. I hate Katie. I hate this party. I hate this house. And I hate Lizzie McGuire. I froze at the randomness of this thought. It was a little unnerving, having your ex-best friend's name just pop into your head.
I knew why I hated her, though. She was perfect and she didn't even realize it. She envies my popularity and social status.. I find this bitterly laughable. I pictured Lizzie knowing how insecure I was. Oh, wait, she did know.
I felt my nails dig into my palm as I wondered if she told anyone. She'd die. She would completely and utterly die if she told. There was no other option. She'd die. Socially, at least. Lizzie McGuire would socially die if I did.
It was a radical concept. I can step on you, and you, and you, and you if you even TRY to step on me. I am bigger, I am the best, I don't care what you think.
Right?
The rest of the night was spent by the snack table. I shoved a handful of chips in my mouth hungrily as I watched everyone dance and drink and get high. How I wanted to be with them. But there was something stopping me. This weird force.
Claire hovered nearby, grabbing the occasional handful and glaring at me.
"What, do you have PMS or something?," I snarled after her fifteenth trip. We never eat like this. Well, not in public.
"No," She said, her voice quivering. I tried not to smile so victoriously. I felt bad for her, I did. But I can't let myself down from my pedestal long enough to console someone I'm just going to be fighting with again next week. Humanity has died and gone to hell.