"You might as well, sweetheart. What could go wrong?"
With both my hands cupping a mug of coffee, sable hues glanced through a thick curtain of lashes at my dad, who sat before me across the dinner table with that ever trustworthy smile sculpted onto naturally affable features. Even dressed formally - dinner jacket, white shirt, bow tie and all - he managed to carry an undeniably amorous air, no different than to when he's sitting on the couch with a movie, mom and I either side of him.
"It'd do you good! You'll meet new people, make new friends.."
In a theatrically jesting manner, he leaned in, holding a hand by his mouth as the next few words were uttered in a joking whisper too loud to be considered discreet in any way.
"..Get drunk, learn what it's like to regret everything you did the night before.."
Swiftly straightening his posture, he flashed me a gallant grin, a playful shrug shifting his shoulders as whimsical laughter slipped past coral tinted petals.
"It'll be fun."
"Okay, dad, I'll go. I'll get drunk, dance promiscuously, and do you proud in a forest full of horny, inebriated, grope-happy teens."
Even through the sincere façade I so expertly presented, mocking tones that mirrored my father's were made evident through slivers that laced every syllable spoken, and he was quick to half-heartedly stare me down through a stern, narrowed gaze that aimed to beguile me.
"Cross my heart."
How could I say no to a face like that?
"That's my girl. - And that's my other girl!"
With her head tilted to one side as she adjusted an earring, mom was the epitome of beautiful, chocolate locks cascading over her shoulder in perfectly relaxed curls, any errant strands imprisoned by the unnoticeable pins that held her hair. Elegant heels demanded our attention with each delicate click against the laminated floor, and as she finally looked up at us both, a genuine smile dressed plush brims as I allowed sincere compliments to flow languidly.
"You look great, mom."
"And you're going to this bonfire. We're away for a week, don't lock yourself up in here the whole time."
Even when in Florida, my mom's job as a company manager meant a lot of balls, galas, and charity events. The difference was, being here in Mystic Falls meant that these now happened all the way across the country from us, and the inadvertent reminder caused a frown to knit brows together in mild misery. A week wasn't long, but it was still a week. And in a town where I hardly knew anyone? The idea didn't exactly have me jumping up and down. Periodic nods, 'yes'es, and 'mhm's took me through the routine list, which I could probably recite perfectly after the number of times I'd heard it; turn off the lights, lock the doors, there's food in the fridge, this is our emergency number.. A quick kiss on the cheek, a hug, a wave goodbye, and they were gone. The silence was deafening.
Several minutes were spent in the kitchen, clearing up after my parents and I. With the steady flow of warm water having an almost calming effect, I took a moment to think about my plans for the evening. I learned today that this bonfire, which took place in the woods, was a regular event arranged as a "Back-to-school" gig. Throughout the day, it was all anyone talked about, whether it was in the classrooms or hallways. It was a big deal; everyone got together, there was a bonfire - obviously - and a lot of beer. A lot. Most used it as a conversation starter: 'Hey, you going to the bonfire tonight?' Judging by that, there wasn't a single doubt in my mind that this gathering was the final installation in the auction for any new student. Fan-freaking-tastic.
Only moments after, I found myself engaged in a staring contest with my bed, laden crassly with the contents of nearly my entire wardrobe. What the hell do I wear? Blunted ivories gnawed at my bottom lip as an erratic gaze shifted from one piece of clothing to another. The difference between the choice of wearing jeans or a skirt was crucial, particularly under the evaluation of exceptionally predatory vultures. It was all about selling yourself, you had to look the part, act the part, and make yourself desirable. With some luck, you wouldn't be thrown into a pit where the rest of unwanted kids were left to wallow in their own self pity. The whole process was disgusting, yet unavoidable. Welcome to America. Just be practical, Isobel. Who are you you trying to impress, anyway?