Chapter Fifteen

I walked down the hall, exiting from room 512, ready to face the day head on.

       In homeroom, I had been interrogated by the girls (excluding Alice) about Californian boys, and, though they had each been there before, if they were indeed as mouthwatering as the boys on Hollister bags. Ha. My answer was the exemplary one when referencing the art of lying. I said something about them being hot, gorgeous surfers who were all totally chill. I truly amused myself at times with my mind.

       Californian boys were cute, I’d admit, but they were nothing out of the ordinary. I eventually found a core group of friends from my school, but when I moved to Texas, we lost touch. They weren’t the type of boys one could have a deep, meaningful friendship with. Most of the boys I hung out with were superficial, but they played basketball, so I settled. The one thing I would be forever in debt to those boys for was teaching me how to surf. 

       In Boston, my friends were real. They were the type of boys you couldn’t forget. On the outside, they weren’t the best-dressed kids; they were urban, scruffy guys. Now that I think of it, it was a miracle my mom even allowed me to talk to those boys, let alone befriend them. Their appearances were tough, and not the most inviting. If one got to know them, like I did, then it was realized fairly quickly how amazing they truly were. They were true, loyal friends that would never leave one another behind.

       Once, we were hanging out at a pizza parlor and when we were all done, almost everyone had gone. My mom was working late so didn’t have time to pick me up. One of my friends offered me a ride home. I declined, wanting to be independent. I decided to walk home, considering my house was right around the corner. Justin, my best friend at the time, came with me. He didn’t want me to be alone, and he didn’t want to be alone. We went back to my house together, and waited until my mom got home to drive him home. No matter what, we never left one another behind.

       “Liz,” someone said, jolting me out of my daydream.

       “Huh?” I said, looking up to view Eric. “Oh, hi.”

       “You look pretty today,” he complimented, looking me over.

       “Thank you,” I said politely, though I wanted say, “Bullshit.” I looked like a fucking cupcake today. I was forced to wear this hideous, pink, ruffled top that was just about the grossest thing I had ever laid eyes on. My dear mother, however, had assured me it was “High fashion”, and would be “All the rage” in a few months, considering she got it on her trip to the West Coast. That too I almost called B.S. on. No way in hell would this shirt (If it could even be called that) be “All the rage” in a few months. What moron considered this “Fashionable” (Besides my mom, of course)?

       When my mom got back from her trip, she asked me how things were. Being the oh-so honest daughter that I was, I told her that I threw a party. It was better to hear the truth first hand from the primary source, than from someone else. Besides, I knew my mom, and had no doubt in my mind that the punishment wouldn’t be too bad. Her response, however, surprised me. She said she was “Happy” that I was being a “Normal” teenager, and said that she was even gladder that I was telling her the truth firsthand. I may or may not have left out the part about the alcohol…

       In addition to the puke-triggering top, I had on white jeans. In the cold weather, I normally wore mesh shorts. Yes, I was indeed one of those people who never got cold. If by chance it happened to be snowing or freezing out, then my mom forced me to wear pants- jeans more specifically. In the past, I had worn straight, leg jeans that were relatively comfortable. To put it in simple terms, these jeans were most definitely not comfortable. They were tight and closed up at the bottom. It was close to impossible to get into them, and the results were even more displeasing. 

       Skinny jeans, a pink shirt, and- wait for it- HEELS! Yes, heels! How I hadn’t managed to trip yet was a true miracle. These things were a bright blue color that was absolutely revolting. They were kind of like sandals, and had a white platform thing. The only good part about these shoes was the fact that they made me five inches taller than I already was. I loved being tall. Obviously, Kit designed them, and, apparently, they wouldn’t be available to the public until the winter.

       “Can we talk?” Eric questioned. 

       “On the way to class?”

       “Uh, actually, would you mind if we were a few minutes late to class?” he asked uncharacteristically. 

       “How long will it take?” I gulped, hoping that this wasn’t some sort of repercussion for my reprehensible behavior at the party the other night.

       “Not long,” he shrugged.

       “Fine.” He smiled, grabbing my hand. We weaved our way between the masses of students going every which way, until we reached a staircase. Eric began to ascend, still clutching my hand as I wobbled my way behind.

       When we reached the top, he turned down a hall, and I kept behind him. After walking for a few minutes, we came to a double door entrance. Without hesitation, Eric opened one of the doors, and stepped in. I tentatively followed, unsure of where we were going.

       Once I stepped in, I restricted my broad smile that so badly wanted to show. In front of me was a giant glass window. Below the window was the school’s basketball court. We were in a spectator’s area overlooking the basketball court. Sick. Though Eric probably had chosen this place randomly, I thought it was beyond cool.

       “Liz,” he began, catching my attention. I looked up, and nodded, facing him. He came closer to me, and took both my hands in his own, holding them between us. What. The. Fuck.

       “Eric,” I said uneasily.

       “At our school, we celebrate Halloween a bit differently,” he paused, looking into my eyes. “Here, we have the Fall Formal. It’s a huge masquerade, where everyone wears costumes and then… gets drunk.”

       “Sounds fun,” I said in regards to the drinking part.

       “I wanted to know if you’d… like to go with me,” he said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

       “Like, as in a… date?” I questioned, my stomach not feeling too well.

       “Yeah,” he said slowly.

       “You see, Eric, I was kind of enjoying being friends with you, and I fear that accepting this alluring offer could result in the termination of this amicable relationship,” I said truthfully.

       “It wouldn’t,” he said too quickly.

       “So, if I were to say no, what would happen to our friendship?”

       He contemplated my question for a moment before replying, “I don’t think we could go back to being friends.”

       “Well, then I suppose there’s only one real thing I can answer,” I sighed nervously. “Yes.” 

       “Thanks Liz,” he grinned widely.

       “Can we go to class now?” I requested.

       “I’ve never had a girl ask that before,” he joked.

       “Well, this girl is asking it.” I moved past him, my feet clanking on the floor as I did so. I. Hate. Heels. We had a history class first, though I forgot where in the building it was located. I looked back and saw Eric a few paces behind me. I smiled at him angelically before asking my next question, “Where is class?”

       “This floor, end of the hall,” he said, as something flashed in his eyes. “I bet I can beat you there!”

       “Of course you can,” I said, “I’m wearing heels, an unfair advantage, and I don’t run.”

       “You don’t run?” he repeated in a question as we began to go down the hall.

       “Nope,” I responded mindlessly.

       “I don’t believe you,” he proclaimed.

       “You don’t have to,” I said, trying not to laugh. 

       We eventually reached a room at the end of the long corridor, and Eric held the door open for me, allowing me to enter first. I was less taken aback by his actions, as I had slightly adjusted to this level of courtesy that I wasn’t used to.

       “Thanks,” I murmured.

       “Of course,” he replied, as we stepped into the classroom. All eyes were on us, though I didn’t care.

       “Mr. Wilson, Ms. Turner, care to explain where you two just were?” demanded the teacher, a middle-aged man with glasses and a rough face.

       “Getting it on!” a kid in the back called. I think it was Joey, a friend of Eric’s that I had met at the fair. I pursed my lips instead of my customary eye roll, and didn’t respond.

       “Well?” the teacher urged us to enlighten him.

       “Eric was showing me more around the building; guess we lost track of time,” I improvised.

       “Make sure it doesn't happen again. You may both be seated,” he said.

       I looked around at the eyes all glaring at me, searching for an empty seat. A girl with blonde hair shuffled, and I noticed it was Alice. I walked down the row of tables, and to the middle where she was sitting. After setting my belongings on the ground, I sat down in the chair next to her.

       “Hey,” she said quietly. I waved, not verbally replying. The teacher at the front of the room resumed his lesson, and after a quick analysis of the board, I recognized what we were doing as something I had learned in the past, leading me to the conclusion that I had permission to zone out. 

       A few minutes of peaceful teaching passed, and then Alice leaned over to me, discreetly slipping me a piece of folded, lined paper. I opened it up, and read the note: “Where were you really?” I got out a pencil from within my binder, and scribbled a reply in an empty space on the same piece of paper: “Talking.” I passed it back to her, the sudden urge to sleep coming over me. 

       I lay my head on they table, about to close my eyes when I felt a sharp jab on my shoulder. I shot up, turning to Alice. She smiled innocently at me, and slid the piece of paper at me again. I sighed, opening it. “About what?” was the phrase scrawled across in loopy writing. I picked up my pencil and wrote, “The Fall Formal,” in my close to illegible script. She took the note, and after reading the words let a small shriek. I looked to her in confusion, and she shot me a wide grin to which I didn’t understand the context.

       When class was finally over, and I was about to exit, Alice restricted me. I stayed back, curious as to what she had to say.

       “Did Eric Wilson ask you to the Fall Formal?” she asked, containing the excitement in her voice though it was overly apparent in her expression.

       “Yeah,” I confirmed.

       “Okay, I know I promised to be the sane one, but O-M-freaking-G! Elizabeth Turner, do you know how big a deal this is?” she said, as I retained an apathetic demeanor.

       “No,” I shook my head.

       “The Fall Formal is almost as big a deal as the prom. It’s how we distinguish who’s officially going out with who, and if you get asked to it, then you’re pretty much being asked out,” she explained.

       “But I’m not dating Eric,” I said simply.

       “Not yet at least,” she smirked. “Eric has never taken a date to the Fall Formal. He’s danced with girls, but never properly asked one to go out with him. The fact that he asked you to go is monumental. You can’t even fathom right now how big a deal this is! Mind if I tell the girls?”

       I thought for a moment, and shrugged. Chances were that Lauren and Tara would find out eventually, so why not increase their knowledge with the aid of technology? It didn’t really matter to me, so I replied with a simple, “Sure, go ahead.”

       “Kay, cool. Ah! Now we have to go get you a killer dress! Your mom works for Lawson, right?”

       “Uh, yeah,” I said hesitantly, not wanting to get my mother involved in any of this.

       “I’m sure she has plenty of chic designer friends, right?”

       “Yeah,” I said, trying not to groan.

       The one thing that I absolutely cannot stand about my mother is her friends. They tend to be airheads who think that just because they can draw clothes they’re automatically cool. No, Michael Jordan is cool, not some loser like Bory Turch- or whatever her name is. I have met so many of my mother’s friends, and the vast majority of them have disapproved of me, but I never really gave a shit. There is, however, one of my mother’s friends who I can actually tolerate, and look up to- Kit Lawson.

       Kit Lawson. What I consider to be the ideal movie star name. It sounds so perfect. Though, the coolest part about Kit’s name is the fact that it’s real. Her husband’s last name is Lawson, and her parents blessed her with the name Kit. There’s something about it that I think is absolutely sick. 

       Kit is the type of person that once you meet her, you fall in love. She’s a few years older than my mother, but more accepting, forgiving, and easygoing. She has hair dyed bright red, and is always wearing plaid, flannel shirts. Fashion may not be my thing, but if I saw someone like her, I would totally want to buy the shoes she designed. She’s a really chill person. Also, the fact that Trevor’s her son makes me love her even more.

       “So, you can totally like get a dress from one of them!" Alice exclaimed excitedly.

       “Yeah, totally!” I said, trying to fabricate enthusiasm into my voice. Something struck my mind, jolting me out of our little conversation, and causing me to wonder, “Don’t we have to get to class?”

       “Oh, yeah, let’s go,” Alice said, swinging her bag over her shoulder, and tapping away at her phone. We left the classroom, and began our journey to the next fifty-five minutes of education.

After enduring the first five periods of the day, it was finally lunch. Over the past few weeks, I had learned a few things about lunch at Madison High:

       No.1 Everyone had their clique and their own group of friends who they sat with.

       No.2 Socializing with another table (unless they were of the opposite gender) would result being shunned by your group of friends.

       No.3 Lunch was made for gossiping, not eating.

       No.4 My friends barely ate. 

       “Alice! Liz!” someone called as we entered the cafeteria. We looked over in the direction of our “usual” table, and saw Tara and Lauren sitting down comfortably. We walked over to them, and took our seats.

       “Elizabeth Turner, you do not know how freaking lucky you are!” Lauren said, her volume level close to yelling.

       “Huh?” I said, not wanting to have the upcoming conversation.

       “Huh?” Tara mimicked. “Eric Freaking Wilson asked you out!”

       “No, he didn’t,” I said, taking my bowl of salad out of my lunchbox.

       “Sorry, he asked you to the Fall Freaking Formal!” Lauren corrected, almost jumping out of her seat.

       “So, you heard,” I commented.

       “Yes! Liz, you really don’t understand how big a deal this is!” Tara said. She was right, I didn’t.

       “So, are you excited?” Lauren pried.

       “Sure,” I said, taking a crunchy bite of the mixed greens. Yuck.

       I hate salad. I know it’s good for you and shit, but I hate it. It’s tasteless and I’d rather fill my body with proteins or steak… or empty carbs, like in potato chips. The reason for the salad was the people I was eating lunch with. They ate like fucking hamsters! Vegetables and water- that’s all they took in. There had never been a time when I had seen a carb or a cookie near their bodies. It’s so weird. Even Alice, she was always eating air and lettuce. If it weren’t for breakfast and dinner, I don’t know how I’d survive.

       “She doesn’t get it,” Lauren said to Alice, gaping.

       “She’s new,” Alice said, trying to explain my actions.

       “It’s okay, Liz,” Tara assured me, “there’s still time for you to learn.”

       “Of course,” I smiled. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I need to get another fork.” Lie.

       “Do you want me to come with you?” Tara offered.

       “No, it’s really okay, I think I have the ability to be a fork by myself, but thanks for offering!” That’s one of the things I’ve never understood about girls- why the hell do they have the compulsive need to do everything together? Go to the bathroom, talk to a boy, or get a fucking fork! It makes absolutely no sense to me.

       I got up from the table, needing a break from them, and headed to the back of the room towards the counter full of utensils, napkins, and condiments. As I got there, I stood for a moment, not moving and not wanting to.

       “Hey babe,” someone said, coming up behind me and placing their hands loosely on my waist. Nerves shot up my spine as I spun around, not a fan of my personal bubble being popped.

       “Jerk,” I mumbled, once my heart had calmed down.

       “I heard someone was going to the Fall Formal with Wilson,” he said, his face showing no signs of any emotions towards the subject.

       “News travels around this school fast,” I commented, trying to read his face.

       “That it does,” he agreed.

       “You jealous, Collins?” I teased, his facial expression impervious.

       “Am I jealous that some douche is taking you out to a stupid dance that I’m not even going to? Yeah, Liz, I’m real broken up about this,” he laughed sarcastically.

       “I knew you were,” I smiled.

       “Be careful,” he warned, “Eric’s not a good guy.”

       “So you’ve told me, but I have the ability to make my own choices and judgments.”

       “Yes you do, Liz, yes you do. Do you want to hang out this afternoon?” I contemplated the question, wondering whether or not if it was the best idea.

       I turned to the counter and took the plastic fork that had been my original task. Before turning back to face him, I said, “I’ll text you.”

       “Oh? Too good to call me, are you?” he joked.

       “Nah, I’d just rather not having anyone overhear my words accidentally,” I said.

       “Of course. Looks like someone’s being called over. Have fun surviving," he laughed, as I noticed Lauren waving to me. I nodded at Dylan, and then returned to the girls.

       “Why were you talking to him?” Lauren demanded immediately following my return.

       “Because he talked to me, and not responding would be considered rude,” I shrugged.

       “Liz, he’s not a good guy. Believe us when we tell you that you need to be careful,” Tara said lightly.

       “Okay,” I said, though not intending to hold up on the response. These people judge too much- scratch that- they misjudge too much. Dylan’s not a bad person, nor is Eric, or the girls. They seriously have to reevaluate the way they judge people.