Saving the Reject | Michael Clifford | Editing

s e v e n ;

Charli

Why did I have to be such a good liar?  Sure, it comes in handy, but it makes me feel so guilty.

"When do you think you'll be home?"  Dawson sounded distressed; he's been like this ever since he stormed out of the apartment earlier this week, even after Emmy had agreed to not have a best man.  I feel as though I may be the reason behind that, though, because he still is unsure where I stand on the whole first dance situation.  I have mentally agreed to do that for him, but uncertainty and fear is holding me back.  I'm terrified to commit to something that I may be unable to fulfill.  That last thing I want to do is pull out of it last second, and leave the people I love in chaos.  I am terrified.

"Before ten.  And Scar's mum has offered to give me a ride home, so you don't have to worry about that."  That was my lie: Evie, Scarlett's mum and I were planning out a surprise going-away-party for Scarlett, which actually wasn't a lie at all.  The lie was the time in which the planning was taking place.

"And you're planning tomorrow as well?"  He didn't sound convinced, and I feared that he knew me too well.

"What, do you think I'm lying?"  Irony.  "It's taking five months to plan your wedding, it's going to take more than three hours to plan something extravagant enough to match what Scar will experience in Italy."

"All right, all right," Dawson laughed.  "Just try not to wake Emmy when you come in.  She had to be at the café by five this morning and work her normal shift.  She's already asleep."

"I was wondering why you were whispering.  I'll see you at home."

With a final goodbye, I pulled the cheap flip phone from my ear, and ended the call.  By the time I looked up, my destination was before me.  A simple, pale, one-story house, adorned with a blood-red door, and a total of four windows from what I could see - shades drawn closed, not allowing one ray of golden sunset light into the house - sat before me, mocking me.  The driveway consisted of two vehicles: a beat up, faded-red station wagon, and a silver, mid-condition Honda Civic.  A third was stalled on the curb beside me, a car I have become recently familiar with, and though I'd never admit it out loud, have grown to like: a classic muscle car, with a paint job who's pattern opposed it's owner's hair.

Was I an idiot for coming here?  Probably.  Should I just walk away?  Definitely.  Was I going to?  Absolutely not.

I was at the door before I could overthink it anymore than I already have.  My fist seemed to be ready before my mind, knocking thrice on the red door.

Unfortunately - or maybe fortunately? - Michael did not answer the door.  A tall, blue-eyed, confused blonde boy did.    It took me a minute, but I realized why he look familiar: he was in Mr. Duke's fifth period alongside Michael.  What was his name again?

"Um - Can I help you?" he asked me, leaning against the open door.

"I - um - "  Smooth, Charli.  "I'm looking for Michael?  Are you his brother?"

This made Nameless smile, revealing his dimples, and causing me to think back to mine.  Haven't seen it in a while.  "Roommate," he corrected.  "He's in his room, come on in."

Roommate.  I was currently voluntarily entering a house of at least two teenaged boys who live without parental supervision.  What am I getting myself into?

As I expected, the living room - at least - lacked any sort of light except for the television screen, which showed some sort of soccer themed video game on pause.  Unsure of what to do, I followed Nameless into a hallway beside the kitchen, which seemed to be the only lit room in the house.  "Mikey, I've got a girl here that wants to see you," Nameless said as he reached the last door.