We've all heard and devoured the classic trope involving the shenanigans of a jock, a princess, a nerd, and a criminal. Although who knows of the trouble capable of ensuing when The Breakfast Club isn't PG-13 anymore?
That's the 2007 freshman batch...
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Inspite of dabbing more layers of highlighter than I've with my clothes on a chilly night, I'm still conscious of the tear stains. Hopefully, I'll master this art over the years, but for now a forced smile will have to do. Thankfully, everyone here seems to be at least two beers down, and in a complete opposite turn from my earlier fashion, I intend on keeping it low tonight.
"I don't think Brandon's coming, he's got some stuff to work on," Harry murmurs over the disc music blaring through the crowd, and yet it registers loud and clear. I just nod in response, toning the wariness down by notches.
The fact that Brandon has kept his mouth sealed is something I can't possibly gulp with the spritzer in my hand. So naturally, when Harry texted me about this party, asking if I wanted to go, my eyes did a double flip. I sat on it for quite a while, ultimately ready to refuse until he mentioned Brandon's probably come along. I figured if he was going to blab it out today, so I might as well be there to try and do some damage control– something I hadn't been so good at before.
"Really? I guess it's just you and me then," I toy around with the red plastic cup in my palms, somewhat nauseated from the reek of the drink in there. Withdrawal as it seems, had been catching up on me in the past few weeks, but to give into the need feels worse.
"Seems so," he says, the boyish grin intact on his face, while I resist the urge to pull that grey beanie down his head and ruffle around the curls underneath. Fingers entangled, the sparks are overhead. I caught onto the line from one of his songs back in the concert at the park. We've gotten somewhat close since then, but I can't say that for the moment when I can see every curve of the veins popping on his neck. It would really only take a second and my seasoned brand of hazy decisions meets inherent insanity to close the distance, but that's until I spot a familiar red head among the swaying crowd, and with an arm clung onto his. Black waves cascading down her back, she's dressed in a jogger and a tank top, and yet looks more charming than I could ever be. I instinctively look down at my shimmer black strap dress, my whole self suddenly seeming like a ruse, on the verge of falling apart.
"Hey, you're okay?" Harry slightly shakes my shoulders, looking both, a little worried and amused. He's gotten used to me fading out, something I myself have been struggling with. I'm very well aware that I am a handful, but also of the fact that no one's stuck around long enough to figure why. No one until this enigmatic musician, who's got mystery written all over those black orbs. "It's getting stuffy in here, and I have access to a quite place up the stairs."
"I wouldn't mind some silence," I mutter, setting my cup down on the counter and following him past the drunkards, the users, and the ones who've got foil packets peeking out of their pockets. Our fingers brush against each other every time I feel like I'm losing my step, and need a reminder that there's more than just a dark abyss ahead. I spot Archie and the girl who's familiar but not quite placeable, settled on a couch, speaking amongst themselves, lost in their own little world. She must be special because I don't remember a time when we were half an hour into one of these free liquor parties, and still capable of forming coherent words. I'm also surprised how we have both found ourselves at one of these typical cheerleader parties, and with the obnoxious daddy's princess being the host this time.
