Better Than Milkshakes, Better Than Boys (girlxgirl)

[33]

Mackenzie hasn't spoken to me since she showed me her ex. People stopped trying to force conversation out of me an hour after that.

I got dressed and dolled up, put on lashes and a dress, hoping and praying that dressing up for a party would lift my mood and help me enjoy the fact that we won and secured our spot in the state championships. But it didn't help. It didn't help one bit. It made me bitter, and it made me angry.

I'm stood surrounded by people drinking, people laughing and enjoying themselves, and my blood is slowly boiling past the point of no return. I don't know where my friends are. Faye and the cheer team were last in the games room playing beer pong. April and the soccer girls were outside on the soft chairs and bean bags. I wish I was in the mood to spend time with everyone. It's the last party before we all go away for the winter trip. But I can't help but feel bitter and hollow.

This party sucks, and it's all because she's bloody here.

Why the hell was the opposition invited to this party? Every girl here knows that Mackenzie's ex is on the team. Whoever didn't make the boys aware of this teeny tiny, momentous fact needs to be put down because they are Google's definition of 'asshole'.

All I can see is her face, that all-knowing grin she gave me when she somehow connected the dots between a captain and her player having a heated conversation. Her eyes, those venomous green eyes burning into me from between the goal posts, I could feel her gaze on me for the entire match, especially after their striker put a goal past us.

I hate her.

I hate how attractive she is, I hate that she used to make Mackenzie feel how I hope to one day make her feel. I hate how she worked me out without even speaking to me or meeting me. She just looked at me and just knew.

Fvcking bitch.

I scowl into the half-finished glass of vodka lemonade in my hand before downing the entirety of the remains. I don't want to be getting drunk because I'm angry and spiteful, I want to be getting drunk with my friends and playing stupid drinking games. I want to kiss my girlfriend and get my hands under her shirt.

But I can't.

Because I haven't spoken to my friends in over four hours and my girlfriend is currently nowhere to be seen.

I pour myself another drink. I down it again. I still feel angry.

"Someone needs to chill on the Smirnoff." I hear a voice behind me call out, and I spin as I'm the only person currently in the kitchen.

It takes everything in me to not be immediately rude, not because of the person, but because of the mood I'm in.

"I'm surprised you're even attempting to talk to me." I say shortly, pouring another drink and raising it in her direction sarcastically before pouring it down my throat.I don't even bother with the mixer this time, my throat burning at the gasoline taste to the vodka.

"Yeah well," Freya shrugs, leaning across the counter to fix herself a drink. "Someone has to attempt to get you to talk, and it's better if you snap at me as we're not friends."

Freya looks pretty, which isn't a sentence I'd ever say out loud or admit to anyone that I thought so. Her bright red hair is down, with small plaits and braids running through her hair. She's wearing a short, green, crushed velvet dress that shows she actually has a figure hidden under her soccer kit and the hoodies she wears to school. She's even done her makeup, something she doesn't often do due to the masc lesbian vibe she seems to have going on at school.

I can't help but smile. "That's some logic."

Freya smirks, filling her plastic cup at least half full with Malibu. This is the longest conversation I've ever had with Freya without nasty words being exchanged from either party, and it's somewhat enjoyable. Freya looks more relaxed than I've ever seen her, a contemptuous yet drunken smile on her face as her eyes scan the party through the archway of the kitchen.