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NOTHING else eventful happened the rest of the day and yet I couldn't concentrate in any of my lessons. All I could think about was Logan in that corridor, visibly distressed and nearly crying and I'd never seen him so vulnerable before. I wanted to know what had set him off so bad to the point he was fearing for his life. Who was coming after him? Why was a van following him after school? What messages had he been getting and who were they from? What did they say? Why am I even arsed because I hate him and maybe the world will be better off without him. Maybe I need to stop being so invested and concentrate on what I'm gonna wear tonight because I have no clue. Tom said his dad is going to be cooking dinner and I want to look presentable but at the same time good for Tom. I don't even know whether I should tell him or anyone else about what I saw today, I don't think it'll be a great idea, but I'm too interested.
Deciding I should just forget about it, I finally manage to pull an outfit out of my wardrobe. I'd spent an hour after school procrastinating about whether a jumpsuit is a bit too much and maybe jeans with a black basic V-neck was much better. At the same time, I was so bugged about why Logan is under the impression he's gonna die that it was fogging over all my other thoughts. However, I force myself back into reality and make the decision to wear the jeans and the black top. I finish the basic look by styling my hair up with a clasp and making the look a little less basic by applying slightly bolder makeup, specifically concentrating on my winged eyeliner which everyone always compliments I'm a pro at. Once I place my small, hooped earrings in I brush my hands along my hair and study myself in the mirror, it's just appropriate for Tom's family and just as good for Tom. However, behind my reflection, I see a figure at my doorway and immediately frown.
"Where are you going?" dad's voice was so intimidating but despite my heart rapidly thumping against my chest, I had to try and compose an answer that didn't make me sound like I was nervous.
"Toms," I start, turning away from the mirror so I was facing dad properly. "His dad has invited me over for dinner."
His eyes widen a little at me before his entire face hardens, his mouth turning into a frown, and he looks me up and down disgustedly. "What and you think wearing that will earn his family's respect?"
It was a given that dad would complain about what I'm wearing, he always does this wherever I go. He even comments on my school uniform which to be honest is not always worn to the exact dress code. I always tended to tie my tie too loosely, wear a lot of jewellery over the recommended amount allowed to be worn and hitched up my skirt three inches above the appropriate length. But every single schoolgirl in the UK did that except the ones that go to those all-girl private schools where the skirts are at the ankles. I've been pulled up a few times by SLT to remove several of my lobe piercings, helix and about five million rings I wear on my fingers but to be honest they've given up with me the past couple of terms and their new battle is the chavs with their hair extensions. However, at home if I was wearing a crop top dad would tell me to put a cardigan on over it or if I was just chilling with a long pyjama top and nothing on my legs like a lot of people do then my dad would demand I put on some joggers and proceed to slut shame me. It was hell trying to dress in peace, especially that a lot of clothes I wear is made from scratch by yours truly. I spend a lot of time making my clothes and while my mum and Kelly praise me for it and say I'm talented and need to make them stuff, my dad turns up his nose and tells me to channel my enthusiasm for fashion into something 'worthwhile' and not 'wasted'.
