I'm In Love With The Brown-Haired Boy//L.S//

Chapter Fifteen

Saturday comes before I even realize it, and I get a text from Zayn asking if I want to go to a party with him. I'm not really feeling up to it, but he begs—saying I need to get out, meet some guys, live a little. To Zayn's knowledge, I haven't gotten any action yet.

I give in. He's my best friend, after all.

The party starts at ten, so I'm at Gigi's house getting ready. Zayn somehow convinced her to go too, even though she's like me—not exactly the party type. I also still have trauma from the last time. I can still taste the throw-up.

"So whatever happened with you and Harry?" Gigi asks while carefully drawing a thin line of eyeliner across my eyelid. I let her do a little makeup on me—just to try it out.

My heart skips a beat. I completely forgot I hadn't told her anything since the last time we had a real conversation.

What do I say? What can I say? I mean, I have to lie. Harry told me not to tell anyone.

"Oh. Right. We actually stopped talking," I say, trying to sound casual. Convincing.

But it's not working.

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that," she says softly, a sad look falling onto her face.

"It's okay. It's not like we were close or anything. We were just project partners."

"I know," she says gently, patting a bit of blush onto my cheeks. "But that still sucks. I know you liked being around him."

"It's whatever," I mumble, clearly trying to change the subject—because if I don't, I might slip up.

She finishes my makeup, and I look in the mirror, complimenting her work.

Then I throw on a Thrasher shirt, ripped blue jeans, and black high-top Converse. I roll up the pant legs just enough so my yellow socks peek through when I sit down.

I walk back into Gigi's room. She lights up the second she sees me.

"You look fucking amazing," she says, grinning.

"Aww, thank you," I smile. "What time is it?"

"We've got like thirty minutes," she says. "I'm gonna go finish getting ready."

She heads to her closet and starts pulling outfit options. We go through them together and finally settle on a skin-tight, cropped black top, tan cargo pants, and white Air Force 1s. She pairs it with a silver heart necklace and silver hoops.

At around 9:45, Zayn shows up at Gigi's house and takes us over to the party. When we get there, loud music is blasting from inside the house, and through the windows, we can see people walking around, drinks in hand, smoke drifting through the air.

We head inside, and the smell of alcohol, weed, and sweaty teenagers immediately hits me, burning my nostrils. We make our way to the kitchen, where Zayn grabs a beer from the fridge. He offers one to Gigi, but she shakes her head, saying she doesn't do any of that stuff—she has to stay healthy for cheer. Honestly, I don't blame her. I probably shouldn't be drinking either, and I think the weed I've been smoking lately has started to affect my lungs a bit.

Zayn offers me a drink next, and I stare at it for a second, replaying memories from the last party. But then I sigh and take it. One drink can't hurt.

We walk into the living room where a crowd of people are dancing wildly to the music, cups and cans held high, yelling over the bass. Smoke clouds the air, and everything feels hot and chaotic. There's nowhere to sit, so we just stand there, letting the music shake through us. Gigi leans against Zayn while he wraps an arm around her neck, both of them smiling and in sync like they belong together. If only I could have something like that.