Fat Cats Come Back

Chapter Three

At eight, I was dressed and ready. The tank top proved to look good on me, and it went perfectly with an electric green pair of ripped jeans, beneath it a pair of black leggings. The chainmail earrings hung in multicolor from my ears, and the hoops just above that were thin, small. Around my neck was a pony-beaded necklace with the words Lookin’ Hot in block letters. Around my wrists, Romey had decided I should wear checkered sweatbands, my right arm a bright green and my left arm a lemon yellow. I was excited to see how this party would go.

            I was surprised, though, at the knock on my door. Tilting my head back, I raised, black and white converse scuffing at the floor as I trotted over. Twisting the brass knob between my palms, I pulled open the door to face Tristan.

            Casualty was Tristan’s specialty. His coal hair was left as usual, falling carelessly across his forehead. Along with that he wore a black tee shirt with neon lettering across the surface, and a pair of jeans with a blue plaid belt.

            Blinking, Sonia pulled back the door, and smiled, flushing slightly as his eyes took her appearance in. “Tristan, Hi.”

            “Hey, Sonia,” he said, returning his gaze to hers with a smile. “You look… Great.”

            Sonia smiled, turning her gaze away. “Thank you. You do, too.”

            “I didn’t know what time to come over,” he said, sobering instantly. “Romey never said anything.

            “Party’s soon. She’s coming to pick me up. Well, now, you.”

            “I’ll drive you,” he said coyly, and smirked at Sonia. “If you can stand it.”

            “Sure, I’ll tell Romey,” Sonia said, then slipped her wallet and phone into her pockets, following Tristan into the hallway.

            “So, Romey dressed you up, did she?” He asked, giving her a thoughtful side glance. She nodded, touching the key in her pocket as she followed him. Sonia hadn’t seen his car, therefore known he even drove himself. Sure, Sonia had a license and a car, but she rarely used it unless she was visiting someone. Almost excitement bubbled in the pit of her stomach; for the party or just enjoying herself, she didn’t know.

            “I haven’t ever seen your hair down,” he said, and blinked, reaching out to touch a lock that barely brushed her collarbone. Sonia looked back up and him, and blinked.

            “Enjoy it while it lasts. Nobody ever sees my hair down,” Sonia said, and then smiled, linking arms with him, taking the moment to poke him playfully in the stomach.  Tristan fake winced, then poked her in the nose.

            The club was packed with Detroit’s youth. Blues, reds, gold, colors of the rainbow dotted the outside already, waiting to get in. She’d understood why Romey was putting her in neon now, seeing that inside was a combo of black light and strobe light. Romey soon found them. She looked stunning, as usual.

            On her feet she wore white high-top converse, along with a white pair of skinny jeans and a white top, which accented the coloration of her tan, brought out her newly-contacted eyes; this time, she’d gotten a brilliant yellow that just added contrast to her. Romey, of course, was used to this, though.

            Soon we were inside the club. Music pounded loud from the speakers overhead, upbeat and causing many bodies ahead to move and shuffle, dance lividly and fluidly. Bright colors splashed all across the people, alcohol already running like blood in their dry veins, the music curing a thirst that had left them distraught like a tired horse tied away from a full water trough. Romey disappeared instantly to the throb of bodies, her white clothes mingling with other colors.