Rule Number One

Chapter 9: The Love of My Life

"Mom! How do I look?"

You delicately pinch the edges of your skirt, lifting it slightly, almost as if you're Margot Robbie living her Barbie life. With an elated twirl, you showcase your white long sundress adorned in a tiny pastel flower pattern. The dress hugged your figure gracefully, radiating a sense of feminine charm.

Mrs. Winters sits on the edge of your bed, smirking, nodding her head in approval. You've been doing a fashion show since three o'clock to your mom—of course, in private. Your dad shouldn't know about this kind of rebellion. Jumping in elation at your mom's thumbs up, you turn to look at the mirror, letting the sight sink in. There you are, in your OOTD a.k.a. Outfit of The Date—

What? Oh yes, everyone—excuse me—everyone! Can I have your attention please? I'm having a date.

I'M HAVING A DATE! FINALLY! EEEK!

Sorry, I'm just too excited. It's just—hard to contain.

So.. yes, I'm finally having a date.. without any interruptions whatsoever—thank. God. Rule #9 is erased! Who's the lucky guy? Well, it's the guy who slipped me that mysterious note, of course.

Done with the dress up, you skip to the window and yank the curtains open in a fit of haste. With the precision of an eagle-eyed detective, you squint at the boy next door. Wearing a navy blue shirt with black jersey jacket, he's caught in the act of fixing his hair with his cherished hair gel, executing sleek moves like he's in a shampoo commercial.

Suddenly, he spots you spying on his sacred hair ritual through his mirror—before he shoots you an evil smirk, dramatically turns, and races to the window—to give you the holy finger.

You respond with a disgusted face, also giving him the middle finger—you know, matching his level of maturity—to promptly slam the curtains closed, scoffing at the whole absurdity.

Oh so he's going on a date too, huh? It's so on.

As you make your grand exit through the front door, he opens his. Halting for a moment, you watch him stand on his porch beside you with loose light blue jeans and a pair of NMD, ready for a showdown. Competitive glares are exchanged, and you smugly spin your head forward, pretending to be absorbed in the scenery while secretly waiting for your date.

Unfortunately, the universe decides to play a cruel joke as a bike stops in front of you. Dread starts seeping through your skin as you realize that it's your date, wearing a pair of Balenciaga sandals junk off, a jogger, and a hot—hot pink tee. When he opens his helmet.. you can see spiky hair formed upon his head. Panic sets in as you realize that 'uncondescending' is not even close to describing this catastrophe.

You instinctively turn to Tyler in a hesitant manner. However, instead of the usual supportive ally, you find him jaw-dropped, suppressing the biggest laugh of his existence. Adding salt to the injury, he shoots out his tongue and gives you a smug expression, elatedly skipping down the stairs to his Ducati.

But that's not all, comparing your date's outfit to yours.. to your beautiful.. pretty sundress.. Realizing how the three-hour fashion show turned into majestic failure..

The amount of shame you withhold is really a sight to behold.