Imperfect | est. 2015

50. School

(50 Chapters. Holy crap, this is the longest book ever xD)

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If it was simple enough to say; the rest of that summer went by in a flash. There was no insanely crazy drama; just a few arguments with Addison that would revolve to its original place in a complex friendship. She refused to get over her feelings for Connor. Meanwhile, Connor and I practically spent the entirety of everyday together. His family would ask why he was never home, and he promised to spend plenty of his time at home, when school started; him being a complete honors student; meanwhile, I was mentally preparing myself, not for the craziness of senior year, but for the cruel reminders of the loss of Tyler and then having to watch Addison pass by me in the hallway, when she'd spare some sort of guilt-tripping glare and be out of my sight before I have chances to say that I'm sorry; and for reasons I had no given explanation for.

And on the school website, I sat there, next to Connor, in my bedroom; trying to scroll through pages of my laptop where I could see what would come of senior year. Together, we were just laughing at the horrible idea of the senior project. He would hate it just as much as I would. Next, we were looking through the date schedules of the school dances.

The first dance was a dance they held every fall, and only for seniors. It was like a smaller version of prom, and you're known to dress just as formally as if you were going to prom. I wasn't big on school dances, but as soon as it popped up on the screen, Connor pointed at it and practically jabbed his finger through the screen of my laptop, "We are going to this," he murmured, demandingly, "and you are wearing a dress."

"No," I grunted and rolled over to hide my face in the mattress. He punched me in the arm, trying to pry me from my hiding place, "C'mon, I haven't seen you in a dress in years. You'd look amazing."

"I would not," I tried to talk loud enough to be heard through the fabric I buried my nose into, "I would have to wear heels instead of sneakers; does that sound like me?"

"No, not at all," he laughed, still trying to roll me back over, "but that's the point. You'd look gorgeous."

I tensed up my shoulders, waiting for him to actually accomplish his momentary task of trying to get me to show my face, "You could survive without seeing me in a dress, Anthony."

He pointed at me, slyly. I could see it through the little openings in my sleeve when my face was still in the direction of him, but hidden in my arm. He talked, trying to begin his argument, "For one; don't call me that. And two;" he chuckled and I felt a movement beside me. I didn't know what he did, but he'd made some strange noise that sounded like he'd been deflated or something.

Then, I finally looked up to see what'd he'd done; and apparently, he was playing dead, with his tongue outside of his mouth; like a cartoon character. I giggled and reached for his arm to shake him back into artificial consciousness, "Stop it, don't play dead."

And he didn't move a muscle, and I continued to try and shake him awake, "You wouldn't die if you never saw me in a dress; now, wake up."

He was probably the most stubborn person I'd ever met.

"Connor Anthony," I muttered and buried my nose in his shirt so I could just start to beg for him to stop what he was doing, "open your eyes before I pour water on your head."

I'd suppose he didn't think I would actually do it or go through with it, but he was wrong. If he hadn't take up to my offer in the following thirty seconds, I would've done it anyways, "You have a matter of seconds, then it's your loss." I felt through his hair, just so he would get an idea of what it would look like when I'd do it.