Complicated | An Original Story

• 𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐏 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 • 𝟗 •

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"Does my hair look alright?" I ask, turning away from the mirror to glance at Clara from where she's sitting on the floor of the bathroom in my house.

Clara looks up from where she's dumped out the contents of her makeup kit and scattered it out across the carpet. "Yes, it looks the same as it did when you asked me five minutes ago," she says, rolling her eyes slightly and shaking her head.

My own makeup is splayed out across the countertop. Everything has gotten so cluttered and disorganized since we started this that there's almost no space for me to set down my blow-drier. I balance it on the edge of the sink and reassess my reflection again. "Shit," I groan, searching around for my eyeliner. "How did I not notice how uneven this was?"

"Look, chances are, if you didn't notice, no one else will," Clara says, holding up a small mirror I lent her close to her face as she brushes a mascara wand over her lashes. "Can you stop freaking out?"

"Can you stop biting my head off?" I ask, dropping the eyeliner away from my face and turning back to her. "What's going on with you today? You've been in a mood since yesterday."

Clara rolls her eyes and scoffs, but she offers me no further explanation for her behavior. I return her scoff and go back to doing my makeup. I drop the eyeliner and decide to move on to something else that I'm not as likely to mess up—high emotions and makeup are two things that definitely do not go together.

My phone chimes, and—after a few seconds of searching for it amongst the clutter—I find it and switch it on. "Maybelle says they'll be here in about twenty more minutes," I tell Clara, who gives a single hum in response.

I grab the bag that I'm planning to bring with me and begin selecting a few things from the counter to slip into the outside pouch.

Clara and I head downstairs when there's about five minutes to go. My dad is in the kitchen making dinner when we descend the stairs. "You guys look great," he tells us smiling. He rounds the counter to meet us and folds his arms across his chest. "Alright, you know what I'm going to say."

I almost roll my eyes, but I suppress the urge—I don't want to give him any excuse to bar me from going tonight. "Dad, we'll be—"

"Rule number one," he says, speaking over me with a tone that suggests that this conversation will be taking place, whether I want it to or not. "Do not add to the population."

If I hadn't just spent so much time on my makeup, I'd hide my face in my hands. "Oh my god, Dad, please—"

"Rule number two, do not subtract from the population," my dad continues. Even though this conversation is supposed to be directed at both Clara and me right now, I can't help but feel very targeted. "And rule number three—"

"Don't do anything you don't want to hear about," Clara finishes, repeating the saying that so many students from our school have heard before.

My dad nods, looking proud. "I want to see you both back here by eleven at the latest, and you better still be able to walk in a straight line by then. Call me if you need anything, and—"

The doorbell rings. It's almost funny how quickly Clara and I snap our heads toward the front door. "I'll text you every few hours," I promise, calling over my shoulder as we rush toward the door.