Battle of the Captains

partiers

It took a lot of convincing and begging and even bribing before Liz got me out of my bed so I could get ready for the party that I had decided I didn't want to attend anymore. With my fickle mind, it was back and forth between 'sure, I'll go,' and 'why would I want to go to that stupid party anyway?'

Liz basically hauled me to the bathroom, using her words to unfairly guilt-trip me into actually changing.

"You can't change your mind now," Liz said. "I already told everyone you were coming."

"We can always tell everyone that you're a liar," I said.

She pointed at me. "Don't even try to escape through the window. You'll just end up killing yourself."

"I wasn't planning on it, but thanks for the idea."

Liz only rolled her eye and handed me the clothes from my closet that we had put together– or more accurately, the clothes she had put together while I made comments like 'this isn't a costume party', 'do you want me to look like an exotic dancer?' and 'why do I even own that?'

"Why do you own this?" Liz had asked, dropping it on my bed, making a sour face like she had no idea why she even considered picking it up.

"Didn't you give that top to me for my birthday?"

"No way! It looks like something your brothers would give you for your birthday. It's hideous."

Eventually, we agreed on the red, loose tank top that she did get me for my birthday and a pair of black jeans, which Liz tried to attest to because she seemed to like the idea of a skirt better. But really, I wasn't comfortable wearing anything like that in a high school party.

Plus, I wasn't aiming to impress anyone. Lie. I was always trying to impress everyone; it seemed, even with little need to. What people thought was right at the top of my priority list even though I knew better.

Despite popular belief, I was nothing close to the Miss Perfect everyone chose to perceive me as though I tried my very best to reach the bar that was set for me. My craving for perfection came from the expectations that other people had for me. My need for people to like me came from all the insecurities no one knew I had. My need to be number one at all costs came from both.

People pleaser. That was the perfect way to describe what I was.

I knew I couldn't please everyone but it didn't stop me from trying or feeling dejected when I failed. I knew that caring too much could bring me down to the ground but I was afraid that if I stopped caring as much as I did, I'd have no reason be up so high anyway.

When I finished getting dressed, Liz took over the bathroom since she was still in the clothes she had worn to school a few hours ago. She brought her things for tonight in a duffel bag that she left in the trunk of Clay's car. He dropped us off in my house since I didn't come to school as prepared as my best friend was and he told us he'd be back to pick us up at eight. It was seven-thirty.

I knew Liz had already done her make-up while I was in the bathroom because I found her make-up kit open on my desk. Make-up was not a foreign substance to me because I did use it for cheer competitions and other special occasions that required it but I didn't have much of my own kit aside the concealer Ashley gave me for Christmas but I didn't even know how to use it without it looking like I had a blotch of obviously fake skin.

Of course my mom used make-up like a normal woman but she hadn't let me use it because I was too young. When she passed away, I didn't bother learning how to use it on my own since it wasn't like I saw my dad or my brothers using make up and it wasn't like they could teach me. Hanging out with the girls from the junior cheerleading varsity for the first time, I felt like an alien. Eventually, I started to learn some of the basics in doing make up but I didn't like wearing it on a normal day at school because one, it was sticky and it got itchy sometimes, two, it was a hassle to wash it off especially since washing it off took forever, and lastly, when I wore make-up, I thought about it to much. I fussed over myself, thinking 'what if I smudged the dark eye make-up?' and whatnot. Plus, what was the point of wearing make-up when I was just going to sweat it all off anyway during training?