Wesley

one

Hanna was the type of girl you would see in a black and white film. With flawless skin, light hair and a perfect petite body, she could put on a long dress and a oversized hat, smile lightly, and be the star of Casablanca or Sunset Boulevard. But since all she really wears are tennis shoes, v-neck shirts, and shorts that don't leave much to the imagination, instead it looks like she could star in a movie like Dirty Dancing or Footloose. Her beautiful face is just a plus- like extra credit on an 100% test. Maybe that's why all the boys practically drool in her presence.

Now, if you saw me, then saw a girl like Hanna, you'd never think that we'd be anything alike. Her hair sits perfectly- mine finds a way to frizz up. Her laugh flows like a song- mine breaks like a snapped guitar string. You'd never guess that we've shared inside jokes and created funny stories in the past ten years we've been friends. We are just not alike at all, and I think that throws everyone off.

So, there goes Ingrid Berdman, forcing on her confining tiny dress only to let it be thrown off later by some sweaty teenage boy with nothing but alcohol running through his veins and smoke clouding up his head. And it kills me to see her do this to herself. She wasn't like this when she was little, but after her father died it seemed like she found nothing else to live for but to be loved by boys. Especially one in particular. Andrew Newman. The one with "endless blue eyes" and "a smile that lights up the whole room". But all I think she needs to realize, and what I'm trying to get her to realize, is that I love her more than Andrew ever could.

And then there's me, sitting behind her. A book in my lap and white tshirt hanging from my body. I don't belong in a black and white film, but more of maybe a library or even working as a cashier at Starbucks. I don't know how to describe myself besides 'average'. I guess that's what I've always been, and being around someone who's not-so-average like Hanna, it's hard to accept, but over time I just gave up trying to accept myself and just got over it instead.

Hanna puts in her earrings and combs through her hair with her perfectly painted fingers. "Are you sure you don't want to come? I heard Wesley is going to be there." She does a little happy dance, only because she knows I have a thing for Wesley Parker. Whatever that means. I just think he's cute.

But that doesn't stop me from blushing. I try to cover it up by reminding her. "He has a girlfriend, Hanna. He's been with her a long time and I don't see them splitting up anytime soon."

Her name is Ivy. She has long brown hair that is flawlessly ombrèd blue at the ends. Her and Wesley have been together for years upon years and I can't remember the last time they haven't been next to each other. There's no doubt Ivy is beautiful, and there's not doubt she's in love with Wesley. I respect their relationship.

Hanna laughs. It echoes through the room, and it was almost loud enough to make me worry her mom was going to wake, but she carries on. "That's never stopped me before." She sits by me, giving me a strong whiff of her perfume. She straps on a pair of heels that seem almost as uncomfortable as her dress.

"I know- but it has me. Plus you know I don't even like these things. There's too many-"

"I know, I know. Too many people and too much alcohol. I've heard you say it a million times." She looks over at me, almost in a sad way. My mom has a problem with alcohol. She keeps her hand wrapped around a can every time I see her, doubling up on her intake when I'm around her. I see what alcohol does to a person. That's why I live with my dad now, a whole state away from her house. I only see her in June.

She dismisses the subject, continuing on. "But I just feel bad. Making you do this. You'd have fun if you just went inside, trust me."

"You're not making me do anything, Hanna, believe me." I say matter-of-factly. "I like doing this."

I wish I could say I was telling the truth, but I can't. If I could stop her from going to these parties, I would, but not matter how hard I try she never listens. I only do this because I don't trust anyone else to do this for her, and I certainly don't trust her to go by herself. So I drive her there, drive her home, and go on with my life. She always says she'll be out at a certain time, and she has never not been out at that time. So because of her faithfulness and because she understands drunk or not how uncomfortable I am in situations like these, I do it for her.

Or maybe I do it for me. She's all I really have and if something happened to her I would be ripped in two.

She smiles at me, and hugs me tightly before asking me one last time if I want to go in with her. I decline. Again.

Then we creep down her stairs into the September night. The air is chilly enough to make you shiver. School starts soon.

That's means no more parties, I think, and that means no more worrying about Hanna.

*•*•*

The house is huge. And when I say huge, I mean huge. It is made out of tough brick and the door is white. It towers all the way up, past the trees, and if it were to be any higher it would probably graze the stars. There's lights flooding out of windows and music shakes the ground even outside. Hanna looks at the scenery like a little girl at a candy shop.

"Wow." She says, clearly breathless.

"Yeah." I say in agreement, thanking God that I'm not going in there. I see shadows of bodies pressed up against each other. Fresh air seems limited in there, and I'd rather breathe oxygen than smoke.

We look at it for another five seconds before she turns her head to me, her blonde hair slipping behind her bare shoulders and a humongous grin from excitement on her face. "I'll be back around 2:00am. If I'm not, come find me!" She says, stepping out of the car and running her little body up to that big, scary house.

I wish she would just stay in the car with me.