Ross Lynch Imagines

Single For The Holidays

It's the day before Christmas Eve, and everyone is getting into the spirit. Just a day ago you got out of school for the Winter Break, and now you are sitting around, watching your mom obsess over the decorations.

"Does this look right?" Your mother asked, setting up a string of white lights in the door frame. You peeled your eyes off your phone screen.

"Looks fine," you said plainly, returning your attention back to your phone.

"Fine?!" Your mom gasps. "Y/N, we are meeting your sister's new boyfriend and his family, tonight! And they are coming over here. Everything has to look perfect."

You rolled your eyes at your insane mother. Your younger sister just previously started dating this guy, and already they are pretty serious. You found this very offensive, because one: you're the oldest—but yet, your younger sibling already has a boyfriend before you. Even though you and your sister are only eleven months apart, makes a huge difference. You're a junior in high school and she's a sophomore.

But nonetheless, it made you very jealous. Her boyfriend, by the name of...shoot, you can't even remember his name! All you know is that his name starts with an R, he's sixteen (her age) and he's homeschooled. You wondered how your sister knew this guy if he didn't go to her school, but she said one of her friends introduced her to him.

But anyways, your sister's boyfriend and his family is coming over tonight—and your mother is making a huge deal.

Suddenly the smoke alarm went off, causing you to whip you head around. The chicken is probably done.

"Shit!" Your mother yelped, scrambling to get the chicken out. "Open the damn windows, Y/N!"

"But it's freezing outside, mom!" You objected. "The ground is covered in snow."

"Do you want it to smell like a smoker's house in here for our guests?" She snapped, causing you to roll your eyes once more. You got up, did as she said and went back to your previous spot on the couch.

"Ryland and his family will be here in an hour," your sister entered the living room, plopping beside you. You glanced up, raising your eyebrows. Your sixteen year old sister was in a tight red dress. "What?" She gave you a skeptical look. "Mom made me wear something dressy. You will, too."

"That isn't dressy," you argued, stifling in a laugh. "That dress makes you look like one of santa's sex slaves." You bursted out laughing, wiping a fake tear away.

"Shut up," your sister grunted.

"Y/N, go get changed!" Mom demanded. "Fix up your hair and put on make up. And make sure to wear something presentable. I don't want you coming downstairs in jeans and a sweatshirt."

"I am I allowed to wear jeans and a nice shirt?" You begged, not feeling like wearing a uncomfortable dress.

"Fine," she gave in, dismissing you off to your bedroom.

You ran upstairs, tore off your comfy clothing, rummaging through all the nice clothes you had. You ended up picking black tight jeans and a silky long sleeved red shirt. It was simple, yet elegant. And like your mom suggested, you curled your hair. For make up, you just applied foundation to cover your flaws, mascara to make your lashes appear longer and smoky eyeshadow to make your eyes pop out.

"Is this good enough?" You ran downstairs, showing off your outfit.

"You look great," your father said reassuringly, where your mom slightly disapproved.