Somebody Else ✔

The Solstice Party.

Izzy.

Part one.

Edited.

"If you're going to do anything, you might as well just fuck," a pragmatic, indifferent tone laced Corey's voice.

Her parents, recently divorced, but separated for years, had made her cynical.

I rolled my eyes -- she really knew how to hold onto a topic and run with it. And quoting lyrics from The 1975 as scripture was also wholly unnecessary.

Over the past few days, Corey and Sam had presented me with page after page of notes on what I could've done better.

"Fucking hell Corey," Sam said from behind the rim of her wineglass.

Corey found Sam's reflection in the mirror and shrugged. She laid on Sam's bed -- cheek resting on her folded arms, watching us finish getting ready. Corey was gifted at getting ready quickly -- from bouncing between parents since childhood.

"This isn't about me, this is about is about her." Corey's ringed pointer finger was jabbed at my flushed cheeks. I stepped in front of Sam and examined myself in the mirror. "Seriously, why didn't you just do it?" With a growling stomach I traced my lips with a dark red.

Sam's chestnut brown, warm eyes found mine. I adverted my gaze to the orient decoration of the mirror. Sam pivoted on her heels sidewards, and sucked in. After an inspection of her waist, with a sympathetic twitch of her lips, she ran her fingers over the braids I had done for her. She turned toward Corey. I ducked under her elbow to fix the gold speckled kohl over my eyelids, struggling to keep my cleavage under control in the low cut top I wore.

"Coco, if she didn't want to screw some guy in the back of his dad's shitty car, I don't blame her." Sam leaned against the white vanity table and gulped her pink wine.

"Guys, I'm literally right here!" I shouted to no one. Corey sat up abruptly, and fumbled for her glass of tequila at the foot of the bed. She grinned at me over the brim of the glass and drank it in one long sip. "And yeah, I didn't screw him. Cause he's a dickhead."

Corey giggled, reaching out to tug at my red flannel top, a pathetic supplement for a wind breaker in the freezing, May night. I kneeled in front of her, and she ran her fingers over my face, blending my foundation to make the contouring less obvious. She wrinkled her nose and waved her now stained fingers in front of my eyes.

"Ah well, it was fun while it lasted, aye?" She dug her bare feet into Sam's grey carpet, wriggling her blue toenails. A lightweight, she was drunk already. A small step up from Sam at least, who had been steadily drinking since yesterday morning. I ruffled her short brown bob and dragged her up by the wrists.

"9:30, tastefully late." Sam was the host of her latest excuse to have a good drink for three days -- we were officially only two terms away from graduation.

We had to wait for Corey to put on her black Chuck's, an act of sentimentality toward her younger self. Prior to turning out her bedroom light, Sam managed to snag another glance -- flattening her little black dress for the last time.

Before Corey could begin patronizing Sam for redoing her look for the fourth time that night, I yanked them both by the hand and whisked them out through the backdoor, toward the two bedroom, one bathroom granny flat. It nestled in the corner of the dense, 8 acre bush property Sam's parents owned.

The raised white wooden veranda was a health hazard on nights like this. There was a back driveway, and a turn off from the highway you could take to reach the granny flat and avoid the main house. A perfect system we had developed by the time we were in Year 10.