The Puppeteer

5. Lakehouse

Chapter Five

Had I made a stupid choice to go? Probably.

Had I made a stupid choice to bring along the 'friend' next door? Yes. Definitely.

Paige Comber was not your typical friendly neighbor. She wore skirts that rose up too high and shirts that could barely hold in her push up bra, not to mention, she never tied her hair up. Never.

After Paige had, somehow, found out that I was driving to the lakehouse tonight with my uncle's car, she stood by my door in a millisecond.

"Can I... help you?" I looked over her shoulder, confused.

"Oh," She clasped her hands together, giving me a pleading smile, "Hi, Charlotte. I heard you're going to Mike's thing tonight. Me too!"

I blinked.

She sighed, continuing, her fake smile still plastered on her pampered face. "I heard you were driving there, too, your uncle was talking to my mom. Mind giving me a ride?"

I dug my hands into the side pockets of the blue hoodie I was wearing, watching Paige, my childhood friend, with a dazed look. After all these years, she talks to me, and for this?

"Sure..." The words tumbled from my mouth before I could think it through. "I guess..."

"O-Oh! Awesome! Thanks Charlotte." Before I could close the front door, she clasped a hand on its frame. "And um... I'll be getting ready before, you can stop by around four if you'd like?"

I looked down at my attire. "Thank you but I thi-"

"-See you in an hour at my place!"

The blonde was already strutting across the yard to her house, by the time I could stop her. The idea of going to Paige's house to get ready for a party was absurd. If I showed up the way I looked right about now, I would feel much more comfortable.

After all, this wasn't a party. Was it? Wasn't it supposed to be a 'get together'?

The uneasiness started to settle in the pit of my stomach. There would be alcohol. There would drugs. There would be mean girls and boys who were too busy getting lap dances.

I bit the nails of my fingers, hurriedly going back up the stairs to my room. Accidentally running into the small wooden counter against the wall of my bedroom, a frame fell to the floor, the glass broken.

I cursed, picking up the picture frame carefully.

A striking man with brown hair smiled at the camera, wearing the same baseball cap as the young girl sitting on his knelt lap. They were both looking into the lens, laughing, the child wrapping her arms around her father's neck.

I sighed, placing the frame in its original placement, atop the wooden counter. 

After my parent's divorce, my father moved out, into the city. I rarely saw him, he was a hard-working man. I missed him deeply, but once my mother's brother moved in with us, it almost felt like the family was once whole again. Uncle Larry was considered a strong fatherly figure for me since my parent's divorce two years ago.

Checking the time, I cursed under my breath, stumbling through the mess of clothes displayed on my floor. I quickly grabbed the car keys and my emptied backpack, before staggering out the room.

As I was about to leave the house, I looked at the small mirror hanging in the wall beside the front door. My appearance looked dreadful.

There were bags under my eyes, my hair was up into a messy, knotted ponytail, and my complexion was dull.