Making decisions isn’t my thing. Its like writing an essay with two topics and the paper says choose one and I end up writing two with a minus 20 on my test. Yeah, I do that and my school, teacher or whatever should thank me for the effort I’m giving writing the two topics. Anyway, decisions, I’m bad at making one. I don’t know whether to say yes or no but it usually depends on the situation it holds.
“So, you coming or what?” Carter asked.
I slowly walk around my bed to face him. I can’t decide on not to go or go. I mean it’s a party, downtown, full with people around town. Also drinks not permitted to be drunk by minors. How awesome is that! Note the sarcasm.
I look up and see a grouchy hippo in front of me. “What crawled up you ass and died?”
“Your face.”
“What?” I replied. He might be frustrated by me and my decision making but it isn’t my fault he’s asking me.
“Just pick an outfit and come downstairs.” he motioned to my closet before slamming the door behind him.
“But I haven’t even said yes!” I yelled.
“You would have came after me and begged to come along.” he yelled back.
I rolled my eyes at his reply. Come on, I’m not that weird and desperate to come to a party. Seriously, I’m not.
I walk to my closet, opening the door and revealing the content inside. Okay, first things first, I don’t have a walk-in closet. Even if I have rich parents and a shitload of money, I don’t. Second, I don’t own that much clothes but my mom does my shopping. Wondering why? I buy books with a capital B on it. Shopping makes me sick. I mean really, I come across some dress shop or something, I would walk pass by it and go inside the book store. To think of it, I’m a disgrace to the female race who likes shopping.
So why am I telling you about books and my lack of clothes? Lets say my clothes are on the farthest part of the closet, unorganized and my books are just perfectly placed somewhere where I could grab them when I want to.
“Millicent! Carter’s down here at the den!” mom yelled from downstairs. So what if he is?
“So?” I yelled back. What’s with people talking from long distances? Like don’t they know what a decent convo is?
“He says he’s been waiting for you since for ages!” my dearest unsuspecting mother yelled again.
“Again, so?”
“So get dressed and you can have my permission to go on a date.” she hollered.
“A date?” I whispered to myself. So that’s why he went down stairs, to act all innocent on my mom and let her think we’re going on a date. Simple as that.
WHAT THE HELL DID I PUT MYSELF INTO!
I’m on a fake date that my mom thinks is real, with the least person I expect it to be with and the setting of the fake date is a bar, club, what’s the difference. Let alone him and I am going there, alone, without adult supervision, and we could really get in trouble if one of them catches us. Again, how awesome is that! But this time I mean it. I feel like a rebellious teenager, going to that place and really planning on getting drunk and hook up with some random freak. No, hooking up with someone is not on my list. Saying that makes me think am I drunk right now?
Still standing in front of my closet, I started to take some of the stored clothing of mine on my bed. I placed most of the clothes on my bed suitably by actually throwing them one by one, hoping it won’t fall on the floor. But shit happens, some were on the floor.
YOU ARE READING
Sunshine and City lights
Teen FictionTo think she’s got everything, she actually doesn’t. Millicent Anne Tisdale, daughter of the most respect doctors in the suburbs of Chicago, undergoes the drama of high school. We all do. Let’s say it’s much more dramatic than usual. Or maybe not...
