The Boy Down The Block

Chapter 3 - Never Accept Rides From Strangers(?)

Scarlette's party was tonight, and Laurel had left two days ago; so I had nobody to consult with about what I was going to wear (Laurel never answered texts). (She and I still needed to get back at Andrew-- he never did repay us for our stolen candy, and Laurel had to leave the next day... I wasn't facing him alone.)

But that wasn't nearly as awful as having to walk fifteen minutes to get there. I was seriously considering riding my bike there.

Other than Laurel (obviously), my two best friends Peony and Clover (not sisters, but both of their parents are hippies who are all about flowers) were going to be there. They were going to be my saving graces-- I won't know anybody there besides them, and Scarlette.

I decided I'd play it safe and go with a sunset-coral, satin cocktail dress (the dress code for this party was classy) from Saks Fifth Avenue, and my Kate Spade sage glitter gold d'Orsay pumps, and a gold-glitter clutch. I placed my long, light blonde hair into a high ponytail, and curled the ends; for makeup I only added mascara and gold eyeshadow to match my green eyes and gold shoes, some blush, and honey-gold lip lacquer. 

As I began walking to the party, I started to regret wearing these pumps-- I had completely forgotten about the fifteen minute walk.

Screw it, I'll put them back on once I get to the party.

I was nearing a familiar house, right when a matte black Lamborghini convertible was pulling out of a winding driving. Lamborghini's were popular here in southern California, but I've never seen a black or convertible one-- everybody owns either the traditional yellow, or orange one. 

I was sort of shocked seeing Andrew's sunglasse-d face turn to look at me; he's not really the guy you'd expect to own flashy cars. 

"It's not mine, my dad's letting me borrow it," he said. "Where's this pretty lady headed?"

It would be nice to ride in a Lamborghini... "Scarlette's party near Oakley Avenue, why?" I asked.

He moved his sunglasses on top of his head, "No way, so am I," he flashed me his dazzlingly blinding smile. "You want a ride? It looks like you could use it," he looked at the pair of shoes in my hand. Oops, I'd forgotten about those.

Without saying a word, I walked over to the car, and hopped in. He continued to look at me with his goofy smile.

"Do you want us to be late?" I asked in the least threatening voice I could muster. He chuckled. I hate being late to anything.

"Maybe I do... It's not like I'm going to know anybody there besides the most beautiful one attending," he added with a false-fierce-dramatic tone.

I was grateful he didn't look over at me (thank God his eyes were on the road), because at that moment I felt myself blush a deep pink. Even though he had to be joking.

"You ever ridden in one of these darlings?" he asked me, referring to his 'darling' Lamborghini. I had to agree on that-- it was pretty darling to look at.

"Nope, never."

He didn't even wait for me to finish, right after he heard the word 'nope,' he hit the gas pedal-- and we're literally flying down Virginia Lane! This guy is a maniac.