warmth {complete}

8||it's not about reciprocation, it's just all about me

My mother isn't home when I get home, and I know it should be disconcerting—where is my mother? Is she okay?—but it's strangely blissful to have a house alone. My siblings are off being social, and it's very, very nice to be able to blare my music and dance.

Okay, so I don't dance, but I do jump and sing and—there's this one awkward moment where I'm dancing on the kitchen island like a stripper, but let's not talk about that—it's heaven. I'm very much against dancing in front of other people, because I think it's weird to show off your moves like that, so I cherish these moments of family-less, quite-except-for-"Girls" time.

(Oh my goodness, there are so many squiggly blue grammatical error lines.)

"A pair of frozen hands to hold," I sing, jumping onto my scratchy couch and wiggling my hips, "Oh, she's so Southern so she feels the cold/one moment I was tearing off your blouse/now you're living in my house/what happened to just messing around/I said, yo, I think you better go/I can't take you/you just sit and get stoned with thirty-year-olds/and you think you've made— "

"Oh, honey."

I freeze in my bliss and glance at my mother over my shoulder. Her eyes are shining with laughter and she's grinning, even though this song is not mother-daughter appropriate and I was just kind-of-twerking. I run an awkward hand through my awkward hair and crumple awkwardly onto the couch.

"Hello, Mother," I greet oh-so-casually, pausing my music. "How are we today?"

"We're excellent, Katherine. How are we?"

Referring to my current breathless and recovering state.

"Oh, we're grand." We stare at each other for a moment, just smiling and looking, and then I clear my throat. "Right, then. I'll be cowering in my room."

I pull my hair up as I pass her, trying not to think about when exactly my mother walked in. There are levels of embarrassment associated with each potential answer: if she saw the table-dancing, I'm off to find the nearest rooftop; but if she just arrived, then I really only have to worry about the ass-shaking. I can deal with that. I cannot deal with the table-dancing.

Albeit, it was very classy table-dancing, and I was mostly just jumping, but still.

I listen to mellow, mellifluous music for the rest of the night, and I stay in my room. When my mother calls me for dinner, I lie about going to Taco Bell afterschool, and she believes it. I remain on my bed, kind-of wishing that girl who hid behind me that one time was my actual friend.

It's getting lonely here in Katherine-Land, and my current best friend is Griffin. He doesn't even sit with me at lunch, so he is what they call a sucky best friend. I'm very boring at lunch, yes, but I'd be fun if someone fun sat with me.

New plan for life: make friends.

***

Apparently, people are mean.

I've been wandering the halls and trying to appear approachable for the past six minutes, and nothing. Griffin has frowned at me three times, and I've winked at him twice. The girls he's with today are taller than pretty-dark-haired-girl, and they barely fit under his arms—but they're very breathtaking, so that sucks.

Maybe the headphones are making me look closed-off. If that's the case, then I don't need friends that much, because the headphones are a must. They shield me from the stupidity of teenagers, and Dana colored them last year—they're striped purple now, and it's beautiful; I'm sure Griffin has noted their beauty, but he's probably distracted by all of his beautiful friends.

Or whatever they are.

Well, now I'm scowling, so that's probably the real reason I don't have any friends. That, and the fact that I'm wearing a very angst-y choker today. It's lace and pretty, accentuating my ostrich neck and making it look elegant.

Oh, I should get a boyfriend.

The people standing across from me in the hallway look loose and fun, with their arms around each other and their lips permanently pouted, ready for kisses. They kiss frequently, and it's only a little gross. They're pecks, if anything.

I look away and reconsider my outfit: I think maybe the choker was a bit much, especially with the private-school-girl look I've got going on. I'm too blonde for chokers; damn. I fiddle with it anxiously and glance at my locker. There're flip-flops in there, waiting for the bell to ring so I can slip into them and free my feet from these deathtraps.

It doesn't matter how great my legs look in heels, because it hurts.

I shuffle my feet to my music and blow out a rhythmic breath. When the bell rings, I smile and slip to my first class. It's B day, so I won't see Griffin in class at all, but he's my best friend, so I'm sure I'll see him at some point.

I should get the okay on that best-friend thing, but I don't want to get rejected, so actually, I won't. I put a bounce in my step as I walk, because that makes me seem much happier than I actually am, but I'm still friendless when the warning bell rings. I struggle to Mr. Jeffrey's English class, absently reminding myself of the chapters of Jane Eyre we were supposed to read last night.

English is as boring as ever, only this time I'm smiling and trying to look emotionally available. When Mr. Jeffrey calls on me to discuss Jane's independence and revolutionary characteristics, I speak eloquently-but-not-obnoxiously.

It's pointless, though, to attempt to erase three years and seven months of frostiness in a day. I guess I could actually talk to people, but I don't want to seem desperate. I kind-of am desperate, but in a very minor way.

I smile and make eye contact and laugh at appropriate times—it's weird, but pleasant.

A/N: I don't have much to say. I thought of a story idea in the car today, so I might multitask with stories. Thank you for reading.