I Get a Kick Out of You (Adventures of an Undead Flapper in the 1920's)

Chapter 1

(Sorry the dialect isn’t like it would be in the actual 1920’s…but I’m sure most of you wouldn’t understand a word of it anyway, haha. As always, thanks for reading, and enjoy <3 ALSO: Picture of Opal doing her Flapper makeup on the right! <3)

“Oh, Sinclair, I absolutely adore it!” I murmured in admiration, running hand through my silken newly-cropped hair. It was now only about 2 inches long…I was much more used to longer hair, and this sudden change made me feel strange.

But a good kind of strange.

Sinclair George, my best friend and only confident in this bittersweet world, stood a little behind me, scissors in one hand, a brush in the other. He was smiling happily, his wavy black hair parted to one side, and small curls brushed the top of his starchy white collar. His blue eyes surveyed me with obvious pride. He had done the cut himself, and even I had to admit it looked stunning. I felt so free, and as this was my first taste of being a flapper, I felt so different. It was only the first step of many, but I could already feel myself being empowered by this simple new hairstyle.

Running my hands through my locks again, I turned and smiled at Sinclair. “You really did a wonderful job. Now…if you would hand me a cigarette, before I have to get home and deal with them? I’m sure they won’t be happy…” I muttered, frowning slightly, looking in the mirror again.

“Sure thing. Here.” Sinclair said, handing me one.

“Thanks.” I told him, lighting it up and taking a drag, closing my eyes whilst doing so.

“I suppose we should get going…”I murmured, opening my eyes again and rising to my feet. “You want a ride?”

“Sure, Opal.” He replied, opening the exit door for me. “Ladies first.” He smirked.

“Yeah, yeah. Because I’m just /such/ a lady.” I told him sarcastically.

Fetching the keys from my purse, I opened the door to the beat-up looking roadster. It wasn’t mine, of course. It belonged to Sinclair. But I was the only one who ever drove it. Oftentimes I parked it up behind a little joke shop on the corner of my road, and would walk home from there, since I didn’t want them to find out I was driving. But that wouldn’t last for long.

And by they, I’m referring to my parents. My “less than supportive” parents.

I jump started the ignition after a couple of tries, and the automobile spluttered to life, and off we went, Sinclair popping jokes every chance he got, making jabs at my driving. I didn’t care. I would soon be better, with a little practice. I was only 18, mind you. I had lots of time.

But that’s not how I was going to live my life, oh no.

Starting tonight, I’m going to be reckless. I’m going to be fast-paced and furious. I’m going to smoke and drink whenever I bloody feel like it.

I’m going to be a flapper.

“Opal…you’re going a bit fast…” Sinclair commented on my driving, for once not saying anything insulting.

“…Oops.” Was all I said, slowing down ever so slightly. After a few more minutes, we reached Sinclair’s humble abode. He lived in a uptown building, with several other tenants. The reason he hardly ever drove was because he never had to. He lived in the center of the city; everything he needed was within walking distance. Well, except for me. I didn’t live all that close, but I still lived in the city. I was still living with my parents and a small building just within the outskirts of town, unfortunately. But, perhaps, I might be living with Sinclair soon. There was nothing romantic between us, he was simply my best friend and was there for me, which I was unconditionally grateful for.

“You’ll think about my offer, won’t you?” Sinclair asked suddenly, and I smiled at him. “Of course.” I assured him. The offer Sinclair wanted me to consider was moving in with him. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I was just…a little afraid? I still felt like a little girl, and adulthood seemed to be looming over me constantly. It was every flappers dream to remain young forever, and for some reason, moving in with Sinclair felt extremely…adult-like. Like I was growing up too fast.

“See you tomorrow?” I stated, phrasing it as a question.

“Of course. Whenever you like.”

“Say…eleven?” I asked, and saw him smile as he opened the car door.

“Sure thing.”