The A-Game (new version)

Chapter 4.

Sage blew smoke from her nostrils, illustrating the perfect face of an irritated dragon. We were at Taylor Candin's costume party at the old and abandoned amphitheater. Sage was dressed elaborately, in mimicry of the clownish, hand-crafted dolls that my mother had found for cheap at a garage sale and now had hanging in my room. With her face heavily laden in intricately spiraling Autumn leaves, the white colored contacts in her eyes had the full effect in making her look like a humanoid dragon. No slouch to her remarkable Halloween makeup, Sage had found some way to dress in mimesis of her splendid face. Since the age of nine, Sage had had an aptitude for sewing. Imitating the red and yellow stitching of the predecessing doll's dress, Sage had not only utilized the finely embroidered skirt and bodice, but had incorporated a modernized err- flare to it. Unlike the doll's dress, Sage's embroidery ended at the top thigh, where you could say the skirt ended as well. In the harsh lighting of the bonfire, the sequins that bordered the trim of her dress glittered and drew attention to her- errm..."thighs". Just from the corner of my eye, I could already spot three pairs of eyes wandering up Sage's red fish-netted legs. I sighed and turned away from Sage the Dragon, focusing on the gold liquid bobbing at the bottom of my cup. Taking a tentative sip, I was grateful for the sweet taste of warm cider in such a cool setting. The only warmth came from the bonfire that the kids had lit in the center of the old amphitheater. The blazing light illuminated the kaleidoscope of graffiti that smothered the cracked cement walls. The amphitheater itself opened out to a dark night sky peppered in stars, and the bobbing black waters of the lake. The wind seemed to be colder and stronger within. If the space weren't so cluttered with the cacophony of raucous teenagers, you would've heard the wind whistling within the ribs of the cement mouth. Sage coughed and turned her attention from her beer, to me. In respect to the campfire, her dark brown curls seemed to be lit ablaze.

     "Are you regretting not wearing a costume now?" Her iris and pupils were together and one as the same electric white, with only a thick black surrounding rim to separate her iris from her eye whites. I looked down at my garb: a pair of baby blue, high-waisted shorts, and a tasseled, tie-dyed, belly shirt.

     "After what you threw me into? I'm fairly certain what I'm wearing is a costume."

     "It's flattering," she said, taking out another cigarette and lighting it.

     "I look like a party-girl wannabe slut who, in a futile attempt at stealing booze from my parents, came across clothing from my mom's late hippy faze of the 80s, where I commenced to shrink it in the wash, and take a pair of scissors to it." I eyed the tassels, fingering them tentatively and twisting them into ropes. Sage blew a violent ribbon from her pursed lips.

     "Please. There was no way in hell, that I was letting you go to Taylor Candin's party wearing those hideous jeans and sweatshirt."

     "It's what I'm comfortable in, Sage," I said, glaring ahead of me and into the fire.

     "Well I say that it's unflattering, Misty. You have a nice butt, okay hips, and cute boobs. It's a miracle that even I know that, given the fact that you cover it all up in your mom's old sweatshirts and acid-washed jeans." Taking another drag from her cigarette, Sage ground it into the cement, leaving a tiny pile of smoldering, white ash. "And I'm your best friend for God's sake-." I sighed into the cool summer air, letting the wind chill my arms until they were as pocked with goosebumps as the bottom of a fish tank. Sage had been calling herself my best friend for a year now. Of course, I couldn't blame her. I did, after all, play it off like the feelings were mutual. Sometimes, though I couldn't even make myself believe it, and found the satisfaction of friendship replaced with a deep-bellied, helpless, dread. Swallowing the last of my cider, I placed my glass on the ground and hugged my arms across my chest, which- though it harbored B-cup breasts, poked out with C-cup cones due to the tight chest-area.