Trust Me. I'm Lying - (SLOWLY EDITING)

It's Called Vodka: Chapter 1

"My hobbies include:

Editing my life story,

Hiding behind metaphors,

And trying to convince my shadow that I'm worth following."

—Rudy Fransisco

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CHAPTER ONE:

It's Called Vodka

"You have to be kidding."

"Ms. Ryan! I got her out of the computer!" my best friend yelled as she dragged me out of my room. No, I'm most definitely not exaggerating. She's pulling me out of my haven.

"Thanks, Christina!" my mother yelled back.

I crossed my arms across my chest stubbornly as the inevitable truth dawned upon me, and Mom appeared in front of me. "You helped her plan this?" I asked, a note of betrayal palpable in my voice as Christina pulled me across the floor by a backpack.

"Of course she did," Chris muttered as she pulled. I was getting my pants dirty, but I didn't care. My mother was getting quite a good show from watching me struggle. She pressed her lips together, holding back a smile.

"I don't want to go to that stupid party," I told them, glaring at both. They ignored me; Mom watched me with amusement, and Chris continued to drag me centimeter by centimeter along the hallway. "I refuse to go!" I said. It didn't matter. I knew it was useless.

"I told you it's not a party— it's a bonfire," Chris got out. She was already panting with the effort of pulling me.

"You're going, Isabelle," Mom said quietly, giving me that look only Mothers knew how to muster. "You need to go out and live a little. Breathe some fresh air, have a good time."

"I can breathe fresh air if I open my window," I suggested.

"Isabelle—" Mom began.

"Mom. I don't like anyone from school; they're either douches, double-faced, or pretending to be who they're not." I told her sincerely. She sighed and opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. "You know this as well as I do."

We were already at the top of the stairs, Chris breathing with effort while I sat comfortably on the floor. My best friend looked at me with an expression that told me she's prepared to throw me down the stairs if she had to.

"Don't be dramatic."

"I'm not," I arranged the green army jacket on my lap and glanced at my mother. "High School. That place is a jungle."

She looked at me for a moment— my hopes were high that she would allow me to go back into my room.

It never happened.

"Mia!" Mom yelled into the silence, making both Chris and I jump in surprise at her tone. It was redundant; we were right next to her bedroom door. "Come say goodbye to your sister!" Mia is my little sister. She is four years younger than me, though she's tall for a thirteen-year-old.

I saw her eye green eye appear in a crack between the door and the frame, and she opened the door. Mia threw her arms around me. Huh. Her lack of affection towards me was not present when Mom was around.

"Have a good time!" she said, excited as she threw her long, skinny arms around my neck and held them tightly.

"Well—" I began as she let go.

"Isabelle Marie Ryan!" Mom scolded me.

"I don't want to go." I groaned. "I hate the whole lot of them."