The Bad Girl Game

Chapter Three

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(Sorry I haven't updated in a while, my life has been pretty hectic for the last week, but I hope that everything should be back to normal soon).

Chapter Three

Jacob's house was quickly filling up. Every room was jammed full of kids dancing, talking, drinking and making out. Each surface was now covered with empty cans and discarded bottles of vodka. The pristine solid oak floor of Jake's living room was covered with spills of liquid, and it thudded wildly in time with the bass of the music that the DJ was blaring out. Jake's house was well and truly trashed.

 I was sat, one leg over the other, on one of the leather sofas, my feet aching from the high heels that I had changed into just as the first guests had arrived. Numerous players had come up to me, wolf whistling and commenting on how much they liked the "new me". Unfortunately I didn't like it half as much as they did.

Suddenly I felt someone watching me. I turned to the doorway, where Bekky was now stood. Her dark blond hair fell over her shoulders, reaching down to her elbows. Through her loose, sky-blue dress, you could see that she was beginning to show. Bekky's heavily make-uped eyes bore into me, and I gave her the largest grin that I could muster, before patting my stomach and winking. She quickly turned away and headed towards Jacob's kitchen. I felt terrible, knowing that I'd hurt her. But she'd hurt me.

You don't need her I repeated over and over in my head. You don't need that stupid bitch.

Somebody sat down next to me, but I didn't turn, fearing that they'd see the venerability in my eyes. The body was way to skinny to be Bekky's, and not broad enough to be Jacob. Curiosity pinched at my brain, and I turned and looked.

Emma.

"Hello, Tammy," she said, in a tone that was unfamilliar. It wasn't taunting. It wasn't patronising. It was her. I was suprised and confused. Why the sudden niceness? But then I remembered; my appearance.

"Hey," I said, reasonably lost for words.

She smiled, and for once it wasn't a fake one. If I didn't know Emma so well, I would have called it genuine. But I do know Emma too well, and genuine doesn't even register in her dictionary. "You look great tonight. Why don't you dress like this more often?" Okay, who are you and what have you done with Emma?

"Thanks." I couldn't help that my tone of voice sounded somewhat blunt, but I had a feeling that she was only picking me up so that she could kick me back to the dirt again. I added "So do you."

And the truth was, she did. Her bright blond hair fell in neatly straightened lines, and her tan looked almost natural - unlike mine. Emma's make-up looked like it had been done by a make-up artist; no thick clumps of mascara on her lashes, and none of her bright red lipstick was smeared across her bright white teeth. She was wearing the most gorgeous Grecian style, white dress which gathered and the tops of each shoulder with a plait of golden thread, then plunged into a deep v-neck, showing of her curves. In her hand, she clutched a cup of orange juice, which undoubtably held more than a couple of drops of vodka, whilst I held a boring old can of Diet Coca-Cola in my right hand.

"Want another drink?" she asked, pointing towards my non-alcohol filled drink. Of course, my usual answer would be no. All my life I'd told myself that I wouldn't become a teenage binge drinker, but now the tables had been turned, the dice had been thrown, I'd changed my mind. It's not like a little bit of vodka and coke would disinter grate my liver... right?

"Why not?" I said, dragging a smile across my face. Emma got up, straightened her dress, and I followed her through the maze of dancing kids, towards Jacob's kitchen.

The open plan kitchen was slightly less crowded than the living room, but only slightly. Couples were sat on the counter tops, passionately kissing their other halves. About two-dozen kids were gathered around the dining table, a ginger haired boy reaching over it to spin an empty vodka bottle. Three girls were gathered around the punch bowl, chatting and laughing whilst topping up their paper cups with alcohol.

Emma marched up to the fridge and swung the door open as if it were her own home. She pulled out a can of coke, popped the top, and poured it into a plastic cup. Then, reaching into her bag, she pulled out a small bottle of vodka, and carefully slipped in a couple of drops before I stopped her. "I haven't really drunken before, so don't put in too much." I knew I sounded like such a party-pooper, but I seriously did not want a massive hangover.

Emma shrugged, and added more, saying "Live a little, Tammy." She passed me the cup, and I looked at the liquid. I instantly wondered what Emma had poisoned it with. Cautiously, I touched the rim of the cup to my lips and slowly took a sip. It tasted normal, but with a tang. The good sort of tang. Instantly I felt energized, like jumping on the dance floor and going crazy. But I held myself back, though, fearing what people might think.

"Come to the pool," she said, linking her arm through mine.

What the hell? Why was Emma being so nice? Why was she suddenly interested in being friends with me? I had a bad feeling about this at the pit of my stomach, and not one single part of me trusted her.

People were sat around Jake's large swimming pool, some on deck chairs, some dipping their feet in. A couple of the popular kids had stripped down to their underwear and were splashing about in the pool. Many kids were sitting and lying down on the grass, which was now covered with glass bottles, polystyrene cups and aluminium cans. A bunch of jocks were sat around the large wooden garden table, talking and laughing, with their girlfriends sitting in their laps.

"Come on!" Emma said, running towards the pool and yanking her dress over her head at the same time, before dive bombing into the pool. No way was I taking off my clothes. I walked to the edge of the pool, where the water was beginning to wash onto the clean, white tiles. Kicking off my heels, I gradually dipped my toes in, then my legs.

"Why don't you jump in?" she said, swimming to the edge and cocking her head to the side. Her underwear was soaked now, and pretty much see through, and the jocks from the garden table were ogling her longingly, despite their girlfriends, who for the record, looked fit to kill them.

"No, I don't really like getting wet." And it was true. The last time I'd been swimming was about two years ago, with mom and dad.

Emma picked up a handful of water and then splashed it at me, showering me with clear chrystals of water. I squirmed, feeling damp and uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable was becoming pretty routine now erdays.