Overthinking It || j. m. (UNDER CONSTRUCTION)

15.

Chapter 15

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My mom always told me that to avoid criticism, I had to say nothing, do nothing, be nothing. But the inevitability of the matter is prominent, making the instances where we try to be invisible almost impossible to attain. Trying to avoid being criticized is like trying to find a cure for a terminal illness- it never works. No matter how hard anyone tries to avoid it, it always happens.

Except I've spent my whole life listening to whatever my mother told me, and I did just that as I sat at the mahogany table in the McVey's illustrious dining room. The food on the plate in front of me lay untouched, my hands never coming up from their folded position on my lap on one of Mrs. McVey's old dresses. It wasn't just an old dress, it was an OLD dress, probably one from the eighties that's been kept in the back of her closet for years and years. She was a tall woman, and maybe you could even call her chubby, so nothing in her closet could fit me besides this tattered thing hanging loosely on my shoulders and bunching awkwardly around my hips. I looked like an idiot, and I'm sure she relished in it.

James had told me that he would have me change into something that his mother wouldn't criticize me for, but quickly he realized that the only possibilities were his clothes or his mothers clothes- both being choices that wouldn't satisfy his previous statement. I was left to wear an incredibly ugly dress that fit me worse than anything I've ever worn in my life, with the soaked ends of my hair dripping onto the old fabric.

The room was silent except for the annoying sound of forks clanking against the china and the loud chewing noises that sounded more like a cow than a person coming from James' mother who sat directly across from me. James was on my right and his father was to his right, sitting at the head of the long table. Shifting awkwardly in my seat, I could feel Mrs. McVey's piercing gaze on my head that looked down at the hands in my lap.

"Aren't you going to eat?" She spat at me, her mouth still filled with her chewed up Chicken Alfredo that she had been devouring for the last ten minutes.

"No, I'm fine actually." I replied sheepishly, looking up at her finally after refusing to do so for so long. I felt a hand snake over to my clasped ones, breaking them apart and taking my right hand into his left. James gave me a slight squeeze, silently telling me to not be afraid of the witch of a woman sitting across from me. He had told me before to ignore her, but it was a hard thing to do when her eyes haven't looked anywhere else since the dinner began.

"What do you mean you're fine? We bought this dinner for you, our guest, and then you don't even bother to eat it?" She hissed, rolling her eyes incessantly.

"Mom stop it." James barked at her, answering for me as I couldn't find my voice. It was strange how intimidated I was by just one woman that I met not even an hour before, but here I was acting like a scared mouse being chased by a fat cat in a battle that never ended.

"She could at least show your father and I some respect. After all she is the girl you've been talking about taking to the fundraiser, isn't she?" She asked.

"Fundraiser?" I confusedly asked, finally finding my voice. I turned my puzzled head to look at James, who had a look on his face that was unreadable. It was confused, and angry, and shocked all at the same time, making me grow a little wary at his reaction to his mother's words. Despite a small struggle from him, I slipped my hand from his and wiped the beads of sweat that formed on it onto the hideous dress that pooled by my ankles.

Out of nowhere James' father, who's been silent this entire time finally spoke up as he lay back in his chair with a biscuit held to his mouth. "No no no it's that girl...oh what's her name... I think I starts with a-"