The Dilemma of Being a Weirdo

Chapter 4: "You've never been drunk?"

It's Friday night. The night of partying and getting drunk out of your mind. I check my Snapchat, not to my surprise every single one of my 'friends' are out having the time of their lives. Taking another bite out of my Mom's homemade brownies, I sigh in content. This is so much better than jeopardizing my future over some disgusting liquid.

After nearly all 6 brownies on my plate are gone, my eyes feel heavy and before I know it I'm fast asleep.

The default apple ringtone blares into my ears. I'd do anything to make the nonsense cease. I groan and curse while smacking and sliding my fingers across the phone screen.

"You look like shit," A velvet voice laughs.

"Huh?" I ask, wiping the brownie dust off of my screen.

"Justin, Justin Bieber?" My eyes flutter open. Ariana stares at me expectantly. Over the past two days we've become friends (more or less). She's been giving me rides to and from school along with having brief iMessage conversations, and a game of pool every few hours.

"Hey," I smile sloppily.

"Are you wearing clothes?" She asks.

Wiping the sleep out of my eyes I nod, "Yes, sweatpants."

"Justin, we're going partying," Ariana gleams with excitement.

I laugh, "No, we are not."

"Yes, we are."

I focus my eyes on the screen, "Are you driving?"

"We're going out."

"I'm not ready," I say while flicking more chocolate off of me.

"Got to go," She blows a kiss through the phone and hangs up.

The clock reads 10:37 pm. Jazzy and Jaxon are probably fast asleep by now.

Still half naked, I open my door and investigate the house. Mom is knocked out on the couch, snoring loudly as she snuggles a bottle of wine. Jazzy is also soundly sleeping in her room, Disney reruns flashing on her TV. Jaxon hides in his room playing video games.

"Go to sleep," I order.

"No," Jaxon argues weakly. His attention only on the TV screen in front of him.

Whatever, I'm not his dad so I won't waste my time trying to be.

A pounding at the door has me sprinting down the stairs, "Shut up!" I whisper yell and swing the door open.

Ariana stands in front of me with a hand on her hip, "You didn't get ready?"

"Nope," I say, popping the p.

She scoffs as she pushes me aside, "You're a mess and we're late."

"Well you look very pretty," I respond kindly out of admiration of her ensemble.

Ariana ignores my comment, "Where's your room?"

I take her hand, leading her to the back of the house's first level.

"My room," I announce.

"You live in a pig sty," Ariana spits as she makes her way to my drawers and closet.

"Leave my room alone. I can dress myself y'know," I move closer to where she is, pushing dirty clothes out of the way with my feet.

Ariana pulls out a pair of black baggy jeans and a white tank top, "I can dress you better."

She's so full of herself it's almost annoying.

While she goes on and on about how difficult it was for her to perfect her cat eye, I fiddle with the strings on my sweatpants. Jeez, who knew makeup was so complicated?