How Not To Survive In High School

5 - How Not To Drink Responsibly

So every year Wakefield holds a disco. I know its really cheesy and they should just call it a dance but it's officially 'Wakefield's Annual School Disco'. They think it helps our learning to 'loosen up'. In their dreams. And it's on Saturday night. Tomorrow.

As you probably guessed, I never go. Ever. But I bet you know something different happened this year because I've only gone and wrote a whole chapter about it.

"So, Sam," Mum asked on Friday evening after the whole piercing thing had sort of settled. "Are you going to that disco this year?"

"Since when do I, Sam Arman, go to discos?"

"I'm just saying, maybe you should get out more."

"Seriously Mum. No. I'm grounded anyway. Just no."

"It wasn't a question Sam. You're going to the disco tomorrow. It'll be good for you. Go meet up with pals and be sociable. And cool."

I smacked my hand on my forehead at the thought of my Mum trying to be what she calls 'hip'. If you're cringing you should see my Dad.

Later that night, the thought of being stuck in a hall with a wild pack of populars was trapped in my head. I'll be dead in minutes. I wondered if Skye was going. But it was completely pointless now as he'd gone to the dark side. And hadn't come with me to the even darker side).

I woke up sometime early Saturday morning. Have you ever had that feeling where there's something lingering at the back of your mind but you have no idea what it is? Something vital? As I brushed my teeth I rubbed my head trying to remember something that might not even exist.

This could be a matter of life and death. I couldn't think what it was as I picked up my clothes.

Clothes. The disco. What do I wear to the disco?!

Oh no. I haven't had a decent outfit since years ago. Since my night club phase. But let's not go there. Dark times, Harry, dark times....

I need something to wear! I have no money. The proper clothes shop is like five hundred miles away from here. Oh yeah, and I have no experience in fashion.

Ok, Sam, calm it. I've got an app on how to dress - don't judge me -, my Mum's purse is by her dressing table and I'll grab a bus. And, don't worry I'll pay her back... as soon as I get a job.

Forty minutes later I was standing at the doors of New Look, bewildered. All these mannequins had more colour in their cheeks than I did. So many flowers and colours. It was too much.

"Can I help you?" I looked up to see possibly the sexiest human being on earth.

"Schming," What? "Erm clothes ... I disco and no clothes and fshon yes." Sam, shut up and spit it out for god's sake. "I'm looking for some clothes."

No shit Sherlock. "Err... anything in particular?" he laughed. I melted inside, I could barely hold my legs up.

"There's a disco at my school tonight and I'm hopeless with fashion. Can you help me?"

"Of course." The corners of his mouth tilted. "What, now?"

"Erm," I glanced at my watch. 7:02. Seriously? Usually I couldn't get up this early if my life depended on it. "Oh, wow," my eyes widened. "I didn't realise. I'll come back.."

"No it's fine. We're opening in an hour so I could literally just be a guy giving you fashion advice, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed, an undeniable blush in my cheeks.