Because Who Could Love A Broken Girl? ✔️

Who Could Love Favorites

Skylar's P.O.V.

The rest of Tuesday was rather uneventful, and had gone by quickly, along with Wednesday.

Grayson and I did end up going to detention again, and it wasn't pretty.

There was a number of times where Mr. Coulsher would make a comment about me, or my relationship with Grayson.

Of course, my not-so-subtle boyfriend and plenty to say about it each and every time.

Thankfully, I managed to bribe him into keeping quiet and remaining calm after the first comeback or two.

It wasn't easy, it took a lot of negotiating through surreptitious texts and looks we would send each other for at least twenty minutes straight.

Though eventually, he declined my seventeenth offer, and made one of his own.

Now, I owe him four kisses.

I know, it's a weird price, but it's what he wanted, and I was desperate.

Not that I mind his condition...

A small part of me was actually kind of hurt that he felt as though he needed to offer me something in return for a kiss, which I would give him in a heartbeat with no cost at all.

It's almost as though he thinks that our kisses are only beneficial for him, and that I would need some other form of payment if he would get his request.

 Although, another- stronger part of me was flattered beyond belief, which sent a deep, unintentional blush rushing up from my neck to my cheeks.

Anyways...

It's now Thursday, which means that prom is only two days away.

Two days from now.

Forty-eight hours away.

The day after tomorrow.

Three days after yesterday.

This. Fucking. Saturday.

I may or may not be stressing the hell out of myself with this dance.

Sure, I may have said that prom was overrated and lame, but come on, it's my first and last school dance.

With Grayson Edwards.

In any sane girl's mind, that's a huge deal. I can't afford to screw something like this up!

What if my dress is too long, and I trip?

What if Grayson's tie is a slightly different shade of red than my dress is, and my OCD gets the better of me?

What if I come down with a spontaneous and extreme case Bubonic Plague?

What if a chandelier falls on top of me in the middle of a dance?

What if I spill punch on my dress?

The possibilities are endless.

And I would know. I made a list containing over six-hundred and ninety-eight different scenarios, all which ended with me being humiliated in one way or another.

I may be thinking just a tad bit too far into a school dance, but at least I'm prepared.

And that's just for at the dance. I'm also one hundred percent terrified of the time before hand.

Frizzy hair, runny makeup, wardrobe malfunctions, chipped nails, the inability to strut my stuff in six inch heels...

All things to take into consideration.