Sing A Song Of Sixpence

Chapter 2

Time is a very strange thing. Especially when you're a teenager. Moments and weeks and memories all flash past, and you can't concentrate on them even though you know they're some of the most important times in your life.

The final weeks of school were just like that. If you were to ask me what exam I took that morning, I wouldn't have been able to tell you. You could have pointed out the window towards the sizzling hot pavement and said we were having a freak blizzard, and I wouldn't have seen anything wrong with your statement. Because the present slips by like shimmering ether when all you're focused on is an intangible point in the future.

I didn't have a fucking clue if I would win the Maiwand Scholarship. But the hypothetical thought of Jackie Watson three months in the future, off to chart the new and unstable terrain of a private, high end school was nothing if not exhilarating.

The evening of June 4th, Ellis and I were surrounded by boxes and rolls of exposed packing tape that were being ruined by drifting hair and lint. I was leaning at an absurd angle trying to examine myself in our full length mirror over a stack of boxes full of clothes and books. Miles Perry, playboy extraordinaire complete with a mansion, was holding an end of school bash tonight, and Ellis had insisted that I go.

She had stuffed me into a tight fitting black cocktail dress of hers, which hung very awkwardly on my frame. Ellis' shoulders were broad and muscled, and the straps of the dress bunched and kept falling down on my shoulders. But what I lacked in shoulder, I made up for in hips and butt, and the skirt stretched over my curves, giving my hips almost no movement for walking.

"Relax, Jackie!" Ellis assured me about my shoulders. "If the straps slip a little, it looks like you're having fun dancing!"

"Ellis, how the hell am I supposed to dance? If I move my hips this thing's going to split!"

"We need to show off your curves! You haven't had a date since the end of freshman year!"

I didn't want to show off my curves. In fact, most of what I was critically examining in the mirror was how uncomfortable the shape of my body made me. I always tried to hide it as much as I could, in loose shirts and jeans. My bosom was more ample than I liked. I had been told firmly by various sources that it was a blessing, and that I would someday grow to love my "luscious" B cups. But no matter how much I studied my figure in the mirror and tried to learn to accept that it was what I'd been given, it felt wrong and foreign, like it was someone else's body I was looking at.

Still, I hadn't been to a single house party in my three years of high school, and Ellis decided I was an awkward fledgling who had cowered in the nest for far too long. I was willing to humor her, at least this once.

~

The party was decidedly underwhelming. I'd never been to the house of someone whose family made six digits or more, and I don't know exactly what I was expecting. A 60 inch curved TV screen? A swimming pool on the third story balcony with a glass bottom? A high-tech intercom system equipped with video chat in every room? All those things were a part of the Perry's luxurious setup. But it wasn't as glamorous as people always make it out to be, especially with swarms of less rich teenagers quickly consuming every commodity.

Each level of the house had a drink table, with a variety of beers and liquors and vodkas. Truth be told, I'd never had a drink in my life, and I eyed the bottles and punch bowls suspiciously as I watched everyone around me becoming increasingly intoxicated.

It seemed to me that alcohol was best left in its cold, glass bottles, which served as a harsh barrier between the fermented liquid and the sober world outside. I supposed something could be said for people seeking solace in something to numb the pain of life, but like all forms of self destruction, it only caused more pain in the long run - just look at my brother. Henry was 15 years my senior and had started drinking with friends after he started high school and fell in with the wrong sorts on his soccer team. My parents paid for repeated rehab visits, but each time he took a half step forward, his addiction took over his brain again and he took two steps back. Henry was the reason my parents could barely afford to send me to Maiwand, let alone Musgrave. I had to win that scholarship, and better my chances at success for the only real child my parents had left.