Deflower

Chapitre Quatorze

"Lo! There you are!" A sweet voice—but, the sound didn't orchestrate the corners of her mouth to naturally rise towards the heavens above her as was expected; rather, her lips formed into a soft smile because she obliged herself to—intruded Lourdes' thoughts, which, in all of their crestfallen glory, had at first been sufficient to drown out all the other noises she found herself amidst of, and the scents, too: a repulsive mixture of sweat, hormones, and a thing or two Lo could not quite put her finger on (but, quite frankly, she didn't want to). Now, Lourdes turned to Victoria. The glasses that Victoria wore—not because she needed them, but because she thought they looked good on her—were often perched atop of her nose, and she wore eyeshadow that matched to  Vivian's pinafore dress. The latter brought a cup of a particularly questionable liquor to her lips, and her red lipstick stained the plastic.

Lourdes didn't respond, but merely gave the two girls a polite nod, followed by a small smile. Although Lo was often upon the lips of the inhabitants of her town as a social butterfly, much like her mother, and her father, certainly, she wasn't. Sure, the girl got along well with most people she encountered, and the handful of acquaintances—for true friends did Lourdes not quite possess of—she held close to her were often amazed by her nonchalance and daring persona, but this did not mean that she would carelessly approach a stranger; Lo was the baby of her friend group, with no doubt. It was Vivian, a furthermore scandalous and peculiar girl—the one in short skirts and knee socks and her skin tainted in a color darker than the night, which Lo found so beautiful and often compared her to a goddess—that was the social butterfly of the group.

Lourdes' mother often told her how her own mother would badmouth her when she and the other housewives had their weekly gatherings; in which they would sip off the costliest wine wearing the costliest attire in their suburban homes, discussing the everlasting migraines that were their children and feigning sympathy for another, even though all they felt for each other were envy. Vivian had been birthed by a Caucasian woman by the name of Elle, whom had had a one-night-stand with the sole African-American residing in their little town; upon which said man—and thus Vivian's unfortunate father—was brutally shot by Elle's racist father. Although the entire town knew the truth, Elle liked to pursue her own version of the story; telling everyone that she was abandoned by the father of her baby, and of course, she always mentioned his skin color.

Lourdes had taken a liking to her—somewhat, because she stood out from their band of bland and conceited girlfriends, and at times, she tended to wonder why Vivian, too, associated herself with them, but she'd never dared to ask, and she, perhaps, never would. Per Vivian's eyes were intently focused upon Lourdes' face, and she'd noticed this—regretfully—she had flushed in a scintillating shade of pink, and it was something that Vivian found particularly captivating. "You look really pretty, Lo. I totally love your earrings—talking about that, I purchased blue ones at this lavish new boutique down the—" Lourdes' gaze had fallen elsewhere; anywhere. Anything was more pleasant to the eye than Victoria and her everlasting rambling about things that, according to Lourdes, did not truly matter in life. Sure, Lo liked the extravagant, pink, heart-shaped jewelry that decorated her small ears, but she would never pursue a conversation about them. Rather, about things that really plagued her mind. Like the end of the world, world peace, or bullying—then again, the last was something Victoria wasn't particularly willing to speak about, since she engaged within it, herself.

The room was crowded and Lourdes felt comfortable under the presence of the peers—for once, she hadn't paid any mind to the words that her mama had engraved within her mind like upon a tombstone; for once, she had merely walked, talked, and done like others, without giving a mere thought to her mama, or the hole of degradation and humiliation she lived in. But still, although she felt at place amidst her fellow adolescents, Lo stood out. Whilst other females wore their hair down in straight, long tresses, Lo wore her hair big and curly—as though she'd stepped straight out of a fifties film. Other girls wore short dresses with platform heels—needless to note where they had gotten inspiration from—but this time, Lo was clad in a pair of jeans shorts paired with a top that flaunted her tan shoulders and the necklace she wore each day, almost religiously.