Lexie's Chapter

wild.

"Emmy, I swear to God, if you don't stop inspecting your nails, I'm gonna sacrifice them to Satan."

The tiny girl looked up quickly, her straight brown hair flying up over her face, her clear, olive skin glistening in the light of the nearby fireplace. She swept it back behind her ears, and then once again, stared down at her hand. I let out a subtle laugh, grinning. Crackling and a slow, shrill whistling sound, both from the shaky orange flames, could be heard from the living room. Her back partially rested against the half-wall separating the modern white kitchen from the wooden-floored lounge. She sighed, frustrated with a flaw having to do with the paint on her fingernails. I didn't even notice it—Emmy was quite critical, noticing the littlest things that seemed off, in any way at all.

"This is some cheap gel. We should've gotten proper manicures, I can literally drag a finger across and move the polish."

I held her wrist, and she extended her slim fingers to showcase the glittery design.

"Then don't do that, Em. Don't touch them, they look perfect."

Emmy rolled her brown eyes, which reflected the firelight, boldly framed by thick eyelashes, and adjusted a strap of her sparkling gold dress. She took a couple steps in her new high heels, which were quite loud against the wooden floor.

Then, she unzipped one of the shoes, jokingly charging toward me. I played along, as I always did, backing up as if the five-foot-tall girl were a threat to my survival.

Behind me, I heard a familiar voice—Liz's—questioning Emmy, of course. Before accidentally bumping into her, I heard her call out, with a full and annunciated voice, like that of a news reporter. "Emmy, what are you doing?" She stumbled, grabbing onto my shoulder, chuckling. I turned towards her, admiring her porcelain white two-piece dress, paired with a diamond necklace. Liz was minimalistic, with pristine and freshly trimmed hair which reached just past her collarbone. Her style was simple and elegant—while Emmy's was scandalous and bold.

"Lexie, what are you doing? You almost knocked me over." She poked me.

Liz was more cautious than Emmy was. She was the friend who would reach into her purse, which I presumed contained nothing but a wallet, perfume and her clear-cased cell phone, to call the fire department if someone set the house ablaze with a sparkler, while Emmy would probably run, like a crazed rabbit and throw her stilettos at the culprit.

Blaze was in the kitchen, making mixed drinks and organizing them on the white marble counter. She was an artist, in everything she did. Even arranging drinks—she made it aesthetically satisfying, somehow. The red-haired female decided to take a break, placing down the last gold-rimmed glass, garnished with a vibrant slice of orange.

Her fiery hair was tied in a bun, an intricate charm drooping from her black band, and a couple strands hanging down to frame her freckled face. Blaze looked like her name—to put it simply. She wore a burgundy halter dress, which was backless and embellished with light-catching rhinestones. Her shoes weren't heels—she was just under six feet tall, so she didn't find them necessary.

Blaze was the mom friend, and probably the smartest of us all. She knew what to do in nearly any situation, it seemed—and her IQ was higher than her height.

Her girlfriend, Miyu, who was sitting, balled up comfortably on the couch in the foyer, was probably the quirkiest of the bunch—and in a great way. She helped me figure out that cacti work great as weapons against intruders. (Better than heels, jokes on you, Emmy.) Her hair was dyed a light, sandy shade of blonde, bangs hanging above with dark, turquoise eyes. She sported a scarlet romper, a flowery lace cutout at her waist. Formal events didn't really interest her much—Miyu dressed casually for most things. Homecoming, prom, fancy country club dances, whatever it was.