Writer in the Dark

24 Spring, Year 1. Part 1.

    With the flower dance in a mere three hours, there's much to be done in preparation beforehand. Of course, Haley and I have already been up for hours, all through the night, readying everything down to the last button, the last stitch, the last eyelash. She's been the flower queen for five years now and she's not about to give up her crown just yet—though I must wonder, who in the valley could ever replace her? Who would want to replace her, anyway? Even with tendrils of illness still weakening her body, she would always be the finest lead for the dance.

     "I mean, seriously, Elliott," Haley begins for the tenth time since we started preparing ourselves. I brace myself for what is surely to follow—what does indeed follow, as she continues, "You have to look hotter than ever tonight, okay? Because he's totally gonna ask you to dance. So you have to look hot. Hotter than hot. Like, literally hotter than..." Her hands pause in my hair and I almost turn to look back at her before remembering all the warnings she'd given me about moving. Were I to move, it might destroy the shell of hand-made hair product she'd spent the last twenty minutes applying to my head.

     Haley's hands move once more. The sensation lulls me into a false sense of security—perhaps her next words won't make my face melt like molasses in the sun. She continues, "Hotter than me. You need to look hotter than even me today. Especially if you wanna get laid tonight."

     And there it is, ladies and gentlemen! My face catches flame, as I can see in Haley's bedroom mirror. I enter a mortal combat with my desire to flee Haley's tropical little bedroom. Even after taking a few seconds to calm myself down and measure my words, I'm scare able to reply to her brazen statement. "Haley...That's not my plan, I'll have you know. I'm not...we aren't...we're not close enough for that yet! He hasn't even made his intentions known." It's a weak argument. I've recounted every second I've spent with you to Haley, so she knows exactly how close you've gotten to, ah, asking me out, or whatever the youths do.

     "Mhm," she hums, rolling her eyes at me. Haley sounds very convinced when she speaks again. "Sure, Elliott. Sure you're not a...a what? A spade? A trowel? A, um, what's that word that would describe you?"

     I frown ever so slightly, wondering if she could possibly mean... "A rake, perhaps?" I suppose I deserve such a title after my drunken behavior last week. Whether fortunately or not, you and I have lacked interaction since those awkward moments at the bus stop.

     Haley locks eyes with my reflection and I peer back at her. She shakes her head. "No. A hoe. The word I'm thinking of is hoe."

     "Haley!" It comes out as a whine. I had meant it as a reprimand, but at this point, I should know better than to try and monitor what language Haley uses. After a second, I'm actually quite relieved I didn't get angry with her for calling me...what she had called me, because for the first time since our mysterious night on the farm, she laughs.

     Her golden curls bounce and she tosses her head back a bit. "You totally almost banged him literally, like, a week ago, Elliott! You got drunk and horny. That totally makes you a hoe." She still grins as she returns to working on my hair. I try to avoid looking at her in the mirror. She continues without a hint of apology in her voice, "I'm super sorry about it, Elliott, but I don't make the rules about being a hoe."

     She smears the last of the handmade goop through my soon-to-be-silken locks. "I mean, hey. At least you're following rules. Even if they're not, you know, your weird code of being a prude. Seriously. I doubt he'll wait much longer before trying to scoop somebody else up. And we know not everybody thinks he's just a weird quiet emo. Seriously. Harvey offered him a free physical yesterday. That's, like...doctor flirting. He might as well have offered him a prostate exam."