𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐘, stanley barber

v. THE BIRTHDAY PARTY.

SINCERITY IS SCARY, STANLEY BARBER
( v. the birthday party )

"CARTER! MIND IF STAN COMES IN?" My yell echoed through the beaten old bungalow that I called home, and Stanley twitched beside me nervously. "He's going to kill me, you know that, right?" "You'll be fine, Stan." I comforted, straining my ears to hear my older brother's response. "That depends!" Carter shouted back finally from within the house. "Is he going to ditch you again?" I rolled my eyes playfully at my brother's pettiness as Stan began pacing fearfully outside my door. "Oh, god. He's pissed. I am going to die." "Stanley," becoming impatient, I grabbed Stanley's wrist and dragged him through the front door. "Carter, stop being a petty bitch. Let it go already, I did." My brother came round the corner from where he had been in the kitchen, and Stanley swallowed fearfully. "You better not do it again, Barber." He said, ruffling the hairs of his small beard with his hand before his eyes shifted to where mine and Stan's hands were still linked. His similar brown eyes met mine as I blushed, and Carter exhaled. "You're forgiven, Barber. But only because I like you." Then, Carter cracked a smile, and I felt Stan physically relax. "Hi, Stanley." Toby smiled, lifting his eyes up from the book he was reading to greet the familiar boy. "Hey, Tobes." Stan responded, and I ruffled my younger brother's hair before turning to Carter. "Hey, Carter, you know how you're my favourite brother ever?" I started, eliciting an outraged cry from Toby. I heard Stan lean down and whisper in his ear, "It's only because she wants something. You're her favourite, really." This seemed to satisfy Toby, who went back to his book. "What do you want, Violet Sky?" Carter asked, not even bothering to lift his eyes from his phone. "There's a party tonight, at a friend's house—" "You having a party tonight, Stanners?" Carter cut me off, and Stanley shook his head, removing his hand from the cookie jar where he was happily helping himself to food as he normally did in my house. "Uh, no." He said, finishing off another cookie. Carter looked back at me, tutting. "Then you lied. The party isn't at your friend's house, because last I heard, Stanley here was your only friend." "You're an asshole, Carter." I scoffed, flipping off Toby who was laughing from over on the sofa. "That's no way to speak to your brother who's letting you go to a party." Carter sassed, taking one of the cookies from the jar before Stan could eat them all. "You're letting me go?" I asked, and Carter nodded. My face lit up with excitement— I couldn't figure out why, as there were few things I despised more than parties— as I grabbed Stan's hand and tugged him into my bedroom. "Thanks, Carter!" I called behind me, ignoring him as he yelled, "Watch you hands, Barber!"

Stanley sat on my bed, fiddling with his hands as I rooted through my wardrobe in a hopeless attempt to find something to wear. "I own literally nothing suitable for a party, Stan." Crestfallen, I emerged from the wardrobe to see Stan, now stood up and filing through one of my drawers. "Now, now, Violet Sky, you are in luck. For who is the best dressed person in all of Brownsville?" "You are." I laughed as he took my hand, kissing the top of it softly before bending his knees into a wonky curtesy. "And the very man himself is here to be your fashion advisor." "Okay," I nodded, releasing Stan's hand and flopping down on my bed, ignoring the butterflies building in my stomach. "Do your magic, Stan." A few minutes later, Stanley emerged from my wardrobe with a few items; a pair of blue mom jeans, a yellow plaid shirt and matching bandana I had forgotten I owned, and a tiny cropped white top imprinted with a yellow butterfly. "Stanley, there's no way in hell I'm wearing that top." I commented, referring to the exposing smallness of it. "Aw, come on Vi." My best friend insisted, "You would totally look amazing in it, and it's just for the party." I don't know if it was the large brown puppy dog eyes Stanley was pulling at me, or if it was the fact that I was totally and utterly in love with him, but I found myself slipping into my wardrobe to change into the outfit he had selected for me.