Imperfect | est. 2015

1 . Skylar Faith

"How, in the hell, am I supposed to face summer vacation when there is absolutely nothing to do?" Connor grunted as he opened the passenger door for me.

I jumped into his rusty old truck and threw on my seatbelt, trying to think of the best way to argue with him, "Why do you think there's nothing to do?"

He shrugged, starting the engine,  Your grandparents won't let you get a car, we can't afford the trip to Los Angelos, we never get invited to parties anymore..." Just as he listed that last one, he spared me a sarcastic glare. I furrowed my eyebrows, "Hey, don't blame me for that-- that was your fault, too."

He scoffs, "I wasn't the one who decided to have too many shots and get into a fist fight with Grace Miller."

I threw up an arm while he began to pull out of the school parking lot, "But you were the one who cussed her out like it was her fault."

"What... you didn't want me to stick up for you?"

I pretended to roll my eyes and nudged him in the arm, "Anyways-- it's not like this summer could possibly be worse than the last one."

He sighs; his shoulder's slouched as if he'd lost effort in keeping them at the level of his neck, "You're right."

He takes a second to dart his eyes into the rear-view mirror then takes a fast and unexpected U-turn.

I reached for something to hold onto while the sharpness threw me towards the door, "Watch it, Connor, you almost drive as bad as I do."

As soon as we were moving straight down the road in the opposite direction, he shrugs, "This is the only way to get to my house."

"Why we have to go to your house?"

"Well what else are we going to do?"

I sat back and thought about it for a moment. I admired whatever was racing away from the car, outside my window, while I thought of what would be interesting enough to start the summer with. I was always the one to jump up with the spontaneous ideas. Not to mention, I was the one who crashed a majority of any parties we were invited to.

As soon as I thought of a plan, I spoke up. But the way I said it, made me sound like an emotionless machine, "Stop the car."

He stutters and looks at me like I'm crazy, "W--I'm in the middle of road! I can't---"

"So you can make a '180' on the highway but you can't pull over?"

He watched, straight ahead onto the road, rolled his eyes, and dragged his dainty little truck to the edge of the street.

Once the car stopped, I did my best to turn in my chair and face him, "I tell you what," I began, then made rough eye contact with him because I knew he'd turn it down, "You call your parents-- let them know that you'll see them at ten-thirty, and we are going to sneak into Grace Miller's party."

His eyes widened, "What? No. Grace will kick us out as soon as she sees our faces."

"Hints the word 'sneak', Connor."

Then he began to ramble in his lectures, "If you end up getting a hold of any alcohol and digging your knuckles into anyone's face tonight... I am dragging you out that door and all the blame for your intoxicatedness will be thrown onto me."

"That won't happen." I stated, blulntly.

"Oh really? How do you know that?"

That's when I rolled my eyes at him as if he was being a parent, "I don't. But the least we can do is try."

He sighed, looking back over the road then at me with disbelief in his own decision, "I hate you, Skylar Faith." He laughs and pulls out his cell phone-- considering my proposal.

I grinned, sheepishly-- proud to have convinced him so easily, "And I hate you, Connor Anthony."

And just like that. A phone call, another "U-turn", and a surprise yet secreted appearance at one of the most popular parties we could've ever shown up to.