your best american girl ✓

08 | barbiturates

For the next couple of days, Tara and I spend practically every waking moment together, either in person or via text. Once I got to know her, I realized she's actually a really cool person. Now, I understood why people were so instantly infatuated with her.

The student body at St. Addams has definitely taken notice of our newfound friendship. Honestly enjoy the attention I've been getting. All my life, I've been practically invisible, but things are different now. Better. The same people that have paid me no mind for 3 years now compliment me in passing, or say hi to me in the hallways. Somehow, it's like I've been catapulted into the elite realm of St. Addams overnight. Out of all the people Tara had wrapped around her pretty little finger, she chose me, and damn, does that make me feel special.

For the first time in my life, I feel powerful. Untouchable. Admired.

Admittedly, some of my moderate popularity was accompanied by my association with her has gotten into my head. Ever since me and Tara became friends, I've been dressing nicer and wearing more makeup. Small things, like lip tint or mascara or concealer. Growing up, I never really put effort in my appearance because I thought it didn't matter if no one really saw me. If there are going to be eyes on me, I might as well look good.

"Hey!" Tara exclaims, beaming while linking our arms together. Side by side, we push through a sea of bustling bodies. Her dainty gold jewelry is ice cold against my bare arm. Locks of her thick hair tumble down the crook of my elbow. I can smell the mint from the gum she's chewing. "Where are you headed?"

"My locker, dummy. Where else?" I answer, rolling my eyes, preparing to make a turn down this very turnpike, right after the bulletin boards with all the club fair information tacked on.

She smacks my arm playfully, scowling. "It was a rhetorical question. I was just trying to start a conversation."

"Wasn't working," I mutter, a smug expression overtaking my features. Her dewy makeup catches underneath the blinding LED bar lights.

"Anyways," she presses on, shaking her head, "like I was saying before I was rudely insulted by someone—"

"More like corrected instead of insulted, but go on."

She unhooks her arm around mine as a form of punishment for my snarky remarks, putting her hands on her hips instead. "Shut up, Leigha. Will you let me speak for 5 seconds without interrupting? Remember when I said my dad has a charity? On Saturday night they're having a gala to fundraise some money, and I need a plus one. Are you down to go?"

Wow, I've never thought the day where I'm cool enough to actually be invited to one of those fancy gatherings would come. If she's there with me, it could be fun, but most importantly, it sounds like a good opportunity to keep an eye on her dad. Slowly, I nod. "Yeah, but only because I don't have anything better to do."

"Don't say it like that, you should be honored I'm asking you," she scoffs, and the two of us halt in front of my locker, her leaning against the rows of doors.

"Anyone else from school gonna be there?" I ask nervously, masking my worry. I don't want to have to impress more people, especially when I don't know much of the etiquette. Being around such influential socialite strangers is nerve-wracking enough, but to think I'd have to see them every day after this party puts even more pressure on me not to mess anything up.

She takes a moment to deliberate, chewing on her glossy nude lip. "The D'Medicis are affiliated with the organization, but other than them, no one."

As relieved as I am to hear that, I'm still a little surprised. I didn't know she and Hunter were that closely affiliated. "Damn, really? Do your dads work together?"