The Boy I Hate

Two. (Rewritten)

It's to my benefit that Deborah is a punctual lady, otherwise, she'd trap me and Richard in my bedroom for hours to ogle my ring and applaud our commitment. Instead, the seasoned hostess makes quick work of bothering us before trotting away to commence the festivities.

Our cue to make our grand entrance - alternatively known as a walk downstairs and outside - is my mother's shrill voice announcing, "without further ado..." from our patio's loudspeakers. We're able to hear the rest of her muffled introduction as we make our descent, my hand cupping his bicep. My wedges tap our McMansion's marble floor all the way to its backdoor, and just in time for Deborah to complete, "the birthday girl, Richard White's promised, and my daughter: Amabel Abram!"

Richard White's promised and Deborah Abram's daughter... that's me.

My lifelong acquaintances litter the lawn, surround the pool, and crowd the deck. It's a gorgeous party, to my mom's credit; lanterns hang between our sugar maple trees, and there's not a tacky, birthday banner in sight. I do spot a bar I'm too young to order from, though, as well as a stack of gifts I distinctly remember asking not to receive.

It feels like forever until the clapping ceases, and just when I think I'll be able to safely escape the attention, my childhood cheer coach hollers, "show us the ring!"

I blush, and Richard seizes my left hand to thrust upwards as if I'm the victor of a boxing match. It didn't occur to me that while my mother was ushering her guests into the backyard, she was also informing them of my virginity. Here I thought I'd have to break the news over and over again. It's a relief that I won't, but I'm not sure I prefer this - flaunting in front of a crowd.

Thankfully, it's not long before the people of Sugarport grow bored with lending us their attention. Ambient music increases in volume as they erupt in idle chatter. I assume this is when Richard will leave me, but we're immediately interrupted by Mr. and Mrs. Churchill. She holds my hand to admire without my permission and exclaims, "happy birthday, dear!"

"Thank you very much," I reply politely. Mr. Churchill is the principal of my school. He and his wife are prominent members of the church and pillars of the community - I'm conditioned to impress them. According to my mother, they went way back with my father, and I've inferred that we've been taking advantage of their relationship since his death. My best friendship with their daughter was essentially arranged by our parents. They're lucky we genuinely enjoy each other's company, or maybe they aren't because we'd pretend to if we didn't. Speaking of, "where's Catherine tonight?"

"Oh," Cathy's mom drops my hand to flippantly wave her own. "She was adamant we tell you to find her in the garage, but you must let us keep you for a moment to express how impressed we are by the decision you two made tonight. We've practically begged Catherine to sign the pledge."

Richard's palm finds the small of my back as I look sideways at him, "pledge?"

"The purity pledge," he clarifies to me. To them, he explains, "the ring was a surprise so, as not to spoil it, only I've signed. Mabel here will just have to do the same when she's ring shopping for me."

"I see," Mr. Churchill nods curtly. "Will the mayor be making an appearance tonight, Richard?"

The mayor of Sugarport doubles as my boyfriend's father, and we're often asked to account for his absence. Tonight I'd guess he doesn't think it necessary to attend a high school senior's birthday party that his own son will be bailing. Rich doesn't say that, of course. He says, "Dad's buried in work these days. I'll be leaving soon to lend him a hand, actually."

He might've mentioned we'd be lying in regards to his early departure, but oh well. I should've assumed as much. Despite everyone's awareness of Sugarport's decades-old feud, it's frowned upon to speak plainly about it. That's true here on the east side, at least; I doubt they're so subtle on the other side of the lake.