She doesn't entirely hate me yet.
In fact, I think I'm one of the few people who Gina can stand.
Which would explain why I'm here, at her house, while Daphne is off complaining to Noelle about my latest unholy alliance. Apparently, I seem to be determined to hang out in all of the wrong crowds.
Whatever.
The way they all talk about Gina, you'd think she's the AntiChrist. And as much as that probably amuses her, she's really not. She's just someone extremely bitchy who has a bad relationship with her father and a disturbingly clean house. There's nothing all that AntiChristian about her.
Except mayber her attitude, and for some reason, that's growing on me.
"You know." I curled up in a chair, hugging a pillow just to have something to do with my hands. "Your house is as organized as mine."
If there's one thing that I've learned, its that a clean house isn't all you'd think it is. People who fight for that much order in their life rarely get it anywhere else. They just set it up that way so that things look perfect. Like my parents, for example. They're obsessed with having the perfect family, and everything about our house is supposed to create that impression. Yet they haven't spoken to Grace in a decade unless it was absolutely necessary, and they only bother with checking up on me about once a week.
That's not a family, that's a cast ensemble.
"And knowing what that means, I just have to ask. Don't you ever feel like really screwing up the place?"
There's not as much white here as there is in my house, but I think Gina knows what I mean. She's living it too. The nice little illusion complete with a color-coordinated living room and a shiny kitchen.
I'd just like to know if she wants to take a spray can to the walls as much as I do. That's all.
Because looking at this place, I can't see how she'd want to do anything else.
Which would explain why I'm here, at her house, while Daphne is off complaining to Noelle about my latest unholy alliance. Apparently, I seem to be determined to hang out in all of the wrong crowds.
Whatever.
The way they all talk about Gina, you'd think she's the AntiChrist. And as much as that probably amuses her, she's really not. She's just someone extremely bitchy who has a bad relationship with her father and a disturbingly clean house. There's nothing all that AntiChristian about her.
Except mayber her attitude, and for some reason, that's growing on me.
"You know." I curled up in a chair, hugging a pillow just to have something to do with my hands. "Your house is as organized as mine."
If there's one thing that I've learned, its that a clean house isn't all you'd think it is. People who fight for that much order in their life rarely get it anywhere else. They just set it up that way so that things look perfect. Like my parents, for example. They're obsessed with having the perfect family, and everything about our house is supposed to create that impression. Yet they haven't spoken to Grace in a decade unless it was absolutely necessary, and they only bother with checking up on me about once a week.
That's not a family, that's a cast ensemble.
"And knowing what that means, I just have to ask. Don't you ever feel like really screwing up the place?"
There's not as much white here as there is in my house, but I think Gina knows what I mean. She's living it too. The nice little illusion complete with a color-coordinated living room and a shiny kitchen.
I'd just like to know if she wants to take a spray can to the walls as much as I do. That's all.
Because looking at this place, I can't see how she'd want to do anything else.