Competition
Title/Prompt - Chapter 1 (Stacey)/#27: Competition
Author - leithal
Word count - just over 1,000
Rating - PG (language)
Summary - Stacey is not excited about the reunion invite
Link to table - HERE!
Author's note - standard disclaimer: characters not mine. Well, wait a sec, actually Alex and the tangentially-mentioned Steve are mine, but you know what I mean. Also, I feel kind of like I had to ham-fist the prompt in here; thankfully the next chapter I'm working on turned out to be more actually prompt-inspired.
“Oh my Lord, I am so not okay with this!” I groan as I read the words on my laptop screen.
“Why so sad, Stacey-face?” my friend and housemate, Alex Miller, comes padding into the kitchen in her pjs and sock feet just in time to hear my laptop-directed displeasure.
“My high school is having a 10-year reunion for my graduating class this summer,” I study the facebook invite again. “Well okay, actually it's not my high school that's organizing it, so much as certain soccer mom-ish members of said graduating class.”
“Wait - we graduated the same year, didn't we? God, has it been 10 years already?? No way. I thought you liked high school, though?” Alex opens the fridge and rummages through it briefly before emerging with half a head of wilted broccoli in one hand, and a can of diet Coke in the other. “We need to go grocery shopping soon,” she comments, gazing forlornly at the broccoli.
“I did like high school,” I reply as Alex cracks open the diet Coke, finds a knife and a cutting board, and attacks the broccoli. “Okay, let me qualify that. I spent a good chunk of high school clinically depressed and with my insulin levels totally out of whack...”
“Sounds like a real laugh riot.”
“Seriously. Not. But I loved my friends, and I mostly liked my classes - or, well, I got good grades anyway - so overall I remember it as not-horrible.”
“So then the concept of a reunion is tragic why, exactly?”
I avoid the question. “What are you going to do with the broccoli?” I ask instead.
“I have no idea. Is there any salad dressing?”
“Negative. Steve finished it last week and of course didn't put it on the list.”
Alex rolls her eyes. “Steve. I swear I'm not marrying him until he learns to put things on the freakin' list.”
“I think I have the end of a bottle of fake-sweet teriyaki sauce, though... and there are sesame seeds in the freezer. Stir-fry?”
“Excellent. Yes.” The broccoli chopped to her satisfaction, Alex moves to the sink to rinse it off as I close the lid of my computer and stand up to find the teriyaki sauce. “So,” she continues casually, “Why the bad feelings about the high school reunion?”
Of course I should have known better than to hope she'd let the subject drop. Alex is a great believer in Talking About Things.
“Um. Oh, let's see - I temp for a living. Every relationship I've started since halfway through high school has been an unmitigated disaster, so I don't even date anymore ever, and I share an apartment with two friends, both of whom are engaged. To each other. Do you see the pattern of failure here?”
“Hey! Steve and I are undeniably lovely! And also we are awesome housemates.”
“Undeniably, and awesome. But so not the point, Alex.” Teriyaki sauce located, I turn my attention towards unearthing the sesame seeds from the back of the freezer.
“Stace, you just described the life of 50% of the people in our age bracket. You have got to stop beating yourself up.”
“You've never met the people I went to high school with,” I mutter darkly as I hand Alex the sauce and the seeds and return to my seat at the table.
* * * * * * *
It takes all of about a day and a half for Kristy Thomas (excuse me, Kristy Thomas-Black) to send out her own invite, for a reunion of the BSC to be held the same weekend as the SHS reunion.
I know we didn't all graduate the same year (or even all from the same school, SHANNON), the invite reads, but most of us did and since so many of us will now be in town anyway, I've come up with a Great Idea...
“The real problem,” I gripe to Claudia over the phone that night, “is that ten years is too soon to be having a high school reunion in the first place. Ten years after graduating from high school, only half of people have their shit together. The other half of people are still hot messes. So the whole point of the reunion is actually to create an excuse for the shit-together people to show off, to each other and to the hot-mess people. It's easy for Kristy to say 'hey you guys, let's all get together and catch up,' because her shit is so together you could make bricks out of it and build a house with them.”
Claudia snorts, but doesn't interrupt my rant.
“And of course Dori Wallingford and the Shillaber twins want to have a high school reunion,” I continued, “because they've all got perfect husbands and adorable babies and satisfying careers.”
“Don't forget suburban houses.”
“Right. And probably also really shiny cars that still smell new.”
“But life's not a competition, right??” I can hear the sarcasm in Claudia's voice.
I have to laugh at that one; I know she's referring to the best/worst existential pep talk we'd ever gotten, from our high school guidance counsellor at a senior assembly. I pick up the quote where she left off, “Nobody 'wins' at life, ladies and gentlemen, and -”
Claudia chimes in and together we chorus, “You'll never succeed at anything if you believe yourself to be a loser!”
“Not a competition, my ass, though,” I say after a moment. “I think you only get to feel that way once you stop being in the hot-mess category.”
Silence on the other end of the line.
“...so are we going to the reunion?” Claudia asks, finally.
“Reunions, you mean. Plural.”
“Whatever. Are we going?”
I sigh, resigned. “Of course we are.”
“Oh, goody!” says Claud.
Author - leithal
Word count - just over 1,000
Rating - PG (language)
Summary - Stacey is not excited about the reunion invite
Link to table - HERE!
Author's note - standard disclaimer: characters not mine. Well, wait a sec, actually Alex and the tangentially-mentioned Steve are mine, but you know what I mean. Also, I feel kind of like I had to ham-fist the prompt in here; thankfully the next chapter I'm working on turned out to be more actually prompt-inspired.
“Oh my Lord, I am so not okay with this!” I groan as I read the words on my laptop screen.
“Why so sad, Stacey-face?” my friend and housemate, Alex Miller, comes padding into the kitchen in her pjs and sock feet just in time to hear my laptop-directed displeasure.
“My high school is having a 10-year reunion for my graduating class this summer,” I study the facebook invite again. “Well okay, actually it's not my high school that's organizing it, so much as certain soccer mom-ish members of said graduating class.”
“Wait - we graduated the same year, didn't we? God, has it been 10 years already?? No way. I thought you liked high school, though?” Alex opens the fridge and rummages through it briefly before emerging with half a head of wilted broccoli in one hand, and a can of diet Coke in the other. “We need to go grocery shopping soon,” she comments, gazing forlornly at the broccoli.
“I did like high school,” I reply as Alex cracks open the diet Coke, finds a knife and a cutting board, and attacks the broccoli. “Okay, let me qualify that. I spent a good chunk of high school clinically depressed and with my insulin levels totally out of whack...”
“Sounds like a real laugh riot.”
“Seriously. Not. But I loved my friends, and I mostly liked my classes - or, well, I got good grades anyway - so overall I remember it as not-horrible.”
“So then the concept of a reunion is tragic why, exactly?”
I avoid the question. “What are you going to do with the broccoli?” I ask instead.
“I have no idea. Is there any salad dressing?”
“Negative. Steve finished it last week and of course didn't put it on the list.”
Alex rolls her eyes. “Steve. I swear I'm not marrying him until he learns to put things on the freakin' list.”
“I think I have the end of a bottle of fake-sweet teriyaki sauce, though... and there are sesame seeds in the freezer. Stir-fry?”
“Excellent. Yes.” The broccoli chopped to her satisfaction, Alex moves to the sink to rinse it off as I close the lid of my computer and stand up to find the teriyaki sauce. “So,” she continues casually, “Why the bad feelings about the high school reunion?”
Of course I should have known better than to hope she'd let the subject drop. Alex is a great believer in Talking About Things.
“Um. Oh, let's see - I temp for a living. Every relationship I've started since halfway through high school has been an unmitigated disaster, so I don't even date anymore ever, and I share an apartment with two friends, both of whom are engaged. To each other. Do you see the pattern of failure here?”
“Hey! Steve and I are undeniably lovely! And also we are awesome housemates.”
“Undeniably, and awesome. But so not the point, Alex.” Teriyaki sauce located, I turn my attention towards unearthing the sesame seeds from the back of the freezer.
“Stace, you just described the life of 50% of the people in our age bracket. You have got to stop beating yourself up.”
“You've never met the people I went to high school with,” I mutter darkly as I hand Alex the sauce and the seeds and return to my seat at the table.
* * * * * * *
It takes all of about a day and a half for Kristy Thomas (excuse me, Kristy Thomas-Black) to send out her own invite, for a reunion of the BSC to be held the same weekend as the SHS reunion.
I know we didn't all graduate the same year (or even all from the same school, SHANNON), the invite reads, but most of us did and since so many of us will now be in town anyway, I've come up with a Great Idea...
“The real problem,” I gripe to Claudia over the phone that night, “is that ten years is too soon to be having a high school reunion in the first place. Ten years after graduating from high school, only half of people have their shit together. The other half of people are still hot messes. So the whole point of the reunion is actually to create an excuse for the shit-together people to show off, to each other and to the hot-mess people. It's easy for Kristy to say 'hey you guys, let's all get together and catch up,' because her shit is so together you could make bricks out of it and build a house with them.”
Claudia snorts, but doesn't interrupt my rant.
“And of course Dori Wallingford and the Shillaber twins want to have a high school reunion,” I continued, “because they've all got perfect husbands and adorable babies and satisfying careers.”
“Don't forget suburban houses.”
“Right. And probably also really shiny cars that still smell new.”
“But life's not a competition, right??” I can hear the sarcasm in Claudia's voice.
I have to laugh at that one; I know she's referring to the best/worst existential pep talk we'd ever gotten, from our high school guidance counsellor at a senior assembly. I pick up the quote where she left off, “Nobody 'wins' at life, ladies and gentlemen, and -”
Claudia chimes in and together we chorus, “You'll never succeed at anything if you believe yourself to be a loser!”
“Not a competition, my ass, though,” I say after a moment. “I think you only get to feel that way once you stop being in the hot-mess category.”
Silence on the other end of the line.
“...so are we going to the reunion?” Claudia asks, finally.
“Reunions, you mean. Plural.”
“Whatever. Are we going?”
I sigh, resigned. “Of course we are.”
“Oh, goody!” says Claud.