"You've Got to See My Bottle Full of Charm"
Old Shit
Drinking homeade slushes in the kitchen and swaying in skirts to the music; we make our own vacation. The tequila had flushed my cheeks, and I had long since passed being daringly flirtatious and frank. "The Boys" were making a run for beer, and I was invited. I made sure to gloat since I was the only girl invited, but the truth is none of the other girls wanted to go, and the boys knew I'd beg them to turn up Clutch, and I'd thrash around, screaming lyrics eagerly in the backseat just like them. At the store, I'd straighten my skirt, and tell J. to sit still while I reapplied my lipstick. Late at night, they'd roar laughter upon discovering, on my bookshelves, the collected works of Graham Greene that I stole from the library my senior year. "Hey Sarah, why are their bar code stickers on all of these??" Laughter heard round, but you'd stare too long, and nod your head at the door. We would slip secretively out into the night to smoke cigarettes alone, and when everyone came looking for us, we'd blush guiltily.