Something I'm working on. . .
Working on a new story. Not really sure where it's going as I've been skipping around to different parts. Pretty sure I've got the how I want the story to start worked out.
I sit at the bottom of my front steps, thinking that I should stay home, or at the very least change into flats instead of the heels currently clutched in my right hand. With a frustrated growl, I pitch them down the driveway and begin to gather up the spilled contents of my purse.
The dance was another stupid idea on the very long list of stupid ideas I've had this year. I already knew the music would suck and that the chances of anyone asking me to dance were slim to none, but I let Callie talk me into it anyway.
"You're a freaking masochist, Beth," I mutter to myself. "Thinking some froufrou white dress and a pair of three inch heels are going to hide the fact that you're a graceless nobody."
Resigned, I grip the porch rail and haul myself to my feet. After a quick damage check to my dress I trudge down the front walk to retrieve my shoes.
Ten minutes later, I'm in Callie's living room.
"What do you mean you're not coming?" I demand, eying her sweat pants disdainfully. "You march your ass back upstairs this minute and put on your dress. You are going to this dance."
"Beth," Callie says pleadingly. "I've been puking since I got home from school. I can't make it."
"You're puking because you sneaked into the liquor cabinet for some false courage," I hiss accusingly.
"Well excuse me, Miss Straight-edge," she mutters.
My best friend's drinking problem is a never ending source of frustration, but I refuse to pick a fight with her about it tonight.
"Well," I say waspishly, "you can find someone else to hold back your hair tonight because I'm going home, burning this nightmare of a dress and pretending that I never even considered leaving the house tonight."
"But you look so pretty," Callie tells me. "You can't just change your mind."
"Watch me."
"You promised your mom pictures," she reminds me.
I groan. "I did, didn't I?"
She nods. "She'll never let you live it down if you ditch out tonight."
"Damn you both," I grumble.
Callie giggles and I want to murder her a little bit more.
"Give me your ticket," I demand. "If I'm going to go through with this, I'm sure as hell not paying for it."
I sit at the bottom of my front steps, thinking that I should stay home, or at the very least change into flats instead of the heels currently clutched in my right hand. With a frustrated growl, I pitch them down the driveway and begin to gather up the spilled contents of my purse.
The dance was another stupid idea on the very long list of stupid ideas I've had this year. I already knew the music would suck and that the chances of anyone asking me to dance were slim to none, but I let Callie talk me into it anyway.
"You're a freaking masochist, Beth," I mutter to myself. "Thinking some froufrou white dress and a pair of three inch heels are going to hide the fact that you're a graceless nobody."
Resigned, I grip the porch rail and haul myself to my feet. After a quick damage check to my dress I trudge down the front walk to retrieve my shoes.
Ten minutes later, I'm in Callie's living room.
"What do you mean you're not coming?" I demand, eying her sweat pants disdainfully. "You march your ass back upstairs this minute and put on your dress. You are going to this dance."
"Beth," Callie says pleadingly. "I've been puking since I got home from school. I can't make it."
"You're puking because you sneaked into the liquor cabinet for some false courage," I hiss accusingly.
"Well excuse me, Miss Straight-edge," she mutters.
My best friend's drinking problem is a never ending source of frustration, but I refuse to pick a fight with her about it tonight.
"Well," I say waspishly, "you can find someone else to hold back your hair tonight because I'm going home, burning this nightmare of a dress and pretending that I never even considered leaving the house tonight."
"But you look so pretty," Callie tells me. "You can't just change your mind."
"Watch me."
"You promised your mom pictures," she reminds me.
I groan. "I did, didn't I?"
She nods. "She'll never let you live it down if you ditch out tonight."
"Damn you both," I grumble.
Callie giggles and I want to murder her a little bit more.
"Give me your ticket," I demand. "If I'm going to go through with this, I'm sure as hell not paying for it."