Before I know it I've read the day away. Which, on one hand, yay reading, but on the other, yikes I need to get ready. I start to dial Emmett's number, but think better of it. He'd just
argue with me anyway. Unless he finally decides to chill. Doubtful. I need to shake myself out of this. How am I supposed to get through this night in one piece if I can't even get ready? Unzipping the garment bag hanging in the closet, I look at the green bodycon dress I chose for tonight. The shade of the dress brings out my eyes, and while the dress is a bit more revealing than my usual attire, I paid for this body, and I'm sure as hell going to show it off. Slipping into the dress, I grab the accompanying jewelry and put my sneakers back on after doing my hair. Purse in hand, I head out.
Pulling up to the school has me feeling like Hercules about to face the Hydra. Each time I feel like I've got a handle on one thing, another two pop up in its place. But now I'm confronted with all of the beast at once. I need to conquer this. I don't really know if I can though. I have to, but can I really bury this part of my life after spending so long being tormented by it? Realizing I've been sitting in my car like an idiot for ten minutes, I finally follow the balloons and sharpied arrows pointing me in the direction of the party. Gotta love the gym. So many fond memories of getting pegged in the face with various sports equipment. I take some deep breaths before straightening my shoulders and flipping my hair back.
"Okay Charlie, you can do this. You got this. You got this, you got this." Breathe. "I've got this."
Stepping through the propped open double doors, I duck through the streamers, heading to the name tag table on the left. Scanning through the alphabetized name tags, my heart sinks as I see mine. Charles Ciccone. I'm not really surprised, but that does nothing to stop the disappointment I feel. Using a pen from my bag, I scratch out the 's' and use an 'i' to change the name to 'Charlie," sticking the tag to my chest. I look around the bedazzled room, locating the snack table. Before I even get halfway there, I'm hijacked by a hug and a familiar squeal.
"Charlie!"
"Marie?! I thought you said you couldn't make it?" I return her hug, happy to have my one friend here.
"My stupid conference got cancelled last minute. The director got a cold. What a fuckin' wimp, you'd think he was the first person to ever get sick with the way he kept bitchin' about it," Marie says, over dramatic as always.
"Well, I'm so happy you could come, I don't know if I can do this on my own," I say. "Babe, I have got your back, you know I do, but you are a bad bitch and you need to fuckin' own it!"
"Jesus, the twins must be the most foulmouthed kids in their kindergarten class." "God bless Miss Cleo, she's got her work cut out for her," Marie mimes the cross and kisses her hand up to the ceiling, making me snort out a laugh.
"C'mon Ri, let's get snacks, I think I saw some oreos."
Managing to snag a small table on the edge of the room, we stake our claim with plates full of cookies and cheap plastic cups full of punch. We catch up, filling each other in with our
weekly gossip, totally absorbed in our conversation until an obnoxious laugh cuts through the gym.
"Ugh, he's still such a cazzo," Marie huffs, "do you think his parents knew he was gonna grow up to be such a douche? Maybe that's why they named him Brad."
Usually that would make me laugh, but I can't shift my focus from the panic building in my chest. Marie keeps cursing under her breath, but I'm grateful for normalcy, I need that. I could see Brad walking to the drinks' table, Tish on his arm, looking as empty headed as ever. Meredith was not too far behind them, but surprisingly Josh wasn't with her. While we were looking their way, Meredith caught my gaze, eyes widening in semi-recognition. Fuck m-
"Hey, we met earlier at the bookstore," Meredith says as she reaches us, Brad and Tish following. Marie scowls at the assembling possy, not worried about showing her disdain. "Yup," I say.
"Mer, who is this? I would have remembered a cutie like this, and Miss Bitch here had no friends," Brad says, his look making me squirm.
"Charlotte, right?" Meredith asks, "I don't remember any of those in our year." "Trust me, I was there."
"No. Fucking. Way." Tish was leaning in to look at my name tag. "It's the freak!" "What?" Brad was looking dumbfounded, but Tish just keeps pointing at me. "Look, his tag says Charlie Ciccone!"
"Charles, I can't believe you're still on this bullshit!" Meredith says, looking me up and down. Her bland smile from before has been replaced with an ugly sneer.
"And I can't believe you're still such a bitch," Marie says, "Oh wait, I can." "You little-"
"Porca puttana," Marie spits, flicking her hand from under her chin, eliciting a growl from Meredith.
The sound of little feet running across the gym floor preceded the voice accompanying them, "Mummy!"