the hating game ; lrh

twelve

I WIPE MY EYESHADOW off with a dirty makeup wipe for the fourth time in a row, grumbling at myself for being so incompetent with a brush. If Anna were here, she'd laugh at me, lecture me, and ultimately just do my makeup for me — but she wasn't here. It was just me, myself, and — well, Calum.

"What was wrong with it that time?" He groans from my bed.

For the past half an hour I had desperately been trying to perfect my eyeshadow (something I'd never been skilled with) for a party Ashton had invited me to tonight. Calum had waltzed in halfway through the whole ordeal, asking me if I preferred tasty or cheddar cheese on our nachos, and decided that he just had to stay and provide moral support — sibling code for "watch my sister have a meltdown about her makeup". Now, half an hour later, he had eaten most of the nachos that were supposed to be shared and was splayed out across my bed reading last month's issue of Cosmopolitan.

"It looked like someone hit me in the head with a metal pole," I tell him, sighing at my reflection in the mirror. All I'd wanted was to change things up a little, add some glitter and a little darker browns at the edge — was that too much to ask? Apparently so. "I'll just do what I normally do."

"Why didn't you just start with that?" Calum asks me, his face scrunched up in confusion.

I quickly swipe a few different colours across my lids, spray my face to set everything, then stand up from my desk. "Because," I justify my actions with that word alone. "You know, if the wind changes your face will be stuck that way."

Calum un-scrunches his face and lets it drop into a frown, instead poking his tongue out at me. I return the favour and step into my wardrobe, throwing on my pre-chosen outfit of a black tight-fitting dress. I pull my bag down from its hanger and throw in my lipstick, purse and mini perfume bottle, slide on my sneakers and emerge into my room once again.

"Are you really going to wear that?" Calum asks, scrunching his face in that annoying expression once again.

I look down at my outfit, study my shoes for any scuffs and stains, and once I find that there's nothing there I look back up at Calum. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's a bit small," he turns back to Cosmopolitan and flicks over to the next page. I catch a glimpse of an article about 'which dress you should buy next' but ask no questions.

I roll my eyes. "I'm leaving," I say as I walk towards my door. When Calum makes no attempt to move from his position on my bed, I stop and cock a brow at him. "Are you going to stay there?"

"Yeah I think I will," he says without looking up, brows furrowed in concentration as he thoroughly reads the magazine. "Have fun, stay safe."

I shake my head at my brother but laugh nonetheless — at least he was entertaining. By the time I say goodbye to my mother and make my way down the stairs, Ashton has texted me to tell me that he's waiting out the front of my house.

When I go out to meet him, he is leaning up against his car, one hand in the pocket of his black skinny jeans and the other clutching his phone. When he spots me, Ashton's thin-lipped smile turns into a wide grin, and he slides his phone into his front pocket.

"You look nice," he tells me, pressing a kiss to my cheek when I'm close enough.

"You too," I respond to the compliment in the only way I know how — by reciprocation. "Thanks for picking me up."

"Of course," Ashton offers me a warm smile as he swings his car door open for me and gestures me inside. I climb inside and wait patiently for Ashton to come to the driver's side, enjoying the scent of tropical air freshener filling my nostrils. When he finally does so, he turns to me with a cheeky grin. "Are you ready for the night of your life?"