Pencils & Polaroids

13: pitch imperfect

"Did Olivia make you wear this?" Sam interrupts my delegation to the student body volunteers who are to be placed in designated spots throughout the carnival. 

I give my best friend a once over and a whistle surpasses my lips at the sight of her clad in a walnut brown crop top with skinny black jeans. Her curly brown hair springs down the middle of her back with a few strands fringing over her forehead. She's a medium size Zendaya minus the resting bitch face. 

"I thought you knew my mother well." I pout. "She told me to skip the Carnival and accompany her to Culver city." 

Sam snorts. "How exactly well does Liv know you? All you've done for the past twelve days is obsess about this Carnival. Why would she ask you to bail?" 

I close the traversing black binder and give a nudge to the huddled volunteers to take their positions. It almost feels like assigning a spy group to take gaits, set up shop, and lock in a target with an order to shoot at sight. Except, this is a state Carnival and they have to be hospitable. 

"Because she is socially awkward, Sam. She hates these things." I gesture to the most happening and colorful pier that's mostly highlighted in an orange theme. 

Sam holds both her hands in defensive mode. "I'll revise, your honor, did Liv see you coming out of the house wearing this?" To this, I confidently shake my head. "Thought so." 

"Why?" I ask looking down at my outfit. 

"Because you look unlike yourself. To be more precise, you have the drip." She smirks and when I don't get it, she elucidates. "You're looking hot, you're cool, you're on point. You've got the sauce." 

"Where?" I check my black corset tube top and my dark blue jeans before peeping down on either side of my black boots. "I don't even remember eating ketchup today--"

"Not that sauce, you dumbass." Sam holds my arms and shakes me until I'm looking at her. "You've got the oomph factor today. You're looking sexy as hell." 

I cannot believe her words. "Sam," this flat tone must be my go-to pitch. "I wore the exact same outfit for your birthday last year." 

Her eyebrows knit together trying to remember. She's a fashion kid. She always remembers what I wear because she selects my outfits half the time. It's rather upsetting that she thought what I was wearing today was a new piece. Her eyes scan me from top to bottom and the lower she cons, the lesser her frown becomes. 

"Oh," she sighs, dropping her hold from my arms. "Now I know why I don't remember this outfit. You didn't have these curves last year." 

"The what?" I scowl. 

"The curves, Park." She smacks my ass before I can dodge her hand. "You didn't have the ass, the boobs, or the--"

"Stop it," I hit her hands with the black binder in my hands and move away. Her laughter is different when it's achieved from teasing me. It's the confident kind of laughter. Other times it's all goofy but the one right now, it's like she's proud of making me squirm with annoyance. 

"How ya doin' mommy?" She motions her hand in a cowgirl action with a high-pitched howl. I yank her hand down and hold it there until she's done laughing. 

"Done? What the hell did you drink and why didn't you get me one?" 

She covets her guilty smile with her fingers. "I had lunch with Gray." Immediately, my skin tingles and I look away so I don't make it awkward. Then I fear me looking away is what's making it uncomfortable so I keep my eyes on my boots and look at her at intervals. "We had Chinese and beer."