Pencils & Polaroids

45: we rained

Why are evil men so good-looking? 

They shouldn't be allowed to wear black, roll up their sleeves, or fiddle with our minds the way they fiddle with their hair every five minutes. I should stop gulping down Tequila but because my eyes keep returning to him, I need another distraction. 

He knows I'm looking at him. Every time he turns further away from me or runs off to a corner my eyes can't reach, I know he's escaping. Was I really so bad that he can't even look at me now? 

"Middle finger does hit differently when your nails are done." I hold out both my middle fingers before Sam rushes to pin it down. 

My best friend gives the bartender gawking at us a forced smile before she turns me around in my chair. "Stop flipping people. You're cut off." 

I fight back when she attempts to snatch away my flask. "No, mom. It's my birthday today, you can't cut me off." 

It's my birthday and he still hasn't wished me. 

Why do I even care? I thought Tequila was supposed to make emotions go away, not magnify the intensity. 

"Okay, that's it. You're going up to our room and falling asleep. Right now." 

I burst out laughing. "Why, do you want to go kareeokay-singing again? I told Sam not to sing but Samsung anyway." I start laughing even more. "You were good, though. You matched some pitches so perfectly." 

"--It's karaoke--and thanks. But I will not go sing again because I physically cannot hear your lame joke for the tenth time."

"Then why do you have to go--Oh, do you have a date night planned with Finley?" She purses her lips at the latter reason. I gasp out loud. "You have a date. And you didn't tell me." 

"I did tell you." She gives me the thin lips again. 

Brushing my hands, I nod. "Oh, then that must be before I got this tipsy. Go go," I push her out of her chair. "I can get myself home--I mean, room." She seems hesitant. "Sammy, just stand here and deeply think. Is there any way I can get myself into trouble today? Even the Tequila is almost done and this party is so boring. I will be asleep in no time." 

"You're drunk, I can't leave you like this." She shakes her head. 

"I'm not drunk. I'm speaking properly, look." I point to my lips. "And my grammar is on point." She tilts her face. "Except for the Car-yo-okay." 

"Karaoke." She corrects me again. 

"Whatever!" I nudge her out of her chair. "Don't be dragged into my mundane adult life. Go have fun, your life is starry and sparkly. Don't let my sufferings dim your stars." 

"Your sufferings?" 

"Leave. Sam." I smile with narrow eyes. 

To this, she hops out of her bar chair, gives me a hug, pecks a kiss on the side of my cheek, and with a smile, runs into the dark with her boyfriend. Once I'm done with the Tequila flask, I decide there's nothing left here for me to do. I hate dancing, I hate singing, I hate watching people make out. The only thing I go to parties for (if I ever do) is for beer pong. I'm a natural at that game. 

We did play Soda pong here, for what felt like three minutes, and I did win but everyone went back to dancing once our in-house Ravenford DJ played Daddy Yankee's Gasolina. 

I spent the next hour Facetiming Mom from the set-up bar where she talked me into agreeing that this black dress that my best friend made me wear didn't make me look like a hoochie who jumps bars past 12 am. The Tequila hit so strongly that my mother almost convinced me I looked like modern Cinderella in a short black strappy bodycon dress.