**You guys get to read this and no one else does. Don't you feel super duper special now?**
Angeline looks at me and smiles her evil, sickly-sweet simper. I am, quite frankly, terrified right now.
"There's a dance tonight at the community center. You should, like, totally come. It's going to be such a party!" She seems to be serious, but I don't trust her. Something about her just screams 'MALICIOUS INTENT!' but I can't be sure.
I'm just wary. What would Angeline Johnston want with me? I mean, sure, she's the welcome wagon and all, but after that first day I kind of never expected her to talk to me ever again. Especially with the way she kind of kicked me on my butt and left me for the wolves.
"Okay..." I say, trailing off. Angeline and her cronies take this as an enthusiastic "Yes!" complete with a cheerleader jump and a confetti cannon instead of the hesitant acknowledgement it really is.
"Awesome!" says Brie-Ann.
"Peachy!" enthuses Margot.
"Faboo!" squeals Karen.
"Great," says Angeline with that smile. "See you at the dance!" Somehow she can show emotion in her voice without any inflection ever reaching her eyes.
Something about that girl is very sinister.
"You? You're going to a dance? A dance? You?" Dad seems at a complete loss for words.
"See, Pops, I'm assimilating." I joke. I'm in my closet looking for clothes while Dad is stretched out on my bed, making a career out of being shocked by me. All of my clothes are black, nerdy t-shirts, or jeans. Or my clubbing clothes, but since Dad is all I have besides Nana and Gramps, I'd rather not put him into an early grave. He's shocked enough right now anyway.
"Nothing to wear, Trixie Cup?" Dad uses my childhood nickname. He's getting sentimental. Or hungry.
I back out of my closet and flop onto my bed next to him. He smells like Indian food, all coconut and curry and mango.
"Nope," I sigh. "Did you roll in coconut chicken curry? You smell like you robbed an Indian restaurant."
"I didn't roll in chicken curry, nor did I rob an Indian restaurant. I'm far too squeamish for the first and far too much of an upstanding citizen for the second. Coconut chicken curry is what's for eating tonight. And I think that I have something that could help you on the clothes front-" I raise my eyebrows and snicker. Dad swats me. "I have something. Honestly. Go masticate, progeny. I will retrieve the clothing. Scoot ya boot." He pushes me off my bed. I fall onto the floor and bang both of my elbows.
Dad jumps over me and lands gracefully. Obviously I didn't get that gene.
"That clothing better cover my bruised elbows, good sir!" I yell at his disappearing back as I clamber to my feet and skulk downstairs.
The kitchen smells like an Indian food bomb went off in it. I love it. Coconut chicken curry and jasmine basmati rice with mango lassis. I could subsist off of mango lassis, honestly. I'm stuffing my face like a pig when Dad comes downstairs with a box. He looks perturbed.
"Are the clothes possessed? You look like the demons of your past just sent you spam mail. What's up?" I take a long swig of my lassi as Dad answers.
"These were your mother's."
I do a spit take.
"Jesus, Tris, what the hell?" Dad jumps back. The box jumbles.
"You kept Diann's clothes? That's not healthy! Seriously, I've read studies on that! It's, like really bad for the healing process, or something!" Dad kept Diann's clothes? Why? After everything she did to us? To him?
"Yes, I kept Diann's clothes. After she," Dad swallows hard, "left, I couldn't bring myself to toss them. I don't have to explain any more that that. I get what you're saying about it not being healthy, but kiddo, I'll never be over your mom. It's just not going to happen. I know you are angry at her, and I am too," he sighs deeply, "but I will never be over her." He strokes my hair.
"I'm not wearing anything she left. Obviously they were as important to her as I was, if she just left them behind." I'm not hungry anymore. My stomach evacuated via my feet. I don't feel like dancing anymore. This has put a damper on my whole evening.
"Kiddo, your mom loves you. She, she just can't be your mom. She's not good at it. Please. These are a gift from me. Diann has no part it." He hands me the box. I stiffly take it.
"Not hungry anymore?" he asks lamely as I poke at my food.
"I'm going to go get ready," I answer just as lamely. At least if I go to the dance I don't have to deal with my father for an evening. I carry the box upstairs and drop it roughly on the floor. I stare at it.
It stares at me.
Finally, after a staredown, which the box has apparently won, I open it. It's my style. It's my size. It's all so me, it scares me. I poke at the mass of clothes, and as I'm tossing the clothes around, this one dress gets caught on my watch. It's charcoal colored, with a lacy overlay. I try it on, just for posterity's sake. It fits like a glove. I can't not wear it.
Dad knocks, then comes in after I don't shriek for him to stay out.
"Oh, kiddo." He looks at me like it's my wedding day. "You're a knockout, Tris. If I don't have to buy a shotgun, something's wrong with the boys in this town." He gives me a hug and plants a kiss on my head.
"Let's get you to this dance."
The community center used to be this old widow's house. She lived in a veritable mansion. After she kicked the bucket, the town committee snapped up the property rights and decided to transform the old biddie's house into a center. They use her main dining room as a function hall now. That's where the Harvest Dance is being held.
Dad drops me off in front, with him shouting the lyrics to Pretty Woman after me and me screaming at him that I'll be home when I'm home and to please be up so I don't have to climb in through the window since I can't unlock a deadbolt from the outside. He waves the love sign after me and I flash my own back at him. We really are the oddest pair.
Bunches of kids arrive in cars that probably cost more that my whole old apartment. They are all dressed in upscale costumes. All the girls who wear pastel sweater sets are now slutty nurses, slutty cats, slutty pirates, and the like. Why is it that every costume for women is always preceded by 'slutty'? Weird phenomenon.
For the guy contingent, I see some football players, some 50s style gangsters, a ghostbuster, a few pirates, even a drag queen.
Angeline and her posse come up to me, a foursome of slutty angels who seem to find their only enjoyment in life in being cruel.
To be continued....
I know that you guys physically can't read super long posts because they are 1. Super long and sometimes boring and 2. SO MANY WORDS MAKE MY HEAD HURT ARGH.
So I made this shorter for you. It's a lot longer, so don't tear your hair out.
Tell me if you like it, so I'll know to not post the rest if you hate it. Point out anything I should change, I love critiques. And enjoy!
I made another blog for this type of thing, but only three people subscribed, and this story has nothing to do with the other one. So don't get freaked. I haven't posted on my other blog because I've been having writer's block, and then this happened and I'm kind of pleased with it.
A sandwich walks into a bar, and the bartender gives him a weird look. The sandwich goes "What?" and the bartender says "We don't serve food here."
GET IT?! (interrobanged)
Love and kisses, fooligans,