The GreyHatter (Completed)

Chapter 5

I accompanied Ivy at a party rave that was thirty minutes away from a sports bar. As usual, I let Ivy do all the talking while I marveled at the grand site. Lasers were popping out random colors, tons of people were dancing to loud music, and shockingly, they carried flashing glowsticks and cups full of punch.

"So, is this your first time?" she asked suddenly. "Yes," I admitted. "Why?" "Because you look constipated," Ivy answered.  I rolled my eyes at her obnoxious comment. "I'll get you some punch, okay?" Fearing that the beverage would be spiked, I quickly shake my head.

A tall, lanky biker girl with blue dyed hair squealed when she saw Ivy. "Hi Hazel!" The two girls did two quick air-kisses then embraced into a long hug. After they parted, Ivy introduced me to her friend. "Hazel, this is Jordan." Ivy introduced. "Hi, Hannah," I greeted, holding out my hand. "It's Hazel," she corrected. I blushed fiercely. "Sorry," I muttered. We slowly shook hands then did not say anything for about a minute.

"So, Jordan," Ivy began, breaking the long silence. "Do you want to meet our other friends?" "Sure," I nodded, wanting to get away from Harriet. Ivy navigated me through the intense crowd until she spotted two girls: one with blond pigtails and the other with brown hair. I instantly remember these girls; they were the pig's daughters.

"I have to go," I said quickly, ripping my arm away from her hand. Ivy gave me a confused look. "But you just got here, Jordan-" I just realized that my oven has been on for, like a while." I lied. Ivy gave me a curious look then nodded. "I'll see you around," she sighed. I gave her a sheepish smile then disappeared from the crowd.

As I was walking home from the party, my cellphone was buzzing inside my pocket. Rolling my eyes, I slipped my hand into my pocket then pulled out my phone. My Verizon was recovering from scratches, cracks, and bruises from all the times it fell on the floor.

I need to get a new one, I thought miserably. On the buzz faded screen, there were five texts from my mom. The more I scrolled down the comments, the more I get frustrated with her. "Where are you?" it says. "I need you, please come back to me." Instead of responding, I pressed swiped down the first five comments then push the delete button.

I ran my fingers through my sandy brown hair then sighed. Maybe, you shouldn't be mean to her, I thought angrily. I regretted being angry with her in the past, but that does not mean I would respond to her every five minutes. Just then, my cellphone hummed again. But as I peered to look, it was not my mom who was calling me, it was Clarence.