Take Me Home (Revised)

Chapter Eight: Ely

I walked up to the little brown house's door, and lightly knocked. The doorbell hadn't worked for years and knocking too hard would break the door. I clenched the bag of sour watermelon candy nervously in my hand. Brei's favorite.

"I'm getting the damn door! God, why do you have to be such an ass all the time?!?" Brei's voice yelled from behind the cracked door.

"Oh hey, Ely! What's up?" her face lit up when she saw me. I lost my words. I froze. How could I ask? She'd say no, wouldn't she? All I could muster my body to do was silently hold the candy up to her at an arm's length away.

"Oh, sour melons! My favorite!" she nabbed the bag from my hand and ripped it open. I still couldn't say anything. All I could do was watch her stuff the little candies in her mouth. She suddenly froze.

"Wait, what are these for? What do you want?" she crossed her arms in that cute sassy was she does.

"So, Mike's throwing this party, you know, for New Year's Eve and the end of break and stuff, and I was wondering if you wanted to go." I finally initiated the first phase of my plan to ask Brei out. First, ask her to the New Year's party Mike is throwing just for that reason.

"Sure! Sounds fun. What time should we be there?" Brei asked, the light breeze blew her beautiful raven dark hair in the light of the sunset, turning the appearance of her hair to an almost brown.

"It's in two hours. Are you going to wear that?" I reasoned. She looked her sweats and tank up and down and then looked at me like I'd just asked her to dance in potato salad.

"What do you mean? What, is Muddy Mike throwing a formal party?" she argued. In his presence, just as he did, I denied the existence of Mike's nickname he earned in middle school by falling into the mud face first and then barfing it up all down his mud-covered front two minutes later. Brei herself rarely ever used the name, but I understood the context in which it would be slightly funny to use the name. I chuckled a little.

"Of course not! He's just not throwing a sweatpants party either." I explained.

"Then I have nothing to wear." she snapped, crossing her arms and awkwardly leaning up against her house with one foot propped up behind her.

"I'm sure that's not true." I argued. She had to have something besides sweats and t-shirts, right? I personally didn't care what she wore, but she would look out of place. Everyone's wearing nice clothes and shit like it's homecoming. Mike says it's classier. Maybe just trying to clear his muddy name?

"Wow, that's true." I stared into her nearly empty her closet, as she grabbed her school bag and another outfit for tomorrow. Her room was entirely different from mine. It was small and smelled like an ashtray like the rest of her house, though it was the least affected by the second-hand stench. The rickety wooden floors creaked when we walked anywhere over them. Wallpaper peeled and deteriorated around us as we spoke. I really hated her living there. She even tried to make the pathetic shack homey. She hung a few posters I gave her and dozens of hand-drawings of different universe scenes, many of which contained Uranus. Her closet was pathetically empty and I wish I couldn't say the same about her bookshelf, and refrigerator. She didn't have any family pictures or anything to commemorate the important parts of her life on shelves or on the walls like I did. I never knew how bad it was over here until now. All I wish is that I could do more than offer my bed over the rock of a mattress she had on the floor.

"Maybe your Mom would have something I could borrow?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'll ask her." I replied.

"Okay, let's go." she swung the bag over her shoulder and walked toward the door. I couldn't help but watch her walk away in her sweats that somehow really turned me on. Most guys like to see girls in tight lacy flimsy clothes, but I like to see them in what they feel comfortable in. And what they feel like themselves in. But I couldn't help but wonder if Brei could at least try a dress?