Slight Detours | Wattys 2015

(4) ALLY

If you'd told me that I would be having this problem four hours ago when I agreed to dad's deal, I would have called you a liar. But, you see, my life has that rare habit of taking the turn for the worst. Right when everythings great- splat. So I probably should've expected this along with the several other events I should have seen coming.

This, of course, pertained to my oh-so-problematic dilemma. And yes, that was meant to be redundant.

I didn't know which was worse- the jarring headache or the blinding spotlight.

They both sucked.

I was pretty sure about that. But if they equally sucked? That was what I was going to find out.

It was a perfect way to start the day. Checking my watch, it was indeed around 12 A.M. in the morning and I was stuck inside this humid yacht, attending this ridiculous party, sitting down on a rumpled couch where a certain couple may or may not have been doing presumptuous things just a few seconds ago.

Realizing this, I carefully lifted myself off the leather sofa and opted for a chair instead. I was still a little iffy about the germs I'd picked up, though. They were pretty menacing if you asked me.

Believe it or not, it was a simple "okay" that got me into this mess. All I wanted was a chance to move back to New York so I figured, why not agree to dad's seemingly advantageous bargain?

What harm could it possible cause?

I had nothing to lose. Worst case scenario? Staying. And I was already getting that as it was.

Assuming everything went according to plan, I'd continue hating California, summer would fly by, and I'd be back in New York in no time.

But, as my current situation suggested, the previously considered full-proof plan was now compromised.

Thanks a lot, dad. You've been ruining a lot of things lately.

Ruined plan count- Two.

With the constant pounding in my head, my mind wasn't functioning that well either. It was impossible to come up with a train of thought other than, you know, my head fucking hurts so could someone please turn of that damn spotlight because it's ruining my retina.

I knew the host was saying something but I couldn't process the words right. From the little I could decipher, he was saying something about the 12 A.M. waltz. I could roughly make out people cheering and clapping but I was pretty much clueless as to what was going on.

Squinting, I attempted to regain my focus. After a few seconds of eye rolling and excessive blinking, my vision had gone a little clearer. I danced at my mini-victory but it wasn't long before people started staring at me.

Why the heck were they looking at me that way? My victory dance couldn't have been that obvious. I'd done the Macarena for around three seconds. Other than that, I was simply sitting down, minding my own business.

"Keep your eyes to yourself, people," I wanted to say but it came out as a strangled yelp. I sounded like I had tuberculosis for heaven's sake! Well, okay, I did feel like absolute shit right now and could probably have passed for a diseased mental patient but that wasn't the point.

"The young man right next to me will now waltz with the girl being illuminated in the canary yellow dress," the host repeated, gritting his teeth.

It was almost as if he was staring at me as he said those words. Still unwavering with his stare, he narrowed his eyes to produce an eerie, snake-like grin.

What was his problem?

Clearly, he was completely out of his mind. He was looking for "the girl being illuminated wearing a canary yellow dress". I was neither one of those things assuming you didn't count being blinded by a spotlight "illuminated".