The Girl Who Wore Jordans

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

      “And then she was like, ‘Uh, we don’t have that color,’ so I was like, ‘Yes, you do, I saw it! Do you even speak English?’ and she was all like, ‘I’ll go look again,’ and yeah,” Lauren concluded her tale that had something to with questioning the legality of immigrants and getting her nails painted. I kind of spaced out when she mentioned something called “shellac”.

      “But you’re nails are pink, just like you wanted,” Alice pointed out.

      “Yeah, but they’re the wrong shade of pink. I wanted Dusty Rose, and this is Rose Pedal; they’re completely different,” the girl protested, sending an unapproved glance down to her nails. They were pink. To me, every variation of the color looked the same. It was fucking pink.

      “Of course,” I humored, though I wasn’t sure if the girls with whom I was seated detected my subtle nod to sarcasm.

      “I’m glad you understand, Liz,” Lauren said sincerely. Evidently, she did not pick up on my tone.

      I was about to reply, though was rudely interrupted by an attack from a boy who went by the name of Eric Wilson. His hands landed on my shoulders, and I didn’t even need to turn around to know it was he. Jerk.

      “Hey!” he greeted cheerfully, oblivious to the disturbance he had made.

      “I was about to say something to Lauren, but, thanks to you, I forget it now,” I huffed, intersecting my arms over one another.

      “Well, I’m sorry,” he apologized, as Alice moved aside on the bench we were seated at to make room for him. He plopped down between her and me, wrapping an arm loosely over my shoulder.

      “You two are just so cute it’s disgusting,” Lauren muttered playfully.

      “Thanks,” Eric said, as I felt his lips collide with the side of my face. “So, what are you doing after school today?”

      Oh, ya know, going to the gym and running around with an orange ball in my hand to the point that I pass out due to a lack of oxygen flow to my lungs, I thought, wondering how he would take it if I actually were to utter those words. Instead, I opted for the oh-so boring, “Nothing, as far as I know.”

      “That’s not true,” he declared. He was right, it wasn’t. I raised a brow, wondering what he meant by his words, as he continued to speak, “We’re going over Alex’s house to chill.” And now, I suppose, I could safely kiss my date with a basketball goodbye.

      “Who’s going to be there?” I queried lightly.

      “Well, Alex, obviously, Joey, Brandon, Alex’s girlfriend,” as he listed the last person I swore that I said Alice grimace slightly from the corner of my eye. “Oh, that reminds me, you guys are more than welcome to come too,” he addressed the rest of the individuals at the table.

      “Thanks!” Tara said genuinely.

      “Do you mind if I bring someone?” Alice inquired, her voice possessing a small quantity of something I couldn’t quite discern. Vengeance? Resentment? Apprehension?

      “No, not at all,” Eric said, leaning in closer to me. His hand reached up onto the table, his intended target the tray of French fries I had bought to serve as my less than nutritional lunch. My own hand immediately shot up, gripping his wrist before he had a chance to accomplish his mission. “What the hell?”

      “Don’t. Touch. My. Food,” I said, explaining the reasoning behind my actions.

      “Holy crap, Liz, you just scared the shit out of me,” he laughed, exhaling deeply as he clearly found the situation humorous, though it wasn’t even remotely.