Peach // H.S.

Six.

✣ ✣ ✣

It's now half-past four, and you're finally content with how you're looking.

Self-confidence never seemed to be something you struggled with in particular, but for some reason, your vision of yourself took a toll on you today. Since earlier when Tawny left, you've been tearing your room apart and ripping out wooden drawers trying to find something to settle and please your overactive mind. A dress was a no, you didn't want others to get the wrong idea. Tawny would certainly see and assume you're planning something different tonight, and that's the last thing you'd want. It appears as if you have a pair of pants in every color in the rainbow along with its shades, but you still couldn't bring yourself to truly enjoy the outfit.

Pink? No, it'll make your face look too red. Maybe a bit washed out, too. Under any other circumstance, it'd be fine, but pink just was not the right move for tonight.

Blue? Also no. It's a great color, you just don't think it's fitting right now. Could it be that you wear it too much? Possibly. It goes with a lot, but you just need a break from it for a little bit. You need to see other colors!

Yellow? Next time, perhaps? It's more of an early morning or afternoon color. It doesn't seem to be fitting for a party. A darty, sure. But it's too late, now.

Red's fine. It'll match with the usual ruby tone you paint your lips with. Your gingham red shorts rest teasingly high on your thighs, and a white Dolores shirt hugs you comfortably while accentuating the soft curves of your body.

So that settles it. You're grabbing at the cotton balls and q-tips strewed about your vanity to toss them into the trash bin, still cursing at yourself for spending as much time as you did on your makeup. Eyeliner won't ever get easier, it's been years and you still can't perfect it. It took you multiple tries and even a few tears, but you finally managed to get it to look at least slightly decent.

A pair of shiny oxfords are stretched onto your feet, and you shift a bit in your stance to wiggle in without having to unlace them. Checking yourself over one last time in the mirror, you give yourself a reassuring nod before stepping through the doorway and into your hallway, old family portraits decorating the walls of it.

You're careful not to make much noise as you tiptoe down the creaky wooden stairs, praying to anything and everything that you won't land on that one specific plank that likes to groan out like a ghost. A relieved sigh falls from your lips after you successfully navigate down to the entryway, looking both ways before dashing over to your front door and out into your front yard.

Your mother won't suspect a thing. In fact, she's probably out cold on the recliner which your father claims is his, letting the soft staticky buzz from the T.V. fill the room as her knitting tangles up in her lap. She probably wouldn't care, anyway, but you don't want to run the risk of her telling your dad that you'd skipped dinner to go see Tawny. You'd spare her the details, though, just saying it's another sleepover and not a party. She'll wake up and see you're gone, assuming that you've just gone for a bike ride.

You have, of course. But it's to Tawny's, and not the town common where everyone goes to hang out later in the day. The wind that's blowing your hair far out of your face from the speed that you're pedaling to Tawny's house causes a shiver to run down your spine, but you choose to ignore it as you push a little faster.

It only takes about five minutes to get to Tawny's house, but it would have been less if you hadn't slowed your pedaling in fear of getting too sweaty and gross. You practically throw your bike off to the side of her front porch, combing through your hair with your fingers before readjusting any fabric that could have squeezed uncomfortably into an unwanted place. Convertibles line the street and flood into the driveway, indicating that Tawny invited much more than a couple of friends. You're soon rushing inside, scanning the crowded room to try and find Tawny's blonde hair which is probably ratted into a loose updo.