Foolish One ✷ Jess Mariano

V: Art of Ignorance

There was sugar on Kitty's lips because Heath sneaked vodka into his trunk and he had a box of strawberry-vanilla gumdrops that melted in your mouth and left traces on her cherry-bubblegum lipstick. She wanted to redo it, but she forgot her tube at home and grabbed her pack of cigarettes instead.

And there was Heath Carter with his hands on her neck when he spoke, like her skin was a magnet and he couldn't fight it. And she didn't push him away because he smelled like vodka and Clive Christian cologne and she craved that hint of sweetness roe her natural bitterness. "You smell good," He muttered. It was innocent, but a shiver ran up her spine.

She was drunk, and maybe pretending to like the feeling of his weight on her shoulders, but who could tell? Everyone knew that being a crowd-pleaser was Kitty's greatest accomplishment, but she had a headache and was sick of everyone around her. There was a funny taste on her tongue and she wanted to go home, but still, Kitty pasted that damn smile on her face.

She looked up at him through her lashes and sighed, "That's because the perfume I brought you is rubbing off on me," She said. Her breath smelled like sticky beer and his own liquor. And his hands on her neck weren't helping her sober up the slightest.

"Well, bless you, then," Heath smiled.

"Can you go get another drink? This one tastes disgusting," Kitty bit the inside of her cheek and looked down at the unknown liquor swishing around in the bottom of her cup.

Heath stepped away and frowned, "This is like the fourth one you asked for," He held out his hand for Kitty with a smile, "You need to pick with one you want, this time."

"All right," Kitty shrugged, and held his hand. Heath walked ahead and dragged her through the crowd of teenagers, talking about something his friends told him about Lucas Harrison, but she wasn't exactly listening. She was thinking about the buzzing in her head, and how Heath's fingers squeezed her knuckles and flashed his trademark Carter smile and how it made her dizzy.

"Hey, man, can we get two beers?" Heath wrapped his arm around Kitty's shoulders as they walked up to the alcohol station (really just a bunch of cheap kegs). He smiled at the sight of whoever was behind them.

"Haven't you drank enough, Kitty?" Kenji Sato asked as he leaned forward and grabbed the red solo-cup from the brim.

A childish grin creeped up on her lips, "Hey, you know me, Kenji. I'm no pussy."

Kenji laughed as the carbonated liquid fizzed into her cup from the public tube, "You should put that on your tombstone."

Out of all the males in the town, Kenji Sato was her only favourite person in Stars Hollow. From the second they met on the lawn of a party when they were thirteen, meteors dancing above them in hours of delight, she knew he was different from the others. No sleazy pickup lines, nor dull conversations about crypto or how much he benched. Not only was he the only person she witnessed running away from the cops and smiling, what piqued her interest the most was the long drunken theoretical rant he went on about . . . the plot of Finding Nemo.

It bloomed into a bestfriendship, the kind perfect for all days hot and cold—built off Kenji being her plug for the grass she smoked as an added bonus, and Kitty in turn being his new muse for any short film projects he had.

"How you guys doing?" Kenji clicked off the keg and leaned forward with the two cups in his hand, and they grabbed it from his grasp, "Having fun?"