Love to Hate You

Chapter Nine

A.J. grins from where his head is peering out, “You’re an awful human being, you know that?”

I roll my eyes. Yes, I’m acutely aware that what I’m doing is wrong. I know I should stop while I’m ahead, but you know what? I’m so done being rational and reasonable and—well, good. I’ve been that for seventeen years and I need a break. If I end up being able to do what I truly want as a reward, then I will do this a million times over. It’s risky and it’s selfish, but until now I’ve been a selfless person. I want to do this for me.

I shrug and A.J. shakes his head jokingly before pulling back into his room.

“Ready!” Stephanie’s voice alerts me and I cautiously open my bedroom door to see.

There she is, looking quite nice in my dress. It is slightly too big around the chest and waist because she is quite scrawny, but other than that it looks much better than a kitten shirt and capris. The color really brings out her eyes, making them look bigger and brighter.

“It looks good on you.” I comment and come up to stand in front of her. Tilting my head to the side, I observe her. She’s my height, a little taller and her face is round. Braids just don’t suit her, but here she is with two French braids hanging down her back. They look ridiculous. Braids are for elementary school unless you do them right, and she just doesn’t.

“What?” She asks after I’ve given her a slight grimace.

“Hair, the braids aren’t working, girlfriend.” I tell her honestly and she frowns. She’s been wearing them since she had enough hair and it isn’t going to be easy breaking her from the habit.

“But I like them.” She insists, her fingers reaching up to fiddle with the end of one.

“But they don’t like you.” I say lowly. Not wanting to be too mean, I add, “I don’t think they’re date worthy.”

“But—“

“Stephanie, do you want this to go well or not?” I interrupt. I know this night means a lot to her, but what she doesn’t realize is that this night means a lot to me too. I’m going to do everything in my power to make this go right.

She nods and gazes at me as if she’s lost, unsure of how to be, which is exactly the problem.

“Look,” I sigh exasperatedly, “you dress like my three year old niece and you act like you’ve never socialized properly. It’s not your fault, it’s just the way you were raised,” she continues to stare at me, her eyes watering a little and I instantly feel bad. She won’t understand unless I just come out and say it, and like they say: The truth hurts.

“I just want to help you out. Kids are mean. Aren’t you tired of being picked on?” I ask.

She shrugs, looking away now, her eyes dropping to her sneakered feet, “I don’t really care. They’d laugh if I tried fitting in anyway.”

Ah, the classic I don’t care. Well, everyone cares. There isn’t one person that doesn’t not care. We’re people, after all, and people care a lot about what other people think. The problem with Stephanie is that she doesn’t know how to fix it, she doesn’t know how to grow up. It doesn’t help that she’s an only child and her mom is as crazy as mine. Stephanie was a miracle baby to begin with, the last thing her mom wants is for her to grow up, and so Stephanie has learned how to grow down.

She’s seventeen, I think it’s time she learn how to grow up, because if she doesn’t nothing good will happen to her. Who wants to hire someone who dresses like a kid? Who obsesses over bands and boys more than she pays attention to her job? Nobody. Plus, second-hand embarrassment is just—humiliating. Whenever Stephanie does something that causes her to be laughed at, I can’t help but want to blush and hide like I know she probably does. To be brief, I’m doing her a favor right now. I’m helping her take her first steps into being a real teenager.