All Bets Are Off

Chapter Eight - Ella Fordman: The Girl of Double Dates and Catastrophes

            As if sensing where my thoughts were heading, he said, “Don’t worry about being underdressed. I think you look great.” He gestured down to his inky-blue jeans and plaid shirt. “Plus, I’m not exactly dressed appropriately either. We can be a pair of reckless teenagers and raise a little hell.”

            “You know what, Tobey?” I said, looking at him over the console with a slight smile toying on my lips. “That sounds like a great idea.”

            ~          *          ~

            When we stepped through the restaurant, I looked around at the tables. Diners moved through the crowd in elegant, tailored suits, holding platters with drinks and foods. Other people sat at secluded, candle-lit tables, all dressed in pearls and black dresses, the men with expensive gold watches and suits.

            I began to worry about what people would think of me, when suddenly the words of Phoenix came back to me. He’d said it years ago, but it was a speech that had stuck by me, and, surprisingly, it was something I wanted to live by.

            I read a book once, he had said, which had not been surprising in the least considering it was Phoenix Adams we were talking about here. It was talking about how we worry so much about what others think. ‘What if they think I’m weird?’ ‘What if they don’t like me?’ And then I realized something. I shouldn’t care. It’s my life, and what’s the point of living it if I’m living by someone else’s rule? It’s a bit of a waste, isn’t it? Living life by the rules made by someone else? What’s the point of playing the game if you can’t play it your way? Who cares what others think? Chances are, you won’t see them ever again, so why care about the opinions of people that we don’t even know? It only really matters what we think, doesn’t it? So don’t spend your time worrying about what others have to say. You’re the only one that matters. I’d rather be hated by others and love myself than be loved by others and hate myself. Remember that, Elle. I think you’ll find yourself a lot happier that way.

 

            Why should I care if these stuck-up snobs didn’t like my clothing choice? I did, and that was all that mattered. I’d never seen these people before, nor did I think I’d ever see them again. So why worry about their opinions?

            With renewed confidence, I led Tobey to the reception desk. Behind was a girl with platinum hair tied into a strict, no-nonsense ponytail, and she looked a little shocked, as if she thought we had stumbled into the wrong place.

            “Can I help you?” she asked, blinking at us.

            “Reservation for Ricardo?” Tobey said, trying to sound cool, but it came off a little awkward.

            She looked down and spotted our name, before glancing up and frowning. “May I see some ID, please, sir?”

            He sighed and let go of my hand, digging out his wallet and handing over his driver’s license. She consulted it, before nodding it and handing it back. “Certainly, sir. This way.”