Paper Airplane

30 (1:2)

                What is actually wrong with me?  Why was I…anticipating tonight?  The very idea of myself anticipating such a thing had me nearly cringing.

                “Almost done,” Lucy mumbled offhandedly, three bobby-pins between her lips as she used both hands to arrange some part of my hair in the back.  I felt it tugging at the nape of my neck, but the little pain hardly bothered me.

                Speaking of this premiere and the mind-blowing idea of me not hating my life right now, I realized suddenly that there is actually something I’m a bit worried about, and I probably wouldn’t have thought about it had I not done a thorough investigation of my makeup and my almost-finished hair.  I thought it was great and practically hardly looked like the every-day me, but even a Lucy-fied me will never be good enough or look good enough or dress good enough to be an acceptable date for Harry freaking Styles who, while most days dresses like A wannabe hipster or a hobo or some sort of combination of the two, can really clean up when it comes to events such as this movie premiere.  And there is no way I will be able to stand beside him, probably holding his hand or his arm, and be comfortable calling myself his date, because I am going to look like an imbecile next to the glorious dream that is Harry freaking Styles in a suit.

                As Lucy finished her masterpiece, I began drowning in my own internal despair.

                “There you go,” she said then, backing away, an extremely proud expression on her face.  “I have no words; I’ve never created anything greater; you can thank me later.”

                I stood and smirked.  “You’re a poet and you didn’t even know it.”

                She waved me off.  “Go get dressed.”

                In my room, I laid eyes on the dress I’d placed on my bed carefully to avoid wrinkling it.  The longer I stared at it, the more it seemed to be less perfect than I thought it was originally, and the further I sunk in that internal despair.  But because Harry would be here soon to pick me up and I had zero other options, I pulled the thing on.  And after I tied the neckline into place, I hurriedly slipped back into the bathroom where Lucy had already gathered her things and vacated.

                There was a full length mirror that I really wished wasn’t there, but I gazed at myself nonetheless.  I eyed everything from the dress that was so expensive Brady declared it had be considered as a birthday and Christmas present for the next three years, to my slightly glittered hair and equally dazzling makeup, all the way down to my dark brown, almost black ankle heel-less boots that tied the entire look together.  And even though I knew that none of it was worthy enough to accompany Harry Styles to this red carpet event, I found that I no longer cared.

                Because since when do I?

                Brady and Lucy hadn’t been gone for five minutes before there was a knock on the door and I knew it was my ride; I’ve no doubt that the love birds and Harry had either met in the elevator or passed each other somewhere.

                “Bye,” I called out to my parents as I approached the door.  With a hand waiting on the door handle, I paused for their response.

                “Have fun,” Mom responded at the same time Dad said, “Be safe.” 

                And instead of being annoyed enough to say something back to him, I simply rolled my eyes and opened the door to the expectedly, devastatingly handsome fake boyfriend of mine.  Instead of letting him inside, I quickly stepped out and shut the door behind me; no need to involve my parents for anything more than necessary.