A Life Less Average

fourteen

poppy 

I hated coming home from school. I never knew what to expect when I opened the door. Would my mum be ready to start an argument over nothing, or would she be nice as pie? I just didn't know. It was one of the reasons I stopped by the coffee shop every day, forking over money for a coffee I could have just as easily made at home. But I guess I was paying for the delay. For the experience. 

Mary handed over my black coffee in a to-go cup and I threw the hood of my hoodie over my head. It was a men's XL and the hood almost drooped over my face, which I was okay with. It was getting dark, and I didn't need any creeps catching my eye.

I walked slowly, despite the cold air nipping at my exposed nose. 

My tutor session with Lewis after school on Monday had gone exactly how I had expected it to go. We were both too distracted to focus on the biology in our textbook, and had spent the hour talking about everything except schoolwork. And, as expected my Thursday test paper was graded with a C. Miss Jensen had handed it back to me with a look that wasn't quite disappointment. 

But it was Friday again and Faye wanted to go back to the bar. Apparently she had arranged to meet Rob there at nine. 

I reached my street and stood outside the front door of my house for a minute. Both of my parents' cars were in the driveway and the living room light was on. 

I took a deep breath, swallowed the last of my now cold coffee, and opened the door. 

"What time do you call this?" Mum was in the kitchen, the island in front of her covered with loose pieces of paper. 

"Five o'clock?"

"Don't get smart with me." 

"I stopped for a coffee," I said, holding the empty paper cup up. I walked across the room, feeling her burning stare on me with every step, and tossed it in the bin. 

She shook her head, and fumbled through a handful of sheets. "You're always late back from school."

"I always go to the coffee shop." 

She grunted. I didn't wait for a verbal response. Instead, I hurried up the stairs before she could further the discussion. 

I made sure to close my bedroom door behind me. A closed door required a knock, and at least she wouldn't be able to sneak up on me while I hurried to change. 

I threw my school bag into the corner of my room and checked my reflection. My hair needed washing, but I didn't have time to shower and blow-dry before Faye would be itching to leave. Instead, I compromised, and doused my hair in dry shampoo. It would have to do, I thought, as I ran a brush through the roots. 

I changed out of my hoodie and jeans and into a pair of leggings that would make do as loungewear tomorrow when Faye and I were hungover on her couch. Shoving my makeup bag and an outfit for tonight into a big tote bag, I grabbed my phone and made for the front door. 

Almost as though she was expecting me to disappear as soon I arrived, my mum had moved from the kitchen and was stood blocking my exit. 

"And where do you think you're going?" she asked. Her arms were folded tightly over her chest. The black blazer she was wearing was boxy and tight on her shoulders, and her heels were easily two inches. She was towering over me. 

"Faye's." 

"She's a bad influence on you, that girl." 

"She's my best friend." 

She was slowly moving away from the door. She had made her point, and there was nothing she could do to stop me leaving. 

"She's no good." 

I shot her a look and reached for the door handle. She didn't stop me as I opened the door, nor did she call after me as I hurried down the road. 

It was a ten minute walk to Faye's house through the back alleys. Faye was already ready, her face beaten to death with makeup and highlighter and eyeshadow. I was a hot mess in comparison, but she sat me at her dressing table and did the best she could to make me look more human.

"Is Lewis coming out tonight?" she asked, straightening my hair. 

"I haven't asked him," I told her. I wasn't sure whether he was the type to go out two weekends in a row. His hangover had lasted till Sunday before, and I didn't want him to feel as though he needed to wreck his weekends to impress me. "But I think he has football." 

"I forgot he was a jock," she muttered. "Okay, done!" 

I spun to face the mirror. I barely recognised myself. She had filled in my eyebrows so that they were thicker than usual, and the perfectly blended smokey eyeshadow made my eyes look a completely different shape. 

"Wow." 

"I know. I'm a magician. Now let's get going. There's a Long Island Iced Tea just screaming my name." 

We caught the bus to town, each with a can of red bull topped off with vodka in our hands. It was safe to say we were already buzzed by the time we flashed our IDs to the bouncer and headed inside. 

There wasn't a band on tonight, but the place was packed. A DJ was parked behind his equipment, playing remix after remix, as the crowd bounced up and down. I led the way to the bar, fighting through the crowd and using my bony elbows to move people out of my way. 

I shimmied sideways to the bar and held my arm out for the bartender, Oliver, to see. He noticed me immediately and nodded. Seconds later, Faye and I were screaming our orders over the two feet of wood between us and Oliver.

I began to wish that Lewis was here. It hadn't occurred to me that I was going to be the third wheel for the entire evening, as Faye and Rob got all cosy in the booth. It would have been bearable if I had my own guy to make out with at the same time. 

Instead, as they settled in to an evening of exploring each other's mouths, I headed back to the bar to drown my lonely sorrows. 

"Third wheel, ey?" 

I looked up and Oliver was stood opposite me, wiping an already damp cloth over a spill on the bar. The black shirt he was wearing was right around his biceps, but it was regulation uniform. All of the bartenders were wearing black shirts. Even the female bartenders, who had taken to unbuttoning the top six buttons to increase their tips. 

I didn't judge them, I would have done the same. 

"How'd you guess?" 

He looked across the bar and I followed his gaze. Rob's hand was in Faye's mess of hair and her hand was creeping up his leg. 

"Yeah. I'm not going back to that table," I muttered. 

He laughed, and began to mix a drink, adding a variety of spirits, lifting the bottles above his head as he poured. When he was finished, the drink was a pale, glittery pink that swirled in the tall glass he served it in. 

"On the house," he said, sliding it towards me. The glass was rimmed with pink sugar, and he'd even added a lemon wedge.

"What?" I said. "Why?" 

"Because you're about to have a rough night," he said, his voice strangely quiet beneath the bass of whatever song was playing. "And this will make it ten times better." 

I took the drink, but didn't take a sip. There was something in his gaze that I didn't quite understand. Was he flirting with me?