"I refuse," I shake my head firmly.
"Please, Henley," pleads Violet, latching onto my arm and giving me her best pouty face.
For the last half an hour Violet has been persistently begging me to attend the dreaded, annual, Berkley High, Halloween, Party tonight.
She's been at it for the past week, but I foolishly thought she had finally given up. I didn't find out how wrong I was until she was barging into my house, a full costume already picked out for me, prepped, and determined to convince me to live out my worst nightmare.
The small blond is without a doubt a master beggar, a product of having pushover parents. However, I consider myself equally masterful in the art of arguing, and every Halloween I have managed to get out of the angsty, teenage gathering. I don't plan on this year being an exception.
I practically have the list of reasons I would rather be burned at the stake than go to this, the worst event of the year, memorized.
Number one, even though I have never attended, said event, I have heard nothing but horrible things about it. After they go, people are always talking about how lame it was, or how the food was bland, or how Bruce Games was blackout drunk and just went around trying to grind on everyone.
Yet, by the time Halloween rolls around next year they all meticulously pick out their costumes and drive on over to the very same event they were bashing just last year. Why, you may ask, do they do this? The same reason anyone does anything in high school. Popularity.
Anyone who's anyone is there. It's the only major party Berkley has. So, if you're trying to prove to that cute boy you like that you're cool enough for him, or you're still trying to land a spot in that exclusive group of friends that won't give you the time of day, how will you ever do it without scoring an invitation to the biggest bash of the year? Please note my sarcasm.
Sweet Violet is no exception to this typical, high school need to fit in. She claims that she doesn't care what anyone thinks of her, or as she so nicely puts it: "Why would I hang out with you if I cared about being popular?"
But from the way she is always jumping at the chance to talk to her fellow 'cool girls' and completely transforms, getting all giggly in front of a classroom full of students, I know that she does, indeed, care. Everybody does to a certain extent, even me. If I didn't hate parties with the burning, fiery passion of a thousand suns, I too might be stressing over my outfit and putting the finishing touches on my hair and makeup.
However, I do hate them and there will be no make up, no costume, and absolutely no party. Just a chill evening taking Andrew trick-or-treating and having my annual, Halloween Town High marathon.
Also, even if there wasn't the crazy notion that I, a girl who doesn't enjoy the best of parties, wouldn't want to attend one that absolutely no one claims to enjoy, there's the fact that every year it's at a new students house. And as luck would have it, guess who's hosting this year? Noah. Freaking. Anderson. I still haven't seen him since I broke into his yard and I plan on keeping it that way for as long as possible.
"Henley. Twenty years from now, when you're talking to your kids about your high school experience, do you want to say you stayed at home all the time, or do you want to be able to say that you went to the coolest party of the year?"
"I highly doubt my kids are going to care what I was doing thirty years before they were born."
"Hen...," she cries, before stopping short. "Thirty years? You want to have kids when you're forty-seven," she asks, arching her perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
"Well apparently I have to have a few entertaining stories prepared for them so I better go make some memories," I roll my eyes sarcastically. I hadn't meant for her to take the number literally.
"Exactly," she grins triumphantly, "and you can start with this party."
"No," I reply firmly, starting to get angry.
"Henley, I'm not going to let you get away with wasting your life away in your bedroom," she screams, throwing her hands up in utter frustration.
"When are you going to realize that I don't consider your stupid, pointless, little parties, football games, and basic, normal, teenage stuff a good use of my time. I would rather stay here than be surrounded by all of that," I yell, flailing my arms in random directions trying anything to get my point through to her.
"All of that," she repeats questioningly. "What does that mean?"
"The people, the dancing, the music. I hate all of it," I cry out.
"I'm one of those people Henley," she hisses. "When are you going to realize that if everyone else wants to do something that you don't, they might not be the ones that are wrong. It just might be you."
I glare at her, unable to respond. She knew I didn't meant it like that. Didn't she?
I'm perfectly aware of the fact that I'm the abnormal one in this equation. I don't know what it is, I just can't bring myself to like the things that "normal" teenagers enjoy. I've technically only been to one actual party, the one with Rhett. I've gone to plenty of school functions in Jr. High, though, and from what I gather, they're not all that different.
Ever since my first School dance in seventh grade, when I hid in the bathroom and called my mom to come pick me up after thirty minutes, I had known I would never be one for partying.
She has to know that I would give anything to be able to go and to feel comfortable. Then again, I'm not sure I've ever told her that.
I can't believe she hasn't at least guessed that I'm not actually avoiding these parties because I hate them. I just hate how they make me feel. Small and insignificant.
In my room, by myself, I don't have to play an angle, I'm not part of anything, I'm the only one I have to impress.
I should probably explain this to her, but for some reason I don't want to.
"I'm not going Vi," I repeat instead, through clenched teeth.
She stares at me for a long time. I'm sure she's going to keep trying, or at least tell me she's disappointed, but she doesn't. She just releases a low, bitter chuckle, before spinning on her heels, and walking out the door.
I don't move. I sit staring at the door for what feels like hours before grabbing my pillow, yanking it towards my face, and screaming angrily into it.
Why did she just leave like that? I hate fighting. Holding grudges stresses me out to no end. I need things resolved. I don't like having unfinished business and loose ends floating around out there, especially not with my best friend.
I can feel the anxiety forming in the pit of the stomach and know I won't be able to sleep tonight until I fix things with Violet.
How, though?
I cast a wary look at the costume she left sitting on my dresser and can't help but cringe. Nothing sounds worse than going to that party, except maybe fighting with Violet. Should I really do something I don't want to just to make her happy, though?
Yes. I should. She would do it for me.
I groan before slowly standing up and making my way towards the dresser. Being a good friend is hard.
I eyeball the plastic sack which contains the only costume I have prepared, and therefore, my only option. I can't bring myself to open it, afraid of what might be inside. Is it sequined? Is it too revealing? Is it going to be some obscure costume that I don't get? Like the time, two years ago, when she just wore really nice clothes and said she was that one girl from her favorite tv show. Serena Van Der Woodsen?
It could be made out of spaghetti for all I know and I will still wear it. I will wear it because I am a good, no, I am a great, best friend.
I'm just about to open it when I hear the doorbell ring. I look over at my bedside clock and see that it's five thirty. It could be a trick-or-treater, but no one usually comes to our street. All of our grouchy neighbors in our little cul-de-sac scare them away.
"Henley, it's for you," my mom calls out from downstairs.
I quickly rush down, hoping it might be Violet.
"Rhett,"I ask, surprised to find that it's him at the door.
"Hey b-buddy," he stutters in an awkward greeting. I'm confused for a second before I realize that he had been about to call me babe until he realized my mom was still at the door.
He's wearing an unusual outfit. His blue jeans have been traded in for dark brown khaki pants and he's wearing a plain, barf green t-shirt with old loafers.
"Why are you dressed like a homeless drug addict, buddy," I ask.
"I'm shaggy," he says, gesturing down to his outfit.
"Hey," I cheer, "I guessed right."
"Mhm," he laughs. "May I come in."
"Yes, you may Rhett," answers my mom, probably guessing (correctly) that the formal language was for her. "I'll just be in the kitchen. Don't do anything stupid," she says, hesitating a brief moment before leaving.
I don't think she's quite sure on what the protocol is for when teenage boys come to visit her daughter. I'm not either.
"What's up," I ask, walking the few steps into the living room and sitting on the couch.
"Violet called me," he explains, following me and settling down in the armchair across from me.
"Oh," I say, my cheerful mood deflating considerably. When had I even gotten so cheerful?
"Look Babe, I know you don't want to go, but..." he begins before I interrupt him.
"I'm going."
"You are," he asks, widening his eyes in surprise.
"Yes," I nod. "I don't want to, but Violet and I got into a huge fight over it, and it's just not worth it," I shrug. "So I guess I'll just have to brave the dangers of teenage normalcy."
"A true American hero," he smirks playfully.
"Are you going too," I ask.
"No. I'm wearing this for fun."
"Alright. Alright. No need to get snarky with me. That's my thing," I tease.
"So what are you waiting for," he asks. "Go put on your costume."
Something about the smile in his voice makes me think that he already knows what's in Violet's bag. I look over at his costume and suddenly it hits me.
"I'm Velma, aren't I."
"Good guess," he laughs.
"Well it could be worse," I sigh before heading back upstairs.
****************
Thirty minutes later we are both in Rhett's car, heading towards the party. I'm mentally preparing myself for the worst, but a tiny part of me is hoping it might actually be fun. I doubt it, though.
I'm dressed in a long sleeved, orange V neck with high orange socks, a red skirt, and big, fake glasses. It somehow works on me. I feel a little uncomfortable without my normal attire, but hey, when in Rome.
We pull up to the familiar house and I can feel my heart thumping wildly.
"I will have fun. I will have fun," I chant under by breath.
"There's nothing to worry about," says Rhett softly, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "I'll stay with you the whole time."
I nod, but can't find it in myself to believe him. It's exactly what Violet always says when she drags me to places I don't want to go. She promises not to leave me, but ten minutes in she's over talking to her other friends, leaving me standing awkwardly in a group full of people I barely know.
I don't blame her, though. I'm kind of dead weight at a party and I want her to have her fun. I could always follow her and join into the conversation, maybe that's what she's hoping will happen, but I never do. I would feel too out of place.
Rhett didn't ever leave me at the last party, though. The thought comforts me and I take a deep breath, trying to get myself to relax. It's six thirty and the party started at six, so there is already a good amount of people here.
"Are you sure you want to do this," asks Rhett, eying me with concern.
"Aren't you the one always trying to get me out of my comfort zone," I say with a stiff smile. I'm not very good at faking my emotions so I'm sure it looked more like a grimace than anything.
"Ya," he nods, "but I know how much you hate crowds."
"I'm fine," I insist.
"Ok," he says. "Let's go then mystery girl."
"Mystery girl," I ask, scrunching my eyebrows in distaste.
"Ya, the costume and, well, you," he shrugs.
"I think I actually like babe better," I roll my eyes.
"Suit yourself babe."
We walk up to the big, fancy house and just like every time I think of Noah, I feel the weight of his stupid words hit me once again.
I had sort of made up my mind that Noah was a psychopath, because Rhett certainly isn't. Still, the curiosity is going to haunt me until I ask him. I just haven't found the right time yet.
I can hear the pounding music as soon as we enter the doorway. I'm about to ring the doorbell, but before I get the chance Rhett's already twisted the doorknob and swung the entrance open.
I quickly shoot my hand back and he gives me an amused look.
"Oh shut up," I mutter. "How was I supposed to know the idiot left his door unlocked."
"You thought he was going to answer the door every time someone knocked," he laughs.
I glare at him before pushing my way past him and into the house."
"Rhett. Henley," cheers a familiar voice seconds after we have entered. "You came," smiles Grant, patting Rhett on the back and giving me a wide grin. He's dressed as a pirate, eye patch, fake gold tooth, and all. "Come on the real party's out back."
Out back? Does he mean the back yard?
We walk through the enormous living room with a ridiculously long, leather couch and a tv almost as big as the entire wall. Then we hit a large glass door with a familiar doggy door situated at the bottom. I find myself glancing around for the beast before realizing that they wouldn't let that thing near this many people and relax.
We step back out into the cool, evening air and I understand what Grant meant when he said the party was outside. There had been a few people standing around in the living room, but over half of the school was out here.
The outdoor, surround sound system is blasting some electric, dance music I don't recognize, everyone is dressed in elaborate costumes from crayons and nurses to werwolfs, and the one that catches my eye the most, a sumo wrestler. He's floundering around in the center of the basketball court, which has been set up as tonight's dance floor.
Dance floor, that's one thing I prayed this party wouldn't have. The party Rhett had taken me to, nobody had been dancing.
Rhett and Grant talk as I scan the yard, looking at all of the costumes and trying to decide who's under them. I see Harrison over by the outdoor tv, sitting with some people from our grade, watching some football game. He's wearing a leather jacket and a white t-shirt, so he could be practically any 80's heartthrob. I also see Destiny and Katherine. They're both dancing, wearing matching cop costumes. I silently pray they don't see me.
I'm still scouring the party with my eyes when I lock onto a familiar face heading towards me. Davin looks stunning with a elaborate black eye shadow, wearing a detailed black dress that flares out at the bottom and a pair of black angels wings attached to her back.
She's grinning from ear to ear, pushing her way through the the crowd, making her way over towards Rhett, Grant, and me.
"You came," she exclaims, smiling brightly as she pulls me into a hug. "Violet said she couldn't convince you."
"Ya, well I decided I just could miss out on a night of all this fun," I say. It wasn't sarcastic and anyone who didn't know me might have thought I was being sincere. Davin didn't.
"Well I'm glad you came," she smiles.
I try and smile back with just as much warmth, but I can feel that it doesn't reach my eyes.
"Do you girls want anything to drink," asks Grant.
"Ya, I'll have a strawberry daiquiri," answers Davin. I have absolutely no clue what that is, so I'm guessing it's alcoholic.
"I'll just have a water," I say.
Grant and Rhett nod, before retreating back into the house.
I look over at Davin to find her staring at me, a curious expression on her face.
"What," I ask.
"Nothing," she says, shaking her head. "I just wish I had known it was that easy to turn down alcohol at my first few parties. It would have made freshman year a lot easier."
I don't know what to say to that so I don't say anything. Instead, I change the subject.
"How've you been doing," I ask. "You know, after the whole Tad and Sammantha thing."
I've seen her plenty of times at school since the Outback sighting, but we've never been alone, so I've never asked.
"Pretty good actually," she says. "I feel kind of free if that makes any sense."
"It does," I answer.
"It's just kind of weird seeing Sammantha around. She hasn't even tried to talk to me. I don't know if they still have something going on, but either way, I don't think she wants anything to do with me anymore."
"Good riddance," I say.
"Ya," she laughs half-heartedly. "It's just... she was my friend for so long. I don't really have that many other actual friends."
"You have me," I say immediately, "and Violet, Ben, Rhett, Grant, and even Harrison."
"Thanks, Henley," she smiles weakly.
"Hey Davin," says a breathless boy who no doubt just ran over here after a rigorous round of bumping and grinding on the dance floor. "You want to come dance," he asks. I can see the slight panic in his eyes and know he must have had a hard time plucking of the courage to pop that question. By the looks of him, he might have even needed the help of a few drinks.
Davin looks uncertainly at me. She knows I don't want to be left alone, but the boy is a looker, and he seems nice and obviously really wants to dance with her.
"Go ahead," I shrug nonchalantly even though I'm panicking on the inside.
"You sure," she asks.
"Yes, go ahead. Have fun," I laugh. "I'm fine."
She looks back at the boy skeptically before nodding at him. His eyes light up and he gleefully takes her hand, leading her onto the court/dance floor.
Now that I am alone I pray that Rhett and Grant hurry up. I can see people not so subtly staring in my direction and I'm hating every second.
I watch as all of the other girls and boys go and dance their hearts out. They all look like they haven't got a care in the world. How do they do that? All I'm doing is standing and I feel too much like I'm being judged. Granted, I'm completely alone and my arms are situated in a closed off, awkward crisscross position, so I stick out like sore thumb. I could move them, but they feel more comfortable this way, like they are shielding me somehow.
When I'm around close friends, people I trust, I'm sure I could dance like that, but around all theses people? Not a chance.
Being the quite girl I do a lot of listening and some of the things these people say, the rumors they spread, I will never feel comfortable around any of them.
"Hey," says Rhett coming up from behind me, interrupting my thoughts and making me jump.
"Don't do that," I yell, hitting him lightly on the arm and making him chuckle.
"Sorry," he apologizes without meaning it.
"Here," he says, handing me the bottle of water. As a take it from his hands I notice he has one of his own. He hasn't gone for a beer like last time.
"Thanks," I say.
"Where's Grant," I ask.
"He saw Davin out there and went to go join."
"Oh," is all I say as I unscrew the bottle cap and take a swig of the cold water.
"So, are you really just going to sit here all night?"
"Yep," I nod. "You can go out there if you want, though. You don't have to babysit me."
"Nah," he shrugs. "I'm fine right where I am. Plus, my costume doesn't make near as much sense without you."
I laugh and agree before we fall into a peaceful silence, just watching the people around us, until he suddenly decides to speak up.
"You don't want them to think your weird. Do you," He says, phrasing it like a statement, but I can tell there's a bit of uncertainty in it.
I'm completely taken a'back by the question.
I don't want to them to think I'm weird? That's... true. Isn't it?
As much as I want to go dance, I can't, and that has to be the reason. I don't want to believe that it is. I know I'm a confident girl. I don't place a lot of my self worth into what other people think, but worrying what people will say if I dance too awkwardly, or even dance at all, has to be why I won't.
"Yes, Rhett," I sigh. "You've come one step closer the cracking the head scratching mystery that is Henley Baker. For some reason, beyond me, I can't seem to stop caring what these people think of me," I say before continuing to stare into the crowd.
I expect him to say something, but he remains quiet. When I finally look up and face him, I find that he's studying me, an intense look of puzzled concentration written across his face.
"What," I ask.
"You're like..." he pauses, as if searching for the right words. "Your like one of those abstract paintings. People can sort of look at you and see whatever they want to. You can be a quiet little princess, a nasty bitch, or somebody's dream girl, and you know what? I think that's how you want it. You like being people's own little personal creation. You think It's safer that way, never really being responsible for how people perceive you."
I feel my jaw go slack as I stare up at him in shock. Did that really just come out of his mouth?
This is the same boy who has play gun fights with his classmates and couldn't stop giggling while, Mr. Phoenix talked about The Battle of the Bulge.
This is the immature, idiot who apparently has incredibly, deep, emotional thoughts and can see directly through me.
He just put things about me into words that I haven't been able to pinpoint or piece together in all my seventeen years.
"Was that a weird thing to say," he asks me skeptically. "I needed an analogy and it made sense in my head. It might have sounded weird out loud, though."
"No," I shake my head vigorously. "No. I got it."
He nods and looks at me like he's expecting some kind of feedback on his thesis of me. What exactly am I supposed to say to that?
"You're right," I breathe out simply, still dumbfounded. He doesn't ask for an elaboration. He would never want me to talk about something that made me feel uncomfortable or awkward. Maybe that's why it's so easy to.
"I don't know," I sigh. "I hear them talk about people that they pretend to be best friends with everyday and absolutely tear them apart. I just don't feel comfortable talking infront of them, or sharing any part of myself with someone who is that two-faced."
"Ya I get it," he nods understandingly. "You hear people talking shit about other people all the time. They talk shit about their best friends, their family, and even complete strangers. Someone's always going to have something bad to say about you, but listen, babe, there is no way to avoid it. The only way to keep from curling up in a ball and never saying anything to anyone ever again is to learn not to care," he says, looking at me with his big brown eyes, imploring me to understand. "Or at least not to care as much."
I stare at him, a million different thoughts swirling through my head. I'm about to open my mouth to say something even though I have no clue what it's going to be, when someone suddenly barrels into me, wrapping their arms tightly around my neck.
"I'm so sorry," says Violet, holding tightly onto me. "I shouldn't have tried to force you to come and I defiantly shouldn't have walked out like that. I'm too pushy."
"No," I shake my head, getting over the initial shock of being tackled and circling my arms around her. "You just wanted me to have a good Halloween. Plus, I need pushy friends. Have you met me?"
She starts laughing and we pull away. She's wearing a Daphne costume, just as I had figured she would be, and when I look behind her I see that Ben is Fred.
"What made you decide to come," she asks.
"I figured it would be good for me," I shrug, not wanting to tell her it had been entirely for her.
"Well I'm glad," she grins broadly. "They really aren't all that bad. You'll see."
I nod and we all chat for a few more minutes before Ben asks Violet to dance leaving Rhett and I alone.
"You're hating this, aren't you," he asks.
I nod my head vigorously.
"Well I think you've stayed long enough to make her happy," he smiles. "Want to get out of here."
"Oh my, gosh yes," I plead.
"Alright," he chuckles. "Let's go," he says, turning to leave.
"Rhett Novell, I think I love you," I say, beyond happy.
His back is turned to me when I say this so I can't see his face, but he pauses a brief moment and his shoulders tense. Then, he continues walking as if nothing happened.
That was weird.
When we get to the door Rhett reaches into pockets, fishing around for something.
"Shoot," he curses.
"What's wrong," I ask.
"I think I left my keys in the kitchen," he groans. "Wait right here, ok," he says before taking off back into the house.
I sigh and lean against the wall, waiting.
This party defiantly hasn't been fun, but in some strange way, I'm glad I came.
Some things make good memories even though they weren't necessarily good experiences, like high school for example. Everyone's going to look back at these four years and remember the good parts, even if they are one in a hundred. They're going to get all nostalgic even though the reality is that eighty percent of the time it was a total suck fest.
This party was definitely a suck fest, but I'm sure I can pick out a few good memories. I can kind of see what Violet was talking about earlier when she said I could tell my kids about it. It was an adventure, I stepped out of my comfort zone and even though I hated it, when I'm an old lady looking back on my life, I'll have something to remember besides sitting in my room.
I smile at this new epiphany and feel my dampened spirits lift. That doesn't last long, though.
I've been here for a little over an hour and I have managed to avoid the resident of this house that I had been dreading seeing. However, of course, because life hates me, as I'm waiting to leave, the one, the only, Noah Anderson shows up. He's dressed as Prince Charming and I have to hold in my scoff at how ill-suited he is for that costume.
"I'm surprised to see you here again," he says. "Especially with lover-boy. I would have thought you'd be running for the hills by now."
I scowl at him, not responding. The fact that he said he was surprised to see me here again, conforming my worst suspicions. He had seen me on that fence.
"Noah," comes a cool voice from behind me.
I turn to see Rhett staring at him, shooting daggers with his icy glare.
"Hey, Novel," he says, seemingly unaffected by Rhett's obvious anger. I find this hard to believe considering what happened last time he made Rhett angry. "We were just talking about you."
"Let's go," says Rhett quickly, grabbing onto my shoulder and pulling me out the door.
"You're going to have to tell her sometime," Noah yells after us.
Rhett completely ignores him and throws himself into his car with me close behind.
He wordlessly starts the vehicle and rapidly zooms away. His cold scowl still glued to his face, eyebrows knitted together.
He doesn't say anything the whole ride home, and I'm not feeling particularly talkative either, which leaves my mind to wander to all the different things Noah could think Rhett's hiding from me. Rhett had only just gotten here this September, and I had never seen him talk to Noah other than on his first day. They couldn't know each other that well. That is, unless they had known each other before Rhett moved here. His Aunt's lived here for years, so it's possible.
One things for sure, judging from both Noah's cocky, almost gloating attitude and Rhett's closed off angry behavior, I can no longer deny that somethings going on between the two. Something Rhett doesn't want me to know about.
***********************
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Have a fantastic day!