"Hey, why don't you ask that kid—what was his name again?—if you could stay over?" Liz asked me as she dropped me off at school.
"Which kid?" I asked monotonously.
"What do you mean, 'which kid'? Don't you have friends?"
No. "I have a ton, that's why I'm asking who."
"The one who dyes his hair a different color every day."
Immediately, one particular boy came to mind. "Michael Clifford?"
What I didn't understand is why Liz wanted me to stay at Michael's house. I remember going to Michael's house only once before, back in freshman year for some lame project for algebra 2. (I mean, seriously, what kind of teacher gives projects for algebra 2?) It was really awkward, because Liz didn't approve of Michael's ear piercings and the fact that his chocolate brown hair was not his natural hair color. But once she met Karen, Michael's mom, the two of them instantly clicked. But I never really hung out with Michael after that one project we had three years ago. I don't know why Liz wants me to be with him now.
"Yeah, him. What kind of parents would let their kid do that to their hair, anyway? He looks like a delinquent. I saw he has a tattoo on his arm, too. He has earrings as well, doesn't he?"
My jaw locked, and I felt myself getting upset. Just because someone dyes their hair, has tattoos, or any kind of piercings doesn't mean they're a bad person. I actually really wanted to rant, but I just countered by saying, "I have a lip ring."
Liz clicked her tongue, like she always done when she's irritated or agitated. "And you know very well I grounded you for months for getting that without asking me. You're very lucky I let you keep it, Lucas. I'm just saying that Michael looks like a bad influence."
"He's a good kid."
"He doesn't seem like one."
"Appearances aren't everything," I said—almost harshly. Liz always does that—judges a book by its cover. I remember one time in freshman year when she saw Michael talking to me after school, back when he dyed his hair black with blue across his bangs. She yelled at me, saying that I shouldn't be hanging out with kids like him. It's a good thing his parents changed her mind.
"Just ask him if you can come over today, okay?"
"Why?" I asked.
Liz snarled, and she turned her head towards me. "Just do what I ask!" she yelled at me.
"I will," I said, trying to keep my cool. "I just want to know why."
"Because it's Friday, and you're going to be home alone. I don't want you to be lonely."
What the fuck? I'm always home alone! Why is she doing this?
"Okay," I told her. "I'll ask him in homeroom."
"Good," Liz said. "Have a good day in school. I love you!"
"I know," I said. I slammed the door behind me, and I walked to my first period class like I always did.
I sat in the hallway where I always sat, and I waited for Michael to run in a minute before the tardy bell rang. I always wondered why Michael came so close to being late. He live right across the street to the school; he should be early! Or perhaps he knows that he lives right across the street and spends his mornings goofing around...
"Hello, Lucas I-Have-My-Headphones-On-All-The-Fucking-Time Hemmings," Michael said with a smile on his face.
"Yeah, hi."
"So, I'm having a party tonight, and you, Mr. Hemmings, and you are most certainly invited."
"Yeah, I don't do parties," I replied monotonously.
"Aw, come on!" Michael whined. "You've never come to any of the parties I've thrown! Please, just this one?"
"Can't."
"But it's Friday night! Tell me, Mr. I-Have-My-Headphones-On-All-The-Fucking-Time, what plans could you possibly have on a Friday night?"
I was just about to open my mouth when he cut me off. "That doesn't involve lying in bed and using Netflix," he said seriously.
I didn't answer. I wasn't at all interested in Michael's parties, much less interacting with people, and I really wanted to defy Liz and not go to Michael's house. She makes me really upset, and that brings out this 'teenage rebellion' side out of me. She makes me want to play my music at full volume in the middle of the night because she hates my taste in music. She makes me want to burn all the things she's bought for me to make me "look like a normal human being." She makes me want to repaint my walls so that they aren't a boring white and so that they're in chalkboard paint like I've always wanted them to be. If defying Liz meant not going to Michael's party, then I was going to do what it takes.
"So are you coming or not?" Michael asked. He rested his weight on his left leg, crossing his arms over his chest. His green eyes were burning with determination, staring directly into the deep, dark pit of my terrible soul.
I sighed. "You really want me to go, don't you?"
Michael pursed his lips, and he shrugged. "No, not really."
I recoiled, furrowing my eyebrows in the process. "But—you just—I don't—you just invited—what the hell, man?"
Michael groaned, sitting next to me and slapping me upside the head. "Of course I want you to go, idiot! You're my friend!"
I rolled my eyes, going on my phone to select another song by Death Cab for Cutie. A Lack of Color seemed like a good song to listen to right now.
"So," Michael said, resting his head on the palm of hand. "Are you gonna go"—he clicked his tongue—"or nah?"
I turned towards him and cocked an eyebrow. "I think you just scared me off for the rest of eternity with that sentence," I said seriously. "I can't be seen within a ten-mile radius of you now."
Michael's eyes widened. "No! Please, please, please still be my friend! I'm sorry! I'll never say it again, I promise! I'm sorry, I really am! I just really want you to go! I'll never say that again, just please go to the party!" He wrapped his arms around my neck, holding me close as if I were going to suddenly disappear any second now.
"I'm kidding, idiot," I said, mocking him. I grabbed his arms and took them off my neck and onto the table. "I'll go. But, in all seriousness, never say that again."
Michael completely turned towards me, and he glided his fingers across his lips. "My lips are forever forbidden to say those words," he said.
I sent him a smile, which he gladly returned. Honestly, I felt pretty bad for Michael. He was trying so hard to be my friend, and then I'm going to end up doing something so recklessly stupid, and he's going to hate me forever. I just hope he realizes this soon enough before everything goes wrong.
"Oh, it's going to be so much fun!" Michael said. "There's going to be pizza, movies, candy, even a chocolate fountain! We're gonna play games, and we're gonna tell secrets—because, c'mon, we all need to let out our feminine side—, and we can dance and listen to music!"
"That sounds like fun, Michael," I said honestly.
I've never been to a party before. Not even birthday parties. The only "parties" I've been to were weddings, and I didn't even know who the bride and groom were because they were my parents' co-workers.
"Ooh!" Michael exclaimed, letting me know that he wasn't done talking. "You're gonna meet my boyfriend, too! And you two are going to become best friends for life, leaving me alone, and I'm going to be the boyfriend that my boyfriend doesn't talk to anymore because he's always hanging out with you, and I'm going to hate you, except I won't really hate you because you're one of my closest friends, but even then I'm going to become really overprotective, and I'm going to become the jealous boyfriend thinking that my boyfriend has a thing for you, and he won't have a thing for you because he loves me, and he's going to tell me that he loves me in the most romantic way, and then we're going to have sex and EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY!"
I burst out laughing, doubling over and resting my head on the desk. "Did you even stop and start a new sentence?" I asked.
I didn't even scold him for telling me about the intimate relationship he had with his boyfriend—I really didn't need to know that—, but I was worried about his rambling.
Michael shook his head enthusiastically. "Nope!" he said, popping the 'p'. "But this party is going to be so much fun!" he exclaimed. I laughed to himself, jumping in his seat. "I'm so excited, and I just can't hide it!"
I stared at him. "Did you just—?"
"I did. Problem?" Michael retorted. Well. Someone was sassy.
"Not one," I said with a smile.
"Alright, Lucas I-Have-My-Headphones-On-All-The-Fucking-Time Hemmings," Michael said, throwing his arm around my shoulder, "are you ready for the best party of your life?"
"NOT AT ALL!" I exclaimed with a laugh.
"GOOD!" Michael replied with the same tone. "DID I MENTION THERE'S A CHOCOLATE FOUNTAIN?"
"YOU DID, AND THAT'S THE ONLY REASON I'M GOING."
Michael pouted, playfully slapping my arm. "You're an asshole!" he whined.
I only laughed, knowing that he would forgive me seconds later. Michael was just like that.