Mom claims to be feeling generous in giving my phone earlier than she wanted to. Since it's been two weeks since she took it, I don't feel like asking how long she originally planned to keep it.
"By the way," she adds, pouring her Friday morning coffee. "There's a launch party we're all attending next month. You'll need a dress before then."
My hands take the time to be familiarized with the phone. "Why can't I wear one I have?"
"Because all your dresses make you look like an eight-year-old having a tea party with teddy bears. This party is sophisticated; therefore, you need a sophisticated dress." She adds the milk and sugar in her coffee.
"I'd rather wear a suit." Lately, I've been obsessed with various models rocking in them. And the gorgeous hairstyles. Lemme just say, I would look delicious with a French twist and grey suit. Maybe some stilettos, too.
"You can wear a suit whenever you want," Mom muses. "But not at this function."
It's a bit weird to see her act like a normal mom. Maybe one of her friends told her to chill out with parenting me?
If that's the case, I want to meet which one had the balls to do it.
A few minutes of her talking about the party -- when and where it's taking place, what to expect, etc. -- and I'm rewarded with going up to my room and playing with my phone again. I catch up with posts from mutual friends and gifs someone sent out on Twitter.
Jeremiah's been silent in text as well as in person. He hasn't talked to me since he lashed out at lunch.
Aspen gave me details for the day trip, including pay me back for the gas. I tell her she doesn't have to do that but thanks for her generosity. I think about ending the text with a heart, but decide against it.
Ikra sent several texts, ranging from apologizing for Jeremiah's behavior to asking me if I can still drive her out to the tattoo appointment. Of course I still can, unless Mom's next move to punishing me involves taking the keys.
Soon, she won't be able to punish me. Well she can, but I'll be 4,600 miles out of reach. Which means I have to crack down on making that happen.
A couple hours later, Ms. Gumin welcomes me in the college center, after confirming my class pass to be legit. She doesn't mention last time, but as soon as I'm set up on a computer, she makes it clear to use it for 'future-planning only'.
"If you need assistance, I'm always here," she says.
"Great. Thanks."
Even while she's at the opposite side of the room, I can feel her eyes boring at the back of my skull.
I check with my college applications for any updates. Seeing nothing has changed, I go on a couple scholarship sites, including Myscholly.com. That site has a fuckload of scholarships for basically everything imaginable. Hell, I can probably find a scholarship for people who like to wear weird socks.
My clock and pinwheel mismatch counts for sure.
By the time I walk out of the center, I manage to complete entries for two separate scholarships. Both of them will take months to figure out which student gets the money, which makes me anxious. Knowing myself, I'll forget about them until August and then find out I was a winner but was passed over because I didn't claim them in time.
I manage to finish Fangirl during second period and start it back over next period. Shadler's gotten calmer on the class for the missing assignments; almost all of us turned in the summaries. Now we have to focus on the end-of-semester test we're doing next Monday.
Josh's been doing a shit job of acting like he wasn't sabotaging the teacher. By the end of class, I've tally-marked the total of twenty-three times he smirked at whatever Shadler said.
Smirks are no longer attractive.
Lunch rolls around, and I build myself a little pyramid with several bags of chips from the vending machine. The second the 'food pyramid' stops being hilarious, I take the top bag and open it.
It's not until I start into my second bag when my eyes catch Ikra and Jeremiah walking towards the table. She's grasping him by the arm, and both look uncomfortable in different sides of 'I can't believe I'm going through with this'.
I can already feel the awkwardness coming on.
Ikra puts her hand on Jeremiah's back and gently pushes him forward. "Come on," she coaxes. "We got eight minutes left and I have shit to tell you guys."
"I'm more interested in what you have--" My friend holds up a finger at me. Annoyed, I shut up.
Sitting down, Jeremiah ruffles his green hair, keeping his focus on the table. He opens his mouth and starts talking. For the first time, he's so quiet I have to lean over to hear him better.
"I... yelled at you for something you didn't have control over. I know your mom's a piece of shit--"
"Jeremiah, what the hell is that for?" Ikra interjects.
I hold up a hand. "He's pretty spot on."
"Still."
He continues, "--but that doesn't excuse what I did. So, I'm sorry."
I wait until I'm sure he's not saying anything else. "Cool. Ikra, what'd you wanna show us?"
"Whoa." She puts up a hand. "That's all you're gonna say to an apology? 'Cool'?"
I shrug. "It's not any better than 'that's okay' or 'that's fine'."
"What about 'I accept'?"
Polishing off the second bag, I trade it for the next one. "Fine. I accept. Happy?"
Exasperated, Ikra moves on to the next subject. Reaching into her backpack, she pulls out a stack of glossy papers with intricately-detailed art. The papers are displayed on the table.
"See this? And this? And this?" she gushes, pointing at several random pieces. "You see all of this?"
Monotone, Jeremiah answers, "Yeah, we see them."
"Good. Which one should I get inked first?"
"I have never seen you get this excited," he comments.
Ikra interjects with, "You get moving art on you, how is this not exciting?" She shifts the papers around so both Jeremiah and I get a good look at them all. "The appointment's this Sunday, so I need you guys to agree on one picture. We got..."
She checks her phone.
"Four minutes until lunch ends."
"Why do you need our input?" I muffle through Sun Chips. "We're not getting matching tats, are we? I'm broke as hell."
"Yeah," Jeremiah agrees. "What she said."
Ikra's not impressed.
Going with the flow for once, I choose a random piece -- a spotted cat in the center of an LSD-trip design -- and hand her the paper. Really, all the pieces of art are fantastic. Jeremiah even nods in approval when Ikra shows him.
"Great, thanks." Ikra collects the rest of the papers and carefully slides them in the folder she's keeping them in. "Niamh, are you still able to drive me there?"
"Yeah, I told you twice," I say. "Are you good?"
She finally sits down next to me, facing outward. Letting out a deep breath, Ikra admits, "The tattoo's the first thing I can get as an actual adult. I'm nervous as hell."
I place a hand on her shoulder. "You'll be fine," I assure my friend. "This is practice for the other adult things you'll be panicking over."
That doesn't sound close to what I mean.
"Like going to the doctor by yourself. And fighting the insurance company to pay for what they promised you they'll cover," I amend.
Ikra dips her chin to her chest. "Dude, you had the opportunity to crack a sex joke and you missed it." She tsks in disappointment.
"Well, I was gonna wait until I had a good pornstar name for you--"
"Oh, fuck you!"
"Sounds good. Jeremiah, get the camera rolling."
He reaches for his phone. "I'm on it."
Ikra flips me off.
"Hey, at least I didn't miss the next opportunity," I laugh.
"You're a horrible person."
"Thanks. Appreciate your honesty."