Nine
Somehow, the next morning, I managed to get up before midday. No idea how, considering my head felt like someone had dropped an anvil on it. Just before sunrise, I quietly slipped out of the house, walking over to where I had parked my car and pulling it back into the driveway.
When I got back, I roamed the hallway feeling like a zombie, all while the ear-splitting shouts of Gordon Ramsay assaulted my ears.
I pressed the noise-canceling headphones tightly against my face.
A pair of tinted sunglasses was perched on the bridge of my nose as I tried to keep my head down to avoid the light streaming down from the skylight.
After grabbing a quick smoothie and narrowly avoiding my parents, I walked up the stairs as fast as I could, which was agonizingly slow.
When I finally made it to the library, I creased the spine of my AP Lit textbook and relaxed the muscles in my neck, dropping my head and smushing my face against the pages.
What the hell happened last night? Flashes of memories forced their way into my mind.
Kendra bailing on the party.
Meredith ditching me for Mason.
Elliot saving me from making a complete fool of myself.
Wait…did I ask him out? Ugh. My head throbbed. I stayed with my head buried in the comforting embrace of the crisp white sheets as the sharp tang of fresh ink wrapped around me until—
“Hey.”
I hit my knee on the underside of the table at the sound of Elliot’s voice.
“Ow.” I grimaced while removing my headphones.
“Well, aren’t you just a picture-perfect image of being hungover? Whatcha listening to?”
“No music. Just quiet,” I mumbled.
“Advil?”
I looked up at Elliot and took the sunglasses off my face. In the center of his palm were two Advil. I wanted to scream at him, but how could I yell at someone who was offering me drugs? I snatched the red pills out of his hand and swallowed them using the last bit of my strawberry smoothie.
“Thanks.”
“Figured you’d need it.” He shrugged. “Anyways, I was thinking about last night and—”
“Nice try, but I don’t actually want to date you. I was just drunk.”
“ Yeah , that’s not what I was going to ask.” He sat in the chair across from me. “I just wanted to know if you were okay.”
“I—uh…why?”
“Clarke, you drunk-dialed me.”
“Eh.” I shrugged. “That’s just a normal Friday.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You asked me to date you.”
“Fake-date,” I corrected.
“Just admit it. You like me.”
“In your dreams.”
“You call me Abercrombie.”
“Pfft. What makes you think I like models? I like ‘em short and bald.”
Elliot let out a hearty laugh. “Okay, Clarke. Whatever you say.”
“You call me Princess,” I accused.
“Because you act like a Princess.”
“Well.” I clicked my tongue. “Maybe I should call you Princess, too.”
“Name one time you’ve seen me wear a dress.”
“That’s sexist.”
“Fine. I expect you to go to the dance wearing a suit and tie.”
“I hate you.”
His laugh reverberated deep within his throat.
“Are you going to keep flirting with me, or are we going to analyze this stupid poem about dying?”
Do not go gentle into that good night by Dylan Thomas. It’s a classically overanalyzed poem, but for a good reason.
“Actually, it’s about resisting death.”
“Don’t care.”
“Which is exactly the problem.” I pursed my lips. “I’m not going to spoon-feed you all the answers. You have to at least try.”
“I’m pretty sure analyzing this poem isn’t going to help me get a job in the real world.”
“And what, you think doodling those little cartoons all over your worksheets will get you a high-paying job in corporate litigation?”
“No, but it’s fun.”
A hot puff slipped past my lips. My eyes narrowed at the sight of the smug grin on Elliot’s face. Realizing there was no point in pushing the subject anymore, I finally relented, and the two of us—mainly me—began to dissect the poem.”
‘Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.’
“Okay, right off the bat, what do you think the main themes in this poem are?”
“Death,” he stated plainly.
“No shit, Sherlock, but what exactly—”
A chime pulled me from my thoughts, the words dying on my tongue.
I slid my phone closer to me. Meredith’s name popped up alongside a message bubble.
I couldn’t stop my eyes rolling to the back of my head.
Fourteen hours since I saw her last, and I was still just as upset.
I let my fingertips graze the edges of the phone while I contemplated reading what she had sent.
Maybe an apology? I tapped the notification.
Meredith and Ryan were starting to sound eerily similar. If one more person called me ‘a big girl,’ I would lose it.
I slammed my phone on the table.
I was so worried about Meredith’s well-being last night, but she didn’t give a single fuck about me.
Should’ve figured that in high school, everyone only really cared about themselves.
My jaw tightened. I shook my head from side to side, trying to propel the thoughts out of my mind.
I just needed to focus on Homecoming and Prom. I rested my head in my hands.
“Uh, Clarke?”
My head shot up. I had completely forgotten he was here.
“What?”
He gnawed at his bottom lip before he spoke again. “Are we gonna finish or…?”
I stared at my reflection while playing with the hem of my dress as I slightly pivoted from one foot to the other and twisted my hips.
I wore a mid-length sky-blue dress with a three-inch slit up the thigh and thin shoulder straps tied together forming a slender bow.
It clung to my body, leaving little room for imagination.
I fluffed my curls over my shoulders. Very Rapunzel chic .
Sliding the straps of my silver heels over my ankles, I pulled the strings up my calf, wrapping them around each other.
Iridescent butterflies that twinkled under direct light were woven into the laces, creating a beautiful cascade of shimmery textures.
Letting out a satisfied hum of approval, I gave one last spin before finally letting myself breathe.
I was ready . My satisfaction turned to envy when I realized that most guys only took half a second to get ready.
Meanwhile, I was over here huffing and puffing and breaking my back just to feel a fleeting moment of approval from some random undetermined boy who probably thought washing his own ass made him gay.
I sighed, my brow furrowing. Clinging to Meredith’s side would be out of the question since she and Mason would probably be joined at the hip.
Maybe that was for the best, anyway. I hadn’t even responded to her text earlier. What would I even say to her tonight?
Lifting the strap of my purse over my shoulder, I made my way down the stairs, grasping the banister with all my might.
Baby steps, Clarke . Nice and slow. I felt like a baby deer learning to walk.
My knees wobbled as a loud whistle rang out.
My dad stood next to the front door; his arm draped around my mom.
Her mouth was covered with her palm, eyes glistening as she stared at me.
“Well, don’t you look like a million bucks.”
“Dad.” I rolled my eyes.
“You look beautiful, sweetie.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
My dad squinted as he watched me traverse the long and winding staircase. “Do you need some help? You look like a baby deer taking its first steps.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing,” I laughed, my shoulders bouncing slightly.
Dad offered his hand and helped me the rest of the way down.
He slowly led me to the couch, where the three of us sat down.
A deep crease formed on my forehead as I watched him wipe his palms against the denim of his blue jeans.
I could see the sweat stains from here. Turning toward my mom, I frowned when I noticed a strained smile plastered on her face.
Oh, boy.
“So, umm…sweetie.” My mom scooted closer to me. “We wanted to talk.”
For the next few minutes, I sat painfully while my parents gave me the ‘safe sex’ speech. My temples throbbed as I listened to them speak.
As soon as they were done, I sprinted to my car, blasting the rowdiest playlist on my phone in an attempt to scrub their words from my brain.
The parking lot was packed by the time I reached the school.
My steady pace slowed to a halt as I neared the entrance, thoughts of inadequacy filling my head.
Had I done enough to win Homecoming Queen?
I sucked in a breath.
The anticipation was killing me, but at the same time, I was grateful for not knowing the outcome yet. Sweat began pooling in places I didn’t even know sweat could pool. I jumped at the sound of voices muttering from behind me.
Pushing myself forward, I stepped inside the school, my eyes widening at the sight.
Beautiful banners and string lights were strewn from the ceiling and draped across doorways.
The lights were dim, but the music was alive.
The thumping of the base pounded against my skull.
I could even spot a few of the posters I had made still pinned to the walls.
In the gym, I was instantly disoriented by the array of colorful strobe lights alternating in different directions.
It seemed like most people had resorted to hanging out in small groups, once again migrating to their respective cliques.
I sauntered through the room, talking to everyone I saw in a last-ditch effort to gain votes.
Suddenly, I was thrust into the crowd of phony personalities and shallow conversations, forcing me to socialize with people I otherwise would avoid.
Cheerleaders, jocks, the outcasts, straight-A know-it-alls.
And I talked to them all. Funny thing though, even though I was surrounded by so many people, I couldn’t spot a single group where I felt like I would really fit in.