After The BreakUp

Chapter Eight

"The first one kind of worked, but not in the way you might expect." She shrugs and explains, "It's almost like a bee buzzing you repeatedly."

I tell her, "That sounds dreadful," and she chuckles. I realize that she probably thinks I'm just as odd as she does. It's somehow reassuring that we don't know each other.

She looks in awe at my clothing. "Are you sure you're wearing that?"

My hand flits across the material. Even though I don't have that many dresses, this one is my nicest and favorite. "What's wrong with my outfit?" I asked. I inquire while trying to mask my outrage.

The maroon fabric is soft but durable; it is the same fabric used to make business suits. The sleeves are three-quarter length, ending just under my elbows, and the collar extends up to my neck.

She responds, "Nothing. It's just so long."

"It's just below my knee," I say. She may or may not be able to tell that I'm upset, but for some reason, I don't want her to be aware of this.

"It's lovely. Simply said, I feel that it's a bit too formal for a party. Could you borrow something from me?" she sincerely asks. The thought of attempting to fit into one of her tiny outfits makes me squirm.

"Steph, thank you. But I don't mind wearing it," I add as I turn on my curling iron.

I insert two bobby pins, one on each side, later, after my hair is completely curled and lying down my back, to keep it out of my face.

"Would you like to utilize any of my makeup?" I take another glance in the mirror when Steph asks.

I always feel like my eyes are a touch too big for my face, but I like to wear very little makeup—usually just some mascara and lip balm.

"Perhaps some eyeliner?" Still unsure, I say.

She gives me three pencils—one each in purple, black, and brown—while grinning. In my fingers, I roll them around before choosing between the black and the brown.

She continues, "The purple will look fantastic with your eyes," and I grin while shaking my head. She quips, "Your eyes are so special; want to trade?"

Steph has gorgeous green eyes, so why would she even make light of the idea of trading with me? Steph smiles proudly as I use the black pencil to create the finest line imaginable around both eyes.

She grabs her purse as her phone buzzes. "Nate is here," she declares. She looks at my flat, white Toms while I smooth my dress and grab my pocketbook, but she doesn't say anything.

Nate's car's rolled-down windows are blasting loud rock music as he waits outside the structure. I can't help but look around to see who else is looking at me. Keeping my head down, I look up just in time to see Hardin slouching in the driver's seat. He must have been squatting. Ugh.

Nate calls us "Ladies."

As I squeak in behind Steph and find myself seated behind Hardin, he glares at me. I look in the side mirror and see a sneer on his face as he asks, "You do know that we are going to a party, not a church, right, Theresa?"

"Don't call me Theresa, please." I tell him Tessa is better. How did he even learn my name is that? I would prefer not to hear how much Theresa makes me think of my father.

"Of course, Theresa."

I roll my eyes as I slump back against my chair. I don't want to engage in back-and-forth conversation with him; it isn't worth my time.

I try to block out the loud music as we drive by focusing on the view out the window. Nate pulls into a busy street dotted with huge, nearly similar mansions, and parks.

The name of the fraternity is painted in black letters, but I can't make out the words because of the dense vines creeping up the side of the enormous home in front of us. The white house is covered in disorganized toilet paper strings, and the commotion coming from inside reinforces the usual frat house vibe.

How many people will be here given how big it is? I gulp. There are a lot of people dancing on the lawn while holding red drinks in their hands. This is way out of my league.

Hardin replies, "A full house, hurry up," and slams the car door shut behind him as he exits. I see from the backseat as several others give Nate high-fives and shake his hand while oblivious to Hardin. He, Nate, and Steph are the only people I see with as many tattoos, which amazes me. Perhaps I can still make some pals here tonight.

“Coming?” With a smile, Steph opens her door and steps outside.

As I hop out of the car and make sure to straighten my dress once more, I nod, mostly to myself.