The girl next Door

Summer before freshman year of college... "Get your butt over here," my best friend squeals from the window where she's taken up sentinel, "you need to see this!" That's a negative, Ghost Rider. I'll take a hard pass. I have zero interest in spying on a yard full of drunken classmates who are partying it up at my neighbor's house. Reluctantly, I glance up from the toes I'm painting with a pale pink polish. Coney Island Cotton Candy, to be precise. When our gazes lock, Alyssa waves me over. She's practically vibrating with excitement. Kind of like a schnauzer. "Everyone is over there!" "Not true," I mutter, lacquering my baby toe with an impressively steady hand. "We're right here." And that's exactly where I plan to stay. "Yeah, that's kind of the problem." She steeples her hands together before shaking them at me. "Please?" she begs. "Can't we go over there for a little bit? Just a little? That's all I'm asking." That's all she's asking...ha! I'm calling bullshit. Alyssa knows I'd rather chew my arm off than crash one of Beck Hollingsworth's parties. I didn't mention it to her, but Beck shot me a text earlier this afternoon with all the details. If she even suspected an invitation had been issued, she would have dragged my ass across the lawn that separates our properties as soon as the first guest pulled into the drive. No, thank you. It's obvious from all the commotion coming from next door that the entire senior class has shown up to celebrate our newly graduated status. If we didn't live on a quiet cul-de-sac tucked away in a gated subdivision, I'd expect the police to make an unannounced visit and shut down the festivities. Then again, no one wants to mess with Beck's father, Archibald Hollingsworth. He's a high-priced attorney with a fleet of underlings working for him. He's one of those overly tan guys with blindingly white veneers you see on television yapping about if you've been injured, you need to call them-they fight for the little guy! The dude is everywhere. Billboards. Commercials. Newspaper and magazine advertisements. The local police have tangled with Archibald several times over the years because his son is a magnet for trouble. Let's see, there was the time (or five) when he was picked up for underage drinking. When Beck was fifteen years old, he borrowed his parent's brand spanking new Range Rover and did a little off-roading. And the police were involved when he super glued the locks on the high school building doors for senior prank day. Instead of hauling Beck to the station every time he's picked up, they drop him at his front door and don't bother talking to Archibald about it. Beck is on a first-name basis with a number of guys on the force. A few showed up to his graduation party in June. It shouldn't come as a surprise that Beck always figures out a way to circumvent the obstacles standing in his path. His parents. School. The law. It's as irritating as it is impressive. Maybe one of these days, he'll use his powers for good instead of evil. "Come on, Mia!" Alyssa whines, all the while flashing sad puppy-dog eyes at me. Double whammy. My bestie knows I have a difficult time resisting puppy-dog eyes. I wiggle my toes from the bed and grumble, "I can't go anywhere until my nails dry." I'm doing my best to prolong being anywhere near Beckett Hollingsworth. The guy drives me batshit crazy. And that's putting it mildly. "Great! So...five minutes?" She swings away before pressing her face against the screen as her voice turns dreamy. "I bet Colton is already there." Ugh. Colton Montgomery is Beck's right-hand man, so it's not a wager I'm likely to win. Against my better advice, Alyssa has been crushing hard on Colton for more than a year. Not only is he popular, but he's a football player. Heavy emphasis on the player part. If Alyssa were smart, she'd find a nice guy to fall in lust with, but she has tunnel vision when it comes to the blond-haired, blue-eyed heartbreaker. Colton has it all going on. Brains, brawn, and more than likely, a one-way ticket to the NFL after college. The only problem is that he's aware of his own appeal. His ego is as massive as other parts of him. Or so I hear. And not from Alyssa since he refuses to sleep with her. I can't decide if the situation is amusing or sad. The more Colton keeps Alyssa at a firm distance, the more determined she is to have him. Last football season, Alyssa dragged me to every game. Even the away ones. My greatest fear was that Beck would assume my ass was there to support him. His fan club is already legendary without adding me to the ranks. When it comes to the ladies, Beckett makes Colton look like an innocent babe. He goes through girls like most people go through underwear. Speaking of panties, the girls at our high school are always happy-hell, I'd go so far as to say thrilled-to drop theirs for him. It's ridiculous. He's a chronic user and abuser. There should be a warning label slapped across his forehead. Beware. Toxic to the female species. But you know what? That wouldn't stop these bubble-headed chicks from spreading their legs wide for him. I've stopped trying to figure out the appeal. All right, I'm well aware of what the attraction is. As much as I've tried to pretend I'm immune to his charms, I'm not. I just do a damn good job of burying them deep down where they never see the light of day. If I didn't, Beck would annihilate me in a heartbeat, and I have zero desire to end up a casualty on his hit list. Given the choice, I'd rather flip through Netflix and find a movie to watch rather than be dragged over to Beck's bash. Doesn't sitting around in pajamas and stuffing our faces with pizza sound way better than watching a bunch of our classmates get sloppy drunk, engage in way too much PDA, and puke all over the place before alcohol poisoning sets in? I won't bother posing the question to Alyssa. There is no way she'll willingly opt for sitting home instead of stalking her crush. Would you like to guess what Colton will be doing while I wipe the drool from Alyssa's chin? You guessed it. He'll be flirting with every v****a he thinks he has a chance of penetrating. Honestly, it's one of the most masochistic things Alyssa could do. I have no idea why she insists on putting herself through this kind of agony. Apparently, my job as her best friend is to support her decision to inflict untold amounts of mental anguish on to herself. I'd slap her upside the head if I thought it would knock sense into her. My prediction for the evening goes a little something like this-Alyssa will have a few drinks, moon over Colton, before dissolving into a puddle of tears while that manwhore makes out with other girls in front of her face. Then I'll drag her home, and she'll end up knuckle-deep in a gallon of triple-chocolate ice cream. But that's what friends are for, right? Don't worry, I've already made my peace with it. "Fine," I grumble with a scowl, hoping she understands the depth of my reluctance. "But let it be known that I won't be staying for more than an hour. So, you better make good use of your time, girl." She swings around to face me, bouncing on the tips of her toes as she claps her hands together with excitement. "Yay!" As soon as she gets the affirmative, she beelines for my closet, which is half the size of my room. I have the kind of closet most girls my age can only dream about. Shoes, purses, clothes, and jewelry. It's all there and organized. "Cue the montage music while I find something schmexy to wear!" she squeals. "What you have on is fine." I roll my eyes and yell, "It was good enough for me, wasn't it?" From within the depths of my closet comes a snort. For the next ten minutes, I'm treated to an impromptu fashion show. At the rate Alyssa is going, we won't make it to the party any time soon. Take your time, girlfriend. I'm totally good with that.