"I would never wear that to school." Sasha shook her head and smoothed out her jet black hair, big eyes blinking at me disbelievingly from behind her thick rimmed glasses. Her tone was thick and judgmental as she continued. "It's so revealing."

I frowned; there was nothing wrong with the outfit I had picked out. Bailey and Sasha had asked me what I wanted to wear at graduation, so I picked out a nice deep purple dress that had short sleeves, a scoop neck, and ended above the knee. This was the same dress my mom gave to me last year from London, when she went on her book tour. I admired this dress; it fit perfectly, and made me feel elegant with its simplicity. But now, as Sasha looked at it under her scrutinizing gaze and made a rude remark, I frowned at the dress in my hands.

"You think so?" I questioned, my previous confidence in my thoughts wavering the tiniest bit.

She pushed her glasses up her nose and shrugged before setting her attention back on the book in her hands. "I'd wear something a little more conservative."

Bailey looked up at me, pushing a red curl behind her ear as she did so. "It's not too bad, maybe just wear leggings with it..."

I reminded myself these two girls were just more conservative that I, and tended to be a bit judgmental when it came to my clothing and lifestyle. My mom was a writer, one that was constantly doing book signings and writing stories; she was often up at late hours, crouched over her desk in her study, with the tapestries hanging on the wall and dim artificial light illuminating the desk. She left me alone a lot and trusted me with Luke, my younger brother.

Sasha's upbringing was a little different. Her mother was a lawyer and her father was a doctor, both incredibly successful. Sasha was an only child growing up in a big house by the park, but it's not like she ever gets a minute to actually go to the park. No, she spends all of her time either studying or practicing one of the various instruments her parents insist she master. Her parents brought her up with their own stringent rules and regulations, which molded her into having similar morals.

And those morals were very, very strict.

"We should go to the mall this weekend," Bailey muses after I put my dress back into my closet, away from their judgmental eyes.

Sasha murmurs, "I think so too. I need a new blazer for my interview with Princeton."

I sit back on my bed and glance at Sasha, who never took her eyes off the book in front of her. Then I turned my attention to Bailey and smiled at her, thinking of the upcoming winter break and how her boyfriend, Matt, would be coming home from college. Bailey and Matt dated all through high school, save for Matt's freshman year when we were still in Junior High. He went away to Loyola in the beginning of the year, but him and Bailey have been doing the distance thing. Lucky for her, Matt was so loyal that he would never even consider being unfaithful to her.

"So, B," I begin as my thoughts trail to Matt. "Are you excited to see Matt when he comes home?"

She smiles widely, unlike her normal timid smiles. Excitement lit up her eyes as she explained, "I can't wait! We've been skyping every night the past month. I just want to see him in person, and not out of a stupid computer screen."

"What day does he come home?" I ask, a small smile on my own lips when I see her mood change to pure excitement.

If it was possible, she grins wider as she announces, "Monday of next week."

"Have you guys..." I begin, knowing the subject of sex was very taboo in their eyes, but wanted to know anyway. "You know..."

Sasha looked over the rim of her glasses, first at me, and then settled her calculating gaze on Bailey. Bailey blushed but shook her head, her wild red curls bouncing from the movement. "No, not yet. I'm waiting for the right moment."

"It's been four years though, Bailey. I think it's safe to say you love him and he loves you. If you're nervous, don't be." I offer my slice of advice.

I didn't dare to tell them about me and Thomas' date last night- if you can call it a date, that is- because I do not want them to know I've already given myself up to Thomas. We've only been dating a few weeks, but I like him a lot, and it just happened.  He makes me feel special; like I'm actually important, instead of some invisible nerd in high school. But these reasons aren't considered valid to Sasha and Bailey, so when I got back home after last night, I didn't tell them.

Instead, I took a vow of silence about what happened, deciding that I would only tell Stephanie. Steph is my best friend who was in Matt's year, so she graduated at the end of last year and went off to Drexel. I was thankful she stayed so close by, considering sometimes Bailey and Sasha's judgement and stringent rules became too overwhelming often. Sometimes, I just needed my crazy, carefree best friend instead. 

Bailey's cheeks are stained crimson at our conversation, and Sasha is overseeing the exchange, no doubt picking it apart in that genius brain of hers. Footsteps running up the stairs two at a time cut off the continuation of the conversation, and as expected, Luke swings the door open and sticks his head in. His blonde hair was sticking in every which direction and his blue gaze met mine before he steps in.

"Hey Lauren," Luke greets happily, and his expression noticeably dims when he takes note of Bailey and Sasha sitting on my bed. "Hey, guys," He mutters as an after thought. 

"What's up, Luke?" I ask, a little too quickly, because I already know what he's going to say.

He glances at me and tries not to smile as he announces, "Dinner will be ready soon, Lauren. I think you should come down to set the table for mom." 

I try not to let my expression break out into a relieved smile when he says these words, the ones that he promised he would say an hour after my friends arrived, because he knew they were too much to handle sometimes. Luke felt the same way about them as I did: for the most part, they were nice girls, but too much time spent with Sasha or Bailey was often intolerable.

We had become friends during last year, my Junior year, when I needed tutoring with my statistics class. Sasha was the one to tutor me, and we more became friends out of logic than actual interest in one another. We were both very serious about our schoolwork, didn't party on the weekends, and Stephanie was leaving for college the next year. It just made sense.

Bailey and Sasha respectfully get up, ready to leave so I could have dinner. As they walk out of my bedroom and past Luke I slowly get up from my bed. They trail down the stairs and I smile at my brother, a silent thanks for relieving me of Sasha's harshly judgmental attitude. He smirks back, holding out his fist to me to punch with my own. Which of course, I do.

"Is mom home?" I question in a quiet voice, following my friends down the stairs from a safe distance away.

Luke grins mischievously. "Nope."

He goes into the kitchen while I walk the opposite direction, towards the front door. I say goodbye to my friends and follow my brother back into the kitchen, feeling more hungry than previously.

"Do you want to go out and get food?" I ask, fully aware that, like most nights my mom wasn't home, I was in charge of sorting out dinner. 

"What about if we get take out?" Luke suggests instead. "The Eagles game is on tonight."

I nod. "I have a deep craving for hoagies."

My brothers eyes twinkle, as if I suggested heaven. "You know what would be amazing? Hoagies and fries from Angelo's."

Agreeing instantly, I collected Luke's order and prepared myself to go. It was carry-out only, and a price I was willing to pay for the delicious Angelo's buns, thinly sliced cheese, and heavenly fries. I caught my reflection in the mirror beside the front door and quickly put my long blonde hair into a ponytail, then tugged a light grey sweatshirt on. Good enough. With my wallet and car keys, I took my Jeep Liberty, Betsy, further into center city for my precious dinner.

I somehow found a decent parking spot out front of Angelo's, and I was thankful for that: the air was beginning to turn uncomfortably frigid in preparation for the thick of the winter. Hurrying in the small hoagie shop, I placed the order for two long hoagies and their famous crab fries, all while eyeing the food behind the counter.

"That'll be $14.20," The tall boy behind the counter said in a bored voice. "Your order will be ready in fifteen minutes."

The impatient person I am, my heart fell slightly at the words fifteen minutes. However, as I'm leaning against the wall beside the door impatiently, I glance out the window to see the music shop next door. A rustic looking sign hung above the store, with faded letters spelling Vintage Records right above the painted blue door.

I pushed the door to Angelo's open, ignoring the little bell that sounded overhead, and stepped out into the cold. I tucked my face into my sweatshirt as I walked the short distance to the record shop, and hurried inside to take shelter in the substantially warmer store. When I got inside, I lifted my head to look around, and smiled to myself.

An instrumental version of a familiar sounding song played over the speakers as a few patrons wandered through the aisles or examined rows of vinyls. Posters hung on the wall, some dated and crumpling and fading and old, but all with an abundant amount of character. The shop smelled of burning incense, which were sitting in the mouth of a wooden elephant on the cashiers counter. 

I shuffle toward a row and begin sifting through the vinyls in a section labeled CLASSIC ROCK. I thumbed through the records, most so old that I only knew the names of because of my mom, until I reached the end of the dusty basket they resided in. I lifted my head and saw a staircase across the room with a Jimi Hendrix poster by the bottom of the steps and began walking over. 

The steps were wooden and painted with layers of stickers, ranging from bands to brands. As I wound up the narrow staircase, the familiar instrumental song slipped away and Bob Dylan began humming softly from the speakers instead. The smell of incense faded greatly as I reach the top of the staircase and step into the room. 

I scanned the room and saw only two other people up here, both invested in different stacks of records and CDs. I drift toward the middle of the rows and begin sifting through the records again, smiling to myself at the familiar names. In the middle of the pile, there was a simple Bob Marley record that made my smile widen. I pulled this one out specifically and turned it over to examine the songs.

"I hid that one there so nobody would find it," A deep voice interjects my thoughts. "It's a good album."

Surprised, I lower the record and see a familiar face watching me with interest from the other side of the aisle, behind a pile of records himself. The voice belonged to none other than Nathan Rhodes, the bad boy in our school that nobody dared to mess with. There were countless rumors circulating around Nathan Rhodes; he went to jail, he sells drugs, he has a gun, he's in a gang. The list goes on and on, only seeming to grow when he passed in the halls.

I've seen him around school before, but I'm still struck by his eyes. Despite their blue-grey color, Nathan's eyes are far from gloomy; in fact, they're electric. They watch me as my gaze flickers down to the record, like I've forgotten what I was even looking at before. There's an unmistakable air of confidence radiating around him, like there always was. I guess it just came with the package of being Nathan Rhodes.

"I prefer Exodus," I say, my eyes flickering back up to meet his gaze. "But the Wailing Wailers is still an impressive album."

Although my voice doesn't sound nearly as confident as his, I still catch the corner of Nathan's lips tug into the beginnings of a smile, but his face flattens out before I can be sure he was ever really going to smile at all. I don't think I've ever seen Nathan Rhodes look happy before, unless he was with his friends Asher and Vincent, who were equally as infamous in our school.

Nobody messed with Nathan and his crew, either because of the countless rumors or because of the countless times they've proved some rumors to be true. My gaze travels to his attire- a white tee neck and a leather jacket- and realized that he looked like the poster child of a bad boy. His dark hair was naturally tousled and, even I had to admit, Nathan Rhodes was beyond attractive.

My phone began ringing before he could reply- if he was even going to- and I fumbled to grab it to turn off the obnoxiously loud ring. When I answer it, I recognize the bored monotone used by the kid from Angelo's today. "Your order is ready."

"Thank you." I mumble, and stuff my phone into my pocket.

I put the record back in the middle of the pile and glance up at Nathan once more before I turn, walk down the stairs, and out the blue door of Vintage Records. Just talking to Nathan for a moment made me nervous, which I realized when I noticeably relaxed as I walked back into Angelo's. My mood shifted completely when I grabbed my bag of beloved food and turned back around, ready to brace myself for the cold weather again.