16: My Girl

        Roundhouse pizzeria is directly across the road from the skate park, so there are no possible ways that I can think of to attempt to sway Fred from waiting for me to purchase a pizza to take back to Byron's and Graham's. After more of his self-righteous (but no conceited, and more as a way to confide in others, of course) talk of his own accomplishments in skateboarding – which there were many of – I then realised that I had already promised to spend the night at Byron's, thankfully being the first one to sleep in the third bedroom.

        Standing on the tiled floor, with Parks and Rec playing on the TV hung in the top corner of the establishment, Fred passes his phone from hand to hand, whistling to himself to take away from the silence between us. I don't want to delude myself into believing that he genuinely sees me as a friend, but more as means to an end where Charlie's anger is concerned, but it was moments like those in the skate park when I was able to bond with someone about something I love. His cap is still on his head backwards, and looking at him in the mirror behind the counter, the bottom covered by unnecessary plants for decoration, and he is looking at the menu above.

        “Hi, how can I help you?” Fisting the twenty dollars in my palm, the material paired with the bite of my nails pushing against my skin, I blink at the worker. Roundhouse pizzeria evening staff always have sleep and boredom clouded over their eyes, and this one is no different. The smile on his face may suggest otherwise, but I have been around Byron long enough in his sleepless state to know exactly what fatigue looks like.

        “Can I have a large pepperoni, and a half and half meat feasts and Hawaiian?”

        “Ten minutes,” after nodding his head, he holds up both of his hands, ten fingers up, as though I don't understand the concept of ten minutes. I watch him prepare the pizzas, and then put them in the large oven, all the while Fred remains silent and broody sitting behind me.

        “What's Byron's house like?” I watch him in the mirror, he doesn't look up at me but looks engrossed in something happening on his phone and the world beyond it. I've never liked conversations with people who aren't fully invested into said conversation.

        I shrug my shoulders, running my hand through my hair, “It's really nice.” And it is, for whilst Byron staged an overly done house tour. This had resulted in being dragged by the arm from room to room, barely able to get a look around long enough to actually form an opinion before being carted off elsewhere. The only distinct thing I remember was not being able to take a look in the general direction of Graham's room, and I wonder what he's hiding in there.

        “Is he planning to have a house warming party anytime soon?”

        “This weekend.”

        “Oh.” His lips purse at this, and he begins typing something on his phone. I don't add that the chances of Fred being able to bring a 'plus one' like he seems to be doing so, are extremely slim. Byron and Graham have already established some kind of rule where they're going to be highly selective with whom they let into their house.

        “One large pepperoni, and one large half and half.” Ten minutes of broken conversation filled with awkward pauses, and now I'm taking two large pizzas into my arms. I half expected Fred to buy something just because we're here, but he doesn't move from his spot and his phone doesn't stray from his hands, either. I smile at the employee, handing over the twenty dollar bill and letting him keep the change as tips.

        “Yo, Yo, Yo!” I turn around to face the front door of the pizzeria, to find Dean Richards waving his hands in the air in a gun sign, a larger than normal grin on his face. Dean never smiles at anything, so this is enough of an indicator that he is on something, which is most likely illegal.

        Fred's phone finally finds itself to his phone, and I wonder if only the appearance of a drug abuser is enough for his phone not to be in his hands for more than seconds at a time. I'm a lot tougher on Fred than I am on Skylar, more because I am constantly reminded of the first time he met, and the derogatory way that he spoke to me before finding out who I was to his best friend. It still doesn't excuse what was said, as I'm sure the same words would have escaped his mouth to any other girl who caught his attention long enough for him to say something stupid. However, I know that Skylar in particular wouldn't dream of saying such a thing.

        “Kasia, my girl! What's up?” I have had minimal contact with Dean over the past year. I'm surprised that his bad excuse for a nickname is still what he insists on calling me. Conversation doesn't occur when Dean is high, so I decide the best possible movement from here onwards is for Freddie and I to leave the pizzeria as soon as possible.

        “Dean,” with the pizza boxes in my hand it's awkward to return the embrace Dean seems so eager to capture me in.

        His sweaty hands take a hold of my face, and he turns it from side to side as though looking for signs that for the months wee haven't spoken, my appearance has changed drastically. Other than a nose ring, I'd say I look pretty much the same. “So good to see you, girl,” his heavy breath attacks my senses, and I'm overcome with the scent of cheap scotch.

        Dean notices the pizza boxes in my hands, and although inebriated, it has never slowed down his senses or numbed down his logical thinking. “You going to see Byron? Damn, that house must be cosy. Tell him I said to hit me up, sometime. No one sees him no more.” The reason for that probably having something to do with the text message he'd received from that bitch of an ex-girlfriend. Dean pats my shoulders like a parent would do to a child, once he's gotten my consent. “You get there safe though, alright. Never know what kind of creeps are lurking around nowadays.”

        Fred looks downright uncomfortable once Dean has left, and we follow soon after. “Are you okay?” I ask him, looking down the street in the direction of Byron and Graham's house. I'm certain that Fred lives in the opposite direction, which I'm kind of thankful for.

        “We should make a thing out of this.” He says.

        I blink. “Should we?” I don't mind it being a one off kind of thing, but I'd rather not have to make a thing out of this. Fred's an alright guy, and so is Dean, but it doesn't mean I'd want to be around them all of the time.

        “Definitely.” He shrugs his shoulders, and I place a foot onto my skateboard. With only one arm, I adjust my bag more comfortably on my back. “I mean, I can find things out about you, and stuff.”

        “Don't you know enough already?”

        “I didn't know if you had anything else to your personality if it didn't involve Charlie, to be honest.”

                ◦ ▲ ◦ ▲ ◦

        “Ouch. Was he purposefully trying to be a bitch about it, or something.” Byron is in the shower, leaving Graham and I to sort out the pizza for the three of us. I would much rather eat right out of the box, but Byron has this really annoying habit of having to eat on a plate, which I'm used to now but it still grates me now and again. Their TV is paused on the beginning of an episode of The Walking Dead which they're planning to marathon tonight. They're already mid season three.

        “Probably,” I grumble, finding myself in a bad mood now because of Fred's inability to understand what a mental filter is. It's a lot worse to consider that he's not the only one who thinks that way, too, but he's the only one with the initiative to say something to me outright. The confrontation with Caggie gets dragged up in my memory, and it's painful to think that she thought that way too.

        “Charlie came back into your life; how am I supposed to compete with him?”

        “Is he right?” I ask worriedly, tearing off pieces of salami, rolling them and then finally putting it into my mouth. Without Fred bringing it to light, I worry that I wouldn't have noticed that maybe I really am responsible for Caggie leaving me. I hate that I've become that girl, the one who leaves their friends once a guy comes onto the scene.

        Graham shrugs his shoulders at this, mulling over the question. To busy himself, no doubt, he takes two beers out of the refrigerator, thinks better of it, then takes out the whole case. The look he gives me lets he know that not on his watch, will I be getting a beer. He probably would have if he weren't living with Byron, who hates the idea of a drop of alcohol even coming in contact with me. After Freya left, I know he hated the idea of drinking, but with a lot of persuasion, he finally came round to the idea that drinking didn't make him a bad person, it wasn't why Freya left him.

        I think I want Graham's opinion more than anyone else's. He's close enough to me to know how I'll react, but still detached to the point where he wouldn't give me some crock-and-bull story like I know Byron will be quick to do, out of of some kind of 'brotherly' act. Graham takes his sweet time thinking of an appropriate answer. I wait patiently, already on my second slice of pizza.

        “Charlie was your everything when you were together,” he says slowly. He's holding eye contact with me, and I can tell he's being as real as he can right now, whilst trying to spare my feelings. “You were so happy, and everyone let you have your moment, because you weren't in the right place after Byron spun off the wheels. He was like, the first person you'd trusted after you'd witnessed Freya and Byron, you know. Caggie got pretty upset, because it was her job to cheer you up and here comes the son of the woman who hates her family. It was like a kick in the gut. He was your first boyfriend, and no one really thought it was going to last until you visited his Dad – and we all kind of knew it was serious.”

        “I didn't skate either.”

        “You didn't even go on a board for a whole year. We could understand you being together. Caggie could tolerate her being on the back burner – I mean, she was at parties with Devin all the time. But the moment you stopped doing the thing you love, we had to step in and do something. Byron, Sebastian and I had a talk with Charlie about it, whether or not he could convince you to start it up again, and when that didn't work we convinced him to end things. Skateboarding is so much more important for you than some passing fancy with a guy like him, you know.”

        “Oh.”

        “It's not a big deal now though, right It's not like you're really gonna get back with that son-of-a-bitch, really. He slept with Amy Vancouver last week.”

        My eyebrows rise at this barrage of facts, and the fact Graham expects me to accept them immediately. My head can't wrap around some of the things I'm being told, and I worry that Graham doesn't have my best interests at heart, in the way that I always thought he had. “He did?” Graham seems to understand that he's now dropped himself into trouble. Graham's countless source of information that even I don't know about is disconcerting at the best of times, and this is no different.

        “It doesn't matter,” I wave him off once his mouth opens in some sad attempt to try and save my feelings, although that should have been done in the first place. “It's not like I'm seriously considering getting back with him.” He sighs, and I feign a laugh, and it's almost as though everything okay. As though he hasn't just told me that my best friend was out partying with Devin for months without telling me. As though my ex boyfriend didn't sleep with the one girl that he knew would get a reaction out of me. As though Fred hasn't made me question all of my actions for the past year.

        But everything is okay, because it's not like I'm seriously considering getting back with Charlie Allen, am I?

                ◦ ▲ ◦ ▲ ◦

        Dear Diary,

        I almost had to pause my Sunday plans because of Caggie Jones and her lack of alcohol control. She sees me at one party and now I'm required to attend every single one with her. Her company isn't as bad as I'd heard it was. She obviously has a lack of experience around females, other than her one friend, and she's never single. I don't want to think badly of her, as she's shown herself useful over the past couple months, but when my plans are compromised because of teenage problems which I could do without, things have to start changing.

        Caggie won't shut up about her friend, Kasia, either, I've noticed. I've been witness to drunken ramblings, but that girl is on a whole other level. Do I care that her brother has hot friends? I would have three months ago, but times have changed. I've made it a point to always seem somewhat interested about the things that go on inside of school, and up until recently I hadn't heard anything worth even a second of my time. Until Kasia fucking skateboarding Andrews got with Charlie Allen. The two are about as opposite as they get, and the reason I know this, of course, is Caggie.

        She turned up on my doorstep last night, drunk, unsurprisingly. I was at a stalemate about what to do in the morning, I couldn't just leave in Derrick's car, because questions would be asked. I had to be at Benny's house at roughly ten am, and I had no idea of how Caggie was when hungover. I couldn't take the risk of her waking up without me there, my Mom and her cronies were in agreement on some stupid thing that had happened years ago.

        So I snuck out in the middle of the night, courtesy of Him having a liking for late night drives. I thought it would have been a hassle getting him to agree, but all I had to do was ask and he said he'd be there in five minutes. Five minutes on his clock was really five minutes, and leaving Caggie on my bed, snoring, I'd left. Things had to stay on schedule, and the quicker this phase ended, the better. Caggie would just be a bump in the road in the grand scheme of things.

                ◦ ▲ ◦ ▲ ◦

        “Prom Tickets! Prom Tickets! Get your Prom Tickets!”

        Skylar grins, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and leading me straight towards the ticket booth. A theme of masquerade, I have already told Skylar that I am not interested in the slightest. The last thing I want to do right now is a sad excuse of a party surrounded by people I don't care about or like. It doesn't matter to him, though, if the smile has anything to say about it.

        “Stop pouting,” he tells me, making me stand in line. For those on Prom committee, namely Amy Vancouver and her limited amount of friends, I'm sure that they are all privy to the event which marks the end of our high school experience. I think they've all watched way too many cheesy high school films, for them to decide on something like masquerade. He pinches my shoulder once I fail to stop myself from looking unimpressed with the line we're standing in right now.

        “This is such a waste of time,” I grumble, not pleased with his sick joke of telling me that he had a pizza cake with him that his Mom had gave him to take to school. I have underestimated Skylar far too much, thinking that his boyish charm and looks made him exempt from the cruel games that boys play. The line is moving far too slow for my liking, and the excited chatter is ringing throughout my ears.

        “Prom is a very important social event, actually,” Amy Vancouver interrupts, in one of the snootiest voices she's ever come out with. Her crop top is almost bursting at the seams from the size of her bust, and I remember the rumour back in Junior Year about her stuffing her bras, and I wouldn't be surprised. Her long nails clasp onto a clipboard, with names that I can't read in her over obnoxious handwriting, all over it. “It marks the end of high school, and is one of the last opportunities the whole year has to share a memory which will last a lifetime.” I would have almost fell for it and believed the load of dribble she'd just told me and Skylar was real if it isn't for the scrap of paper attached to the clipboard, with those exact words printed.

        My Dad had a Prom, and he can't, for the life of him, remember anything more than someone coming as Bonnie and Clyde, and someone spiking the punch. I doubt that me attending Prom will result in anymore memories which will be of any value of me in the immediate future. From the get go, I can predict it'll be a night intended to be of celebration, but won't be anything more than a three hour event dedicated to mourning the loss of Devin Hill, which we should rightfully do, but there comes a time when all of us must start living, too.

        “That's real nice, Amy,” Skylar mutters, and I blink at his roundabout mood. I can't remember ever coming across Skylar when he hadn't been in a really pleasant mood, and I wonder what Amy has done to evoke such a reaction. I know there was that one time when I first got into Skylar's car, and he was embarrassed thinking I'd have the same reaction as Amy. I hate that the people closest to me have all been tainted with her. “How much are tickets?”

        “Fifteen dollars single. Seventeen couple. Couple tickets are only valid if both parties arrive together, this prevents people splitting the cost then not being together. You two can buy a ticket together, but I doubt it'll have much standing, considering both of your interests are elsewhere.”

        “Excuse me?” I don't miss the deliberate look she gives Skylar, and how she is obviously referencing to Charlie on my part. Amy Vancouver is no guru for relationship advice, as I'm sure she's never really been in a real relationship in her entire life, which is highly hypocritical from her, especially. “Why don't you take a step back, and realise that your masquerade theme isn't as hot as you seem to think it is. And you can keep your ridiculously priced tickets, too.”

        Her eyebrow rises, “You'll have to do much better than that to get a rise out of me, darling. In case its escaped your pretty blonde heads, I was Devin's best friend for four years, I know how to play the game you're losing at. You can even ask Charlie, can't you Kasia?” Amy blinks under the weight of her heavy false lashes, and if it isn't for the fact Skylar makes me take a step back, I'm sure I will say something back, or even worse, punch her. I can't be around Amy for longs amount of time, because she has the kind of personality where I want to continuously punch her to make her shut up.

        She smiles widely at something over my shoulder, and only when it sounds like a body is thrown against a locker do I turn the other way to see what all the commotion is about. All of the excitement previously directed towards the hideously decorated prom stand (I mean, purple and orange will never go well together) is now deflected to Office Spencer Ray pinning Dean to the wall whilst other officers go through his locker on the search for something.

        “It's not mine!” He shouts, thrashing his weight around, but it's no match up for the obvious strength of the officer keeping him detained, manoeuvring to attach handcuffs to his wrists. “I swear to fucking God!” Dean continues, and I can imagine his throat is aching him, and tears are now gathering in his eyes. “It's