Obliterated Beginnings

• 26 •

EVA

"Wait, whose party is this?"

Today was the long awaited day for the party and it wasn't until Laura's car was pulling into the driveway of a huge, beautiful house that I realised I never asked who was hosting the party. All I knew was that there was a party and I was attending.

"Henri." She wiggled her brows. Her shades were parked high on her head just on top of her hair-do and I couldn't help but admire it.

I had long natural hair, but mine were nowhere as curly as Laura's and I knew that it had to do with her other half. She rarely wore wigs and never made braids. She usually went around with her natural hair and styled it more often than people even went to the salon.

I thought it was really cool.

When her words registered in my head, I blinked. "Henri?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I snapped.

"What difference would it have made?" She snapped back. "What does the host have to do with your going?"

Pausing, I grudgingly admitted to myself that what she was saying was true. The host didn't have anything to do with the party and from what I'd gathered from the last party I'd gone to, you didn't necessarily have the meet the host one-on-one. They might not even know that I was there. I mean, I had not spent long at the party, but that was my point exactly.

"Okay."

She parked the car, then turned to me. "Why are you frowning? You look too hot to be frowning right now." Her eyes fell on the top of my gown—at the button that was supposed to be open, but wasn't—and when her eyes trailed back up to mine, they were narrowed. "Would you just leave it open already?"

"The gown is short already. Why can't I just button it up?"

She rolled her eyes. "Because it makes you look like you're about to choke to death." A pause, then, "Like Mr Utoh."

The laugh that bubbled up my throat and out my mouth couldn't be helped. Mr Utoh was the Vice Principal and I knew exactly what she meant now. He had a bulging belly and his shirts were always too-tight. As if he wasn't looking choked up enough, he would button the shirts to the neck. Everytime he wore button down shirts—which he always did. I often wondered why the man couldn't just buy a few new shirts and spare himself the suffering, but then after a while, came to the conclusion that he probably wasn't suffering since he was no doing anything about it.

"See?" Laura pressed, the beginnings of a smile on her lips. "You wouldn't want to look like that, would you? Plus, I don't want you to die on my watch, so let's free this button."

There was a smile on my face when I said, "Sure." But before I could free the button, she reached across the centre console and did it for me, giving me a playful pat on my cheek.

"Good." She nodded, smiling at her handiwork. "Now let's go."

We got out of the car and Laura threw her hand over my shoulder as we walked. It was a great feeling, knowing that she was there. That was the main reason I agreed to go to parties with her. I knew that no matter what, even if I was in the wrong, Laura would have my back.

She was the type to jump on an argument in public and back me up even though she didn't know the whole thing that went down—then give me a verbal ass beating when we were away from watchful eyes. And maybe even some physical ones too.

"They said they're at the pool around the back of the house." She informed me, tapping away on her phone.

Yes, that was right. Unlike the last party I'd been to, this one was in broad daylight. That was probably why they were having it out back. And I wasn't sure how I felt about that.