Zero.

CHAPTER 11. Bad Reputation.

The excited sounds of children playing outside in the summer heat resounded through Trixie's bedroom window. Despite the cheerful noise, she was in the midst of a crisis. 

It had been years since she went to a house party, and it was the first time she hadn't needed to gatecrash one.

The members of Zero had wasted no time sending her files of the music they were working on, but offered no details on what she should wear tonight; they weren't treating it as the pressing matter Trixie believed it to be. She had planned on wearing something black but decided that morning it was far too hot, needing to rethink the whole thing as she curled her hair in the bathroom mirror.

"Will there be hot dudes?" Trixie sent on the Zero group chat. Trying to decide if she should dress to impress. 

"Implying we're not hot dudes?" Cayson's message pinged in the corner. She scoffed -deciding it didn't deserve a response. 

Trixie sent an angry emoji to Nik, a warning. Nik had stopped communicating after agreeing on a time to pick her up. Her friend's silent treatment would have annoyed her if it weren't for the excitement pulsating with each passing hour. 

The speaker on her dresser was at an ear-splitting level, but Trixie didn't care. There was a rush in her head that was louder as she rifled madly through the clothes in her closet. 

After successfully narrowing down her clothes to a selection of heat-appropriate / daring outfits, Trixie checked her phone for any messages from Stef. She wasn't sure what was deemed over the top. If they were going to a bar or a concert, she knew exactly how she would dress herself. Trixie groaned as she exasperatedly tried to light her cigarette, walking over to her window. She sent another text to Nik, her fingers smashing at the screen, irritated from being ignored from so many sides. 

"7, be ready..."  She'd drag Nik out by her hair if she had to.

Trixie blew smoke out the window and watched as the neighborhood children chased each other, their squeals almost as loud as her music. They ran past her house, running down the hill to the crossing. Trixie could just about make out the corner of Nik's house. A five-minute walk, a two-minute run, a 30-second skateboard ride—enough distance and slope to provide a thrill. Trixie threw her phone and stubbed out her cigarette, assessing the two dresses hanging on the door. 

"Slut...bitch,...whore," the words she had heard since she was barely a teen from the boys and girls from school bounced around in her head, the sneers and laughs as she took her spot center stage to sing,  her need to perform making her an easy target. They had decided she was not the right type of girl. Trixie looked at her latex dresses, her torn cropped tops, the tiny shorts, 

"Fuck'em all." 

Trixie smiled as she thought about the chaos she used to cause. Instead of being shamed, like everyone wanted her to be, she was empowered by their hatred and stupidity, wearing as little as possible in defiance. Let them think whatever they want. 

So, Trixie reached for her low-cut, above-the-knee emerald dress, that she knew clung to her body like a second skin. Trixie checked her phone, to be pleasantly surprised by a thumbs-up emoji from Nik. Confirmation she wasn't going to bail, but Trixie took it for a sign, this dress was perfect. 

Nik's indignation at wearing anything that showed her skin or body was a delightful subtle unwillingness to conform that Trixie loved. Her friend had always been quietly rebellious, you had to really look to see it. Whilst the popular crowd told Trixie she was too much, they told Nik she was not enough.