The Worst

5. Mackenna

The next day, I don't wake up until noon. Turning on my phone, I see that I have one missed call, and two texts from Marco.

"When do you want to meet up?" he'd texted.

Then he had called me. No message.

Then his last text said, "Text or call me back soon? The reunion starts at 5:00, I'd like to meet up at around 2:30."

I ruffle my hair and sit up, dialing Marco's number. He answers on the second ring.

"Hey, thank god you called. I thought you were bailing on me." He says frantically. I found it sort of... cute.

"Nope. So, two-thirty, you said? That works for me." I padded down the stairs, heading to the kitchen. I know when I walk in that Chloe isn't here. There are no Special K granola bar wrappers in the trash and her green coffee cup isn't sitting in the sink. She must have gone home with the old man she was dancing with last night. I shudder in discust.

"Cool. Let's just meet at the Starbucks on Sunset?" He suggests.

I wince. "Sorry, no can do. I have a deep-rooted and personal hatred for that particular Starbucks for reasons your mind wouldn't be able to comprehend. I often dream about locking everything I hate in the world in that building and bombing the place. I don't know if I can handle being within a five mile radius of it, much less inside the place." I insist, taking a bite of my banana.

"Ah, I see." He says. I hear the humor in his voice. "So I'll see you there at two-thirty?" I laugh.

"Where else in the world would I rather be at exactly two thirty this afternoon? Paris? Rome? Nope, the Starbucks on Sunset Blvd. is where I want to be."

"Great. So we'll meet there at two-thirty, we'll get to know more about each other, then we'll both go to our houses to get dressed at around three-thirty, and I'll pick you up at four-thirty. Sound good?" He asks. Wow, he's really thought this through.

"Umm, yeah, I think I got it." I say, swallowing a mouthful of yogurt. "Oh, how am I supposed to dress, by the way?"

"It's semi-formal."

"So... Maybe like a gray, mid-thigh skater dress and white heels?"

"Sure, do you already have one of those dresses?"

"No, but it's not like it'll be hard to find. Also, how tall are you? I wanna know how high my heels should be."

"I'm five-eleven."

"Shoot. I'm five-eight. I can't wear heels. Oh well, I'll comprimise." I hear the front door open. "Listen, I gotta go. I'll text you my address later."

"Alright, see you at two-thirty."

"Okay." I hang up.

Then, in search of who just walked in the door, I make my way to the foyer. Willa's trotting up the stairs when I spot her.

"Willa, hey. Where'd you go?" I question. Then I notice she's holding her dress from the party. She must have not come home at all last night. Not wanting to embarass her, I say, "Nevermind, it's none of my business. Hey, would you maybe wanna go to the mall with me? I have to get this dress for tonight and I hate shopping alone."

"Sure, when are you leaving?" She asks. "I have to change..."

That's when I realize she's in the most revealing clothes I've ever seen her wear, a cropped UCLA sweater and skin-tight jeans. My curiosity intensifys as to where she was last night.

"Oh, well I have to get dressed, too. I have to leave in like, ten minutes, though. Can you get dressed that fast?" I ask, not wanting to rush her if she can't handle it.