The New Girl's Guide to Fitting In

5

When Lorelai said 'party', I thought that maybe she meant something low-key, you know? Something along the lines of a few drinks and maybe even truth-or-dare but, boy, was I mistaken. As I stumbled in my black suede booties, up the driveway, I could feel my organs and bones vibrate with the music; my nose assaulted with the scent of fresh vomit and alcohol while I passed numerous couples, making out, on the lawn. Oh no. This was most definitely not a small party. The house was full of scantily clad teenagers, booze, and a handful of other illegal activities that would make my mother faint and I, her ever innocent daughter, was willingly treading into this den of wolves.

Lorelai had practically attacked me with her makeup bag and hair accessories, after ripping my closet apart to look for a 'suitable' outfit. The task took her nearly five minutes before she hit the back on the small space and pulled out her own personal backup outfit. I didn't even know what that was until her hand retracted from the bag, carrying a pair of distressed high-waisted shorts; her eyes flitted between the piece of clothing and me before a devilish smirk spread across her face.

"Here" she had said, tossing the shorts in my direction, "You can wear this. We look about the same size and it will even go with those booties that I saw buried in your shoe box of a closet.

And, with that, I had been shoved into the bathroom, forced to change, before she went to work on my hair and face. Pulling the mascara through my eyelashes and drawing small wings with the liner, she smiled in contentment.

Thanks to my new friend, I looked almost like another person, as cliché as that may sound...it was true. Somehow, someway...she had tamed my hair, curling the locks slightly before spraying it with some sort of texture foam, messing it up in the most glamourous way. Lorelai had been minimal on the makeup, saying that my skin was perfect, and my freckles were stunning; not the word that I would use, but she was knowledgeable in beauty and I...well...I wasn't, so I allowed her to do what she wished. My brows were now filled and shaped, working with the shimmer near my tear ducts to help my eyes pop. Opting for the nude lipstick and some light mauve blush, she pulled the look together. My face was now living its best life, as were my curves in the tight shorts and beige bralette but, despite Lorelai's protests, I had demanded something to cover my body up a bit and she had grudgingly passed me my worn out maroon cardigan. "It has to match", she said, rolling her eyes as she pulled me out of my dorm and towards to party.

A party that I was now one-hundred percent at, immersed in between gyrating bodies and horny teenage boys as Lorelai pulled me through the crowd, her mouth moving but I couldn't make out what she was saying over all the noise. Nevertheless, I followed her, hoping for a slight reprieve from the smells that had begun to cling to my clothes, clutching to me as if I was their only escape. I really prayed that Lorelai had perfume tucked into her small bag.

She opened a door, ushering me in, before shutting it behind us. The sound of the music dimmed a bit, but the bass still vibrated through the walls, reaching for us.

"Fuck." A voice gritted out, behind me, obviously male. "Sylvia is that you?" Turning my face just enough so I could see whomever it was that was speaking to me, my eyes landed on a boy with thick brown hair and hazel eyes, Fenton Brooks from my statistics class. I had never spoken to him, before, but he seemed nice enough. Surprisingly intelligent for a football player.

"It's Fenton, right?" I asked, only to confirm, that way I didn't make a fool out of myself by assuming and, somehow, getting it all wrong. But the moment his lips pull into a grin, I knew that I was correct in my assumption.

"Yeah! What are you doing here? You don't really seem like the partying type." I matched his grin with my own. He hadn't said it rudely, just stating an observation and he seemed easy to talk to.