Page 23 of Life of the Party

“Hey, you almost done?” Charlie came in and surveyed my work. “Good. We don’t want to be late, and we still have to get you out of those clothes.”

“Out of my…?” I looked down at myself, dressed in dark pants and a turquoise sweater, and puzzled. Charlie giggled.

“For tonight, silly. You’re coming to my house so I can doll you up before we go.”

“Tonight? You’re coming with us?”

“Of course. You think I’d let you go with those idiots by yourself?” Charlie shook her head, her blond curls flipping around her shoulders. “Come on, let’s go.” She stretched her hand out to me.

I took her hand hesitantly, and smiled, but felt disappointment leak into my chest. Had Grey asked Charlie to come? Why had he asked me then? Maybe Grey was into Charlie and just asked me along to make it seem like a group thing. I frowned. There was no competition between Charlie and I. She’d win hands down.

My excitement began to drain, spiralling downward. I followed Charlie through the restaurant into the warm, fragrant air of summer night, but I lacked my previous enthusiasm. Then she smiled at me.

“You know, Zack, the guitar player? We’re together.”

“Really? You are?” I exclaimed suddenly, her words alleviating all my worries. My anticipation surged again, stronger than ever. Grey didn’t want her! I giggled excitedly as we climbed into her car. “I can’t wait. This is going to be great.”

“I know!” Charlie laughed and lit a smoke. She threw her little sedan into reverse and then punched it when we were the right way around. We rolled the windows down and let the night air wash over us, racing through the empty, quiet streets. Slipknot blared through her speakers; the music lost somewhere behind us in the calm night air, the dull thumping bass of her stereo wafting down the streets.

This was it. This was living. This was exactly where I wanted to be.

Charlie lived in a quiet, dark part of town, where the buildings were older, needing paint in a bad way. The trailer park where Riley lived was not far from us, and I glanced sadly in that direction.

“Come on, Mackenzie!” Charlie smiled and raced up a set of wooden stairs, grey with age. They squeaked and groaned in protest. I turned from my sudden melancholy and followed her, taking the stairs more gingerly than she had, not trusting them with my weight. She fought with the saggy doorknob and flicked a light on once inside.

I stepped into the entryway behind her and surveyed the little house.

It was older, apparent in the gold plastic trimmings and light fixtures, the odd cream-coloured light-switch plates, the threadbare carpeting and cracked linoleum. She managed to make it cozy and welcoming—the walls repainted a warm green, candles covering nearly every available surface, blankets and pillows adorning the older, second-hand furniture.

I liked it immediately.

Charlie swept in, throwing her bag on the kitchen counter, her coat on the chair in the living room, flicking on lights as she went. I followed her into her small bedroom, sitting on her unmade bed as she rushed around, opening dresser drawers and rummaging through the closet.

“Do you live here by yourself?” I wondered, sitting cross-legged on the bed, getting out my supplies so I could roll us a joint.

“No, I have a roommate. Katrina. She’s got the bedroom at the end of the hall.” Charlie made a face, throwing some clothes on the bed beside me.

“You don’t seem pleased.” I noticed.

“Kat’s kind of a pain in the ass. I’m thinking of kicking her out.”

“Really? Why?”

Charlie stepped over to the CD player and pressed play. The room was instantly flooded with 311, loud. She smiled and came to sit next to me. “Just roommate stuff.”

“I like your house.” I licked the joint and handed it to her.

“Thanks.” Charlie lit the joint, puffing away until the end was smoking. She sucked in and held her breath, passing it back to me. “Okay, let’s get to work.”

We changed in her room—she into a tight, pink, sleeveless dress, and I into a pair of silvery-studded blue jeans and a tiny, silver halter-top. I took a glance in her full-length mirror, impressed. The silver top was a little low. It showed some good cleavage, hinting nicely at my breasts beneath, something I wasn’t used to. The rest of the shirt flowed smoothly down my tight abdomen, barely meeting the jeans that rested snugly on my hips.

“Hot,” Charlie decided. I handed her the joint, and she sat me down on the bed, pulling over a large makeup kit and starting on my face.

“No, you’re hot,” I argued. She was, she could’ve been a runway model, her dress fit her so perfectly. Charlie shrugged and smiled.

“Just wait until I’m done with you.” She promised.

I shook my head. We had less than half an hour. Not near enough time for a miracle.

---