Page 47 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

“I don’t want to go with David,” I reply. “He’s a bit of a creep.”

“Are you serious?” She gasps with a fair amount of indignation. “David is hawt! If I were a little bolder, I would have jumped him already. Sometimes I wish I could be more like you guys. Just with the way you dress and the way you approach guys—I mean, it’s no wonder both of you get so many boys, but I’m just not like that.”

Lana rolls her eyes and I try not to throw up in my mouth. Her prissy, holier than thou attitude really grinds me sometimes. And on top of that, she’s lying. She doesn’t want to jump David. She’s trying to convince me to go out with David because she knows what happened on Saturday and she wants me to stay away from Dylan.

“So, have you made out with him yet?” Charlotte asks.

I think carefully before I respond because Cat is right. If a rumor is spreading like wildfire at school, Charlotte is probably the one who started it. It doesn’t matter what my answer is, she’ll embellish the story when she relays it to everyone else. I wouldn’t be surprised if it surfaced tomorrow that I gave David a blow job in the school parking lot.

“No, Charlotte, I have not.”

Lana gives me the side-eye when she picks up on my prickly tone, then focuses on the road again. “Who are you going with, Char?”

“No one.” Charlotte lets out a deflated sigh before looking at me with nervous hopefulness. “But I was thinking maybe you could drop a few hints to Dylan...let him know that I’m available...and looking for a date.”

I knew it! I push back the urge to choke her and decide to clap back with some cold, hard facts because why should I be the only one floating all by myself on this boat of rejection? “Dylan is non-responsive to hints. Dylan would be non-responsive to a girl outright telling him she’s into him.”

“Maybe he’s just like that to you because of...how you are. Maybe he’d be more responsive to...someone like me, you know, someone a little more wholesome.”

She shrugs as if she’s unaware that she just implied that I’m a whore. Dammit! I should’ve choked her. Upon reevaluation, that was the better option. Now, if this were another guy, I would seduce him just to prove a point and then rub it in her smug face. But I can’t do that with Dylan because he’s...un-seducible,andshe is one thousand percent right about him. Wholesome is exactly what he wants. It’s what he keeps telling me, but my thick head is stopping that message from penetrating through to my brain.

“What if I just asked him out?” Charlotte muses. “I mean, we’re not living in the sixties. Girls can ask guys out.”

“Go for it,” Lana giggles. “I would love to see how that plays out.”

I want to laugh, but my amusement dies almost instantly. I don’t know how it happens, but the second we enter the school gates; my heart starts racing. My panic attacks are like muscle memory now because just the association of being at school makes my anxiety levels rise. Lana parks the car and I’m the first one out because I need fresh air. It gets worse as we approach the stairs. They’re talking. I can hear them, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. It’s muffled, a distorted sound that makes no sense to my hazy brain because all I can hear is that robotic message playing in my head.The subscriber you have dialed is not available. Please try again later.

“...going to wear, Isa?”

And it plays again.The subscriber you have dialed is not available. Please try again later.Over and over, I hear it. I feel something on my arm.

“Are you okay?” The hand tightens on my wrist, bringing me back to the current conversation. It takes a few seconds for my vision to focus, and then long braids come into view. Concerned blue eyes are staring at me. “Isa, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just daydreaming.”

“Probably about David.” Charlotte offers. “We asked you what you’re going to wear to the party on Friday.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” I say, sounding more abrupt than I mean to. “Listen, I just need to fix my makeup. I’ll catch up with you guys in class.”

“Okay.” Lana nods and carries on talking to Charlotte about potential costumes for Friday’s party.

I walk up the stairs as steadily as I can, but the second I get into the building, the pace of my feet automatically increases. I race to the other side, seeking solace and silence. Walking straight into one stall, I shut the door and drop onto the closed toilet bowl. I double over, dropping my head between my knees as I inhale deep, steadying breaths until my heart rate decelerates. Slowly, my anxiety levels come down and the tension leaves my shoulders.

Hmm...not too bad today. No crying. No convulsing. Not bad. Maybe there’s hope for me yet and this will get easier as time goes on. After a deep breath, I walk out of the stall to the mirror. Starting with my hair, I twist a few locks around my fingers to reinstate the curls. I’ve left it down today and my curls need a bit of water and scrunching to give them some bounce. Makeup comes next. I never know if I’ll end up in tears, so I always apply my eye-makeup at school. I rummage through my little vanity bag, taking out what I need. Concealer to cover up a few blemishes and acne on my cheeks and forehead. Dark liner to accentuate my eyes. Mascara goes on afterward. Deep brown on my lips and this shade makes them look fuller. I’m still applying gloss when Dylan walks in.

My eyes meet his in the mirror and my focus flicks between him and my mouth as I add the final touches. When I’m done, I toss the gloss back in the bag, then check my cell phone. “Geez, I’m only two minutes late.”

“Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

This is a classic example of a butterfly-inducing moment. One by one, I swat them to death in my belly because the little fuckers raise my expectations, which then inevitably leads to disappointment. “As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”

I pucker my lips, then smack them together to get an even distribution of the gloss. Instead of leaving to wait for me outside, he just stands there and watches me.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, meeting his eyes in the mirror again.

“No.” He shrugs. “You, uh, you look really pretty today.”

Keeping my eyes on him, I use the tip of my baby finger to clean the small smudge at the corner of my lower lip. “You cupcaking again?”

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