Page 50 of The Other Half

I run my hand down the front of my red, velvet dress, feeling the soft fabric on my skin.

“Are you ready to go, darling?” Mom asks me as she gracefully walks down the stairs, pulling her fur wrap around her shoulders.

“Yeah,” I reply. I don’t want to go, but I’m not allowed to stay here by myself anymore. My parents’ trust in me was completely obliterated the night the cops brought me home.

Tonight is the annual Christmas gala at Poplar Valley Country Club. We go every year, and normally I don’t mind it, there’s music and good food, but this year I have no desire to go. But this is one of the only outings we regularly attend as a family, and my mom says it “wouldn’t look good” if we’re not all there together. As if I care how it looks.

“Let’s go,” my dad says sharply, walking towards the door with the keys in his hand.

We all pile into the Volvo and I stare out the window at my neighbors’ Christmas lights. I feel numb, like I’m not really a member of this world anymore, instead I’m just an onlooker watching things happen.

As soon as we walk in, an anxious feeling settles in my gut. I think the last party I went to kind of ruined my already low opinion of them.

Mom and Dad lead me through the crowd as they exchange holiday greetings with many of the other members. Everyone is dressed to the nines and have fake smiles plastered onto their faces. A year ago I would’ve considered this a fun outing, now it feels something like torture.

“Would you like something to drink, dear?” Mom asks.

I don’t know why she even bothers asking, she knows I don’t drink. I always say no.

“They have spiked eggnog, it’s pretty good.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

“Sure.” I shrug, just to get her off my back for a moment. All I want lately is to be left alone. I feel like I’ve always been a decently upbeat person, but now I’m so depressed that I spend as much time as I can sleeping. I’ve started binge eating to avoid my emotions, and the evidence is apparent in the way my clothes fit me a little tighter now.

She hands me a glass and I take a sip of the eggnog. I can still taste the alcohol, but it’s mostly concealed by the sweet and creamy flavor. Maybe I should just get drunk, this is why people drink after all, right? To forget about the shit that’s bothering them. I take a few more sips, and the harsh taste gradually slips away a little more with each one.

“There’s someone here we want you to talk to,” my dad says, leading me through the crowd with my mom in tow.

“Who?”

“A young man named Brett Haverson, you used to go to school with him, you might remember him.”

Yeah, I remember him. He was a total douchebag. “Um, yeah, kinda.”

“He’s planning to go to Angelwood next year, too, and law school after that. He’d be a good person to get to know. He comes from a good family.”

Ew, are they trying to set me up with Brett? I’m the furthest thing from his type, he always went for the popular girls with giant boobs. We walk up to him and his parents. He’s the quintessential frat-bro in the making, with slicked back blonde hair and a pink bowtie. He’s not ugly by any means, but I’m not attracted to him at all.

“Brett,” my dad says, “you remember Oakley.” He pushes me closer to him.

“Good to see you.” He smirks, his eyes dipping down to my chest and back up.

I pull my black cardigan closed to cover my cleavage. “You too,” I reply, not meaning it.

“You two should catch up, darling.” Mom waves between us as she and his mother both head for the bar. His dad and mine are already deep in a conversation about football, so now we’re essentially by ourselves.

“You look good,” Brett says, sipping his beer. “How’s public school treating you?”

This guy has never shown a single bit of interest in me before tonight, in fact when I went to school with him he was sometimes quite rude to me. Not that I’d expect any different, he was only nice to the girls he wanted to sleep with. He and his friends bullied anyone that didn’t fit the stereotypical rich kid description.

I shrug. “It’s not bad. I kind of like it better than St. Francis, actually.”

He chuckles. “I’m sure it’s more interesting. I imagine the hillbillies would be entertaining.” He swirls his drink in his cup.

What an ass. I prefer Poplar Valley High because there are less stuck up dicks like this guy. I fake a smile and shrug again. “No more entertaining than snobby rich kids.”

He grimaces at me before sipping his beer again. “So I hear you applied at Angelwood, too.”

I nod. “My parents want me to go there, but I’ve been considering other options. There are a lot of good state schools here in Tennessee.”

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