Chapter 2

Miranda and I sat in biology class as the presentation dragged on. We had bio last period, so I was free as a bird to drive home and re-straighten my hair. The humidity from the rain outside was beginning to test my anti-frizz lotion. I had to flat iron my hair everyday. Sarah, being spiritual, claimed frizziness was linked to not being completely sure of myself. Whether or not my pumpkin-orange hair had anything do to with my self-image, she was right.
    I had to have some sort of an identity problem. My obsession with Sarah bordered onto mental illness. She was my heroine.
    I pushed her out of my thoughts as I typed my messages out to Miranda, who was waiting for my response. This was the one class we weren't allowed to talk during because the science teacher was a whack who had a "disdain for talking over ingenuous teens".
    Biology was not my forte. I was a future journalist, not a scientist. My father excelled in the sciences, which was where I got my second-natured understanding to the course material. I held onto an 85% average that whole semester.
    My whole dedication to school fell apart once my bipolar got out of control, if I'm being honest. The cheerleading squad no longer lit up my spirit. Choreography for cheer practice was once my passion and was now something I did with my eyes half-lidded. My inner essence was so zombie-like one practice that Miranda, Amber McKay and Britney Chapman pulled me aside and asked me if I was in the middle of planning a school shooting.
    "What the fuck, guys?" I remember exclaiming. Really, in the back of my mind was my concern for Sarah's wedding the coming summer. She didn't choose me as her maid of honour, despite all the time we spent together. In fact, I wasn't even a bridesmaid. She really did have a busy life outside of school, after all. Probably got casted for a horror movie she told no one about. Probably planned an after party none of us at Westwood High knew of.
    Did these thoughts cross my mind? Often. My nature was that of the vulture — always making prey out of whatever I could control. And I wanted control over Sarah's life. I wanted to turn her into a lesbian.
    My mind could not be more irrational. And it didn't take long for me to start acting irrational.

—

FOUR YEARS AGO

Thirteen. The age our virginities slip between our hands on first nights of drinking irresponsibly at summer vacation parties. The days we second thriving in our narcissism as we look for ourselves through others' approval. I didn't know the meaning of personal gain but I sure as hell spent a lot of time discovering what I wanted. And one of those things was to experiment.
It wasn't a decision that hit me overnight. Not even one afternoon whilst drinking tea in the kitchen in my lonesome. It took endless hours of binge watching and scrolling through Internet porn to find out just how I wanted it.
So I remained celibate after my first sexual experience with a male until the end of the summer, promising myself my next experience would be entirely fulfilling.
Lena Davis was on vacation in Beverly Hills. She had to move back in with her mother in Nevada during the middle of the prior school year for unknown reasons. Her father owned property he seldom visited and so he granted her permission to stay in his mansion until school began again. I only knew this from the one conversation I had had with her prior to this one.
We had two conversations in person before deciding it was right to have relations I really had no idea what to expect anything from. It took place at Cassie Bandeau's party upon my second exchange with her. The truth was, I admired Lena Davis. She was in the eleventh grade and had been on the cheerleading squad since the ninth. She was everything I wanted to be in high school, which I was bound to be entering that fall.
She asked me if I was enjoying my night, maintaining direct eye contact the entire time. Her playful, chartreuse green leer sunk into me. I felt as though a ghost. Receptive by lapse of my natural value as a human, I submitted to her elegant control over the environment. Especially her control over me.
"I've been serving drinks up in the bar all night, I'm ready for a break." She declared with a crooked smile. She loved interaction and attention of all kinds. In a way, the party lights flashing around her figure made her look like a model in a photoshoot. I couldn't blame her for being so self-obsessed.
"Oh?" I replied, sipping my drink I had got from the cocktail waitress. "I'm just waiting for..."
"A ride?" She inquired with a pout on her expression-pronounced face. I knew it was a fake gesture, she was a host of some sort after all. I played along.
"For my night to get better." My questioning face broke into a smile. She looked at me with warmth in her grin and began to chuckle. Confused, I stared back at her.
"Come hang out with us." She insisted. She knew I had no better answer than to say yes. I agreed to follow her through the hallway characterized by its amethyst purple wall paint along with several photos of Cassie Bandeau's family. Wall hangings draped down in areas where memorable photos weren't being used to decorate. Because my parents were divorced, family photos that had not been thrown out by my mother were scarce in my home.
Lena led me into a room that was lit with red LED lights. In there was a man on the couch, who had to be my sister's age. Five years older or more. I knew I was too young to attend this party, being just about to enter high school hanging out with people who were deciding which colleges they wanted to go to.
I didn't say anything. I wasn't uncomfortable until I saw her light a joint after sitting herself down on the male's lap.
"Ryan, meet Courtney." She said with a wide smile. "She's going to be a freshman."
I smiled, questioning why her inflection lifted higher towards the end of her sentence beneath the look on my face. She didn't catch on to my silence and observation of her until she looked straight at me and asked me if I was okay. Not asked, demanded.
"Yes." I answered. She took a long puff of her joint and blew it away from my face. "Open your mouth."
I couldn't help myself. I did not care how strange she was acting. I was a lesbian with raging hormones and until you see what it is like for someone to understand that way of living on some level, you never have hope that anyone around you is gay. I had spent months fantasizing of moments like these.
I opened my mouth. She took a hit from the side of her mouth and held the joint gently between her teeth for a second. Taking the jay out of her mouth, she then cupped her hands around my face and blew slowly.
Her breath tasted fresh. The marijuana smoke entered my lungs and I exhaled after holding it in for a few seconds.
"That was hot," Ryan said.
Lena and I giggled. This may have not been a secret party in the back of the house that was flooded with the amount of people to deem it "cool" but it was something more special. It was a gathering.