CHAPTER 5:HORRID VOICE AND BAGGY HODDIES.

MAYA.

"Watch me take it up, then I break it down

I don't play sports, but it's a touchdown

I don't blend in, I-I'm a black sheep

And even then, ha, they still follow me

I rock the race stripes, go, go, and check my closet

Never share the gap, go and check my wallet

I'm a comet, out of this planet

Sitting on the throne, and these haters can't stand it"

Sasha belted out the lyrics to Becky G's 'Play it Again' at the top of her lungs, her voice echoing with unrestrained enthusiasm as the infectious melody flooded the room from my home theatre, the bass thumping vibrantly in the air. Just as I was about to lose myself in the rhythm, Eric groaned in exasperation and abruptly silenced the music with a flick of a switch, plunging the lively atmosphere into an uncomfortable stillness. At that moment, Sasha's shriek pierced through the silence like a banshee's wail.

"Hey! I was listening to that!" she shouted, her frustration evident as her eyes narrowed at Eric.

"Maya, tell him to turn it back on!" she implored her expression a mix of annoyance and desperation.

I paused, feigning deep contemplation. Sure, I could side with Sasha and urge Eric to restore the music, but why should I endure yet another round of her less-than-stellar vocal performance? (The mere thought sent a shiver down my spine.) Absolutely not!

With a playful smirk, I turned to my best friend and quipped, "I thought trying out outfits for tonight's party was your main reason for coming here—rather than showcasing your completely atrocious singing skills?" Her response was swift and classic: she shot me a middle finger while sticking her tongue out, a playful gesture that only made me chuckle more.

“Bitch, please! You know my singing is so flawless that even Beyoncé would feel a pang of jealousy!” I scoffed, rolling my eyes at Sasha’s immature antics.

“Oh really? Do you think Beyoncé is aware of your existence? Or that she would be jealous because you can sing?” As I posed my question, Sasha, with a flash of mischief in her eyes, launched a soft pillow at Eric, who couldn’t help but chuckle. I couldn’t resist grinning widely at the playful exchange.

"Honestly, watching you sing is even more excruciating than your attempts to transform Maya into a refined lady with all that makeup and nonsense,” Eric remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s like trying to teach a pig how to use a fly swatter,” he added, muttering the last part just loud enough for us to hear.

Ouch! That was a low blow.

I have to admit, I see his point on that one. The comment didn’t bother me at all. While I don’t fit the traditional mold of what many might call ‘ladylike,’ I admire Sasha’s tenacity. She is someone who refuses to back down from a challenge, determined to face it head-on, no matter the obstacle.

It’s truly impressive to witness her energy and drive when she’s engaged in something she cares about deeply. However, there’s a downside—schooling simply doesn’t spark that same fire in her. It’s a shame because if she channeled her formidable spirit into her studies, she could achieve remarkable things.

Sasha shot us a sharp glare, her brows furrowing in annoyance. In response, I playfully stuck my tongue out at her, a mischievous grin creeping across my face. Then, I dove headfirst into my closet, tossing aside hangers and rummaging through the colorful assortment of outfits. The thrill of the hunt ignited in me, a reminder of the reason behind our gathering today.

It’s not like I have any real say in this matter, poor me.

Oh, how I adore weekends! Don’t get me wrong; weekdays hold their charm too, even with the endless school assignments and projects weighing me down. I especially cherish the moments spent with my friends during those busy days. But weekends? They’re a whole different level of excitement. This one felt even more exhilarating after the unforgettable events of last night, which still had my heart racing with anticipation.

To celebrate that victory, I envision an exuberant bash—an all-out "party until I drop" extravaganza.

Well, perhaps not "drop dead," but that delightful state of being "too exhausted to lift a finger."

You catch my drift, right?

I burst forth from my closet in triumphant exuberance, clad in a black hoodie that somehow encapsulates all my excitement. It took what felt like a lifetime to sift through the countless garments hanging around me, every piece a potential contender for the celebration.

“So, what do you think?”

Sasha shrieked, her voice reaching a pitch that could rival a banshee. Nearby, I could hear Eric mutter with a resigned sigh, “Here we go again,” and I couldn’t help but smirk, fully aware of the spectacle that was about to unfold.

“Maya Virginia-Elizabeth Jones! What the actual hell?”

Yikes! I could feel the intensity of her frustration sizzling in the air. She was definitely at a level three anger—perhaps even teetering on the edge of something fiercely dramatic, a hint of a murderous glare simmering just beneath the surface. Meanwhile, I sheepishly hid my face behind the hoodie, knowing I was in for it.

And she knows how much I despise my middle name, the drama queen!

“Are you really considering wearing that to the party?” she asked, her hands perched defiantly on her hips, eyes wide with disbelief.

"As a matter of fact, yes, I am, thank you very much for your unsolicited opinion!"

“All your clothes are either white or black, and… this one is a hoodie!” she exclaimed, her voice escalating as if I’d committed a fashion crime. I frowned. What’s wrong with any of those things? I was itching to ask, but I held back, biting my tongue instead.

“You can’t wear this to the party.” Her tone was firm as if she was the authority on my wardrobe choices. You’d think that after a decade of being friends, she would’ve learned to respect my personal style, but no—she seemed blissfully unaware of my fashion sensibilities.

"And why the hell not?" I exclaimed, her eyes widened in dramatic disbelief. She took a deep breath, clearly struggling to find the right words.

"How do I say this nicely?" she began, her voice trembling slightly with tension. "It's, um, it's not..." She hesitated, her gaze darting around as if searching for an escape from the impending confrontation. I leaned in, my eyebrows raised in a playful challenge, silently encouraging her to continue while teasingly threatening to give her more pressure.

"It's...not exactly revealing," Eric chimed in, attempting to lighten the mood. I scoffed loudly, my frustration evident, before flopping down beside him on the bed with an exaggerated sigh.

"You mean it’s not sluty enough?" I teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, come on! There has to be a decent amount of skin showing before we can even think about judging it as ‘sluty" Sasha interjected, rolling her eyes dramatically. "And seriously, who even wears a hoodie to a party, anyway?" She threw up her hands in exasperation, emphasizing her point.

"Me! That's who!" I wanted to scream, the words bubbling up inside me like a boiling pot, but I kept them locked away in my mind. Sasha's furious scowl was a challenge, her narrowed eyes seeming to dare me to make a sound.

"You and I are not the same," I said, gesturing to the way her dress clung to her figure, revealing far more skin than I’d ever be comfortable showing. "You wear those skimpy outfits to parties to catch the attention of guys. Meanwhile, I choose hoodies—baggy and unassuming, meant to annoy them rather than attract them. Can’t you see the difference?" With each word, I saw her glare harden, and she let out an exasperated sigh, the kind that spoke volumes.

But it wasn't just any guy I loved to irritate; there was one in particular who occupied my thoughts—Andrew fucking David. Just the mention of his name in my mind sent a flurry of emotions through me. I knew better than to utter it aloud, though. That would only give him power I refused to concede.

“Yeah, okay. Sure... if showing up at parties dressed like a Russian assassin is what works for you," she remarked, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she scrutinized my outfit. I felt my brow furrow in annoyance.

"It’s cool. I ain’t judging you,” Sasha continued, rolling her eyes dramatically.

“Just know you’re not exactly on track to get, you know, lucky with that look,” she added, muttering under her breath as she casually opened the mini fridge in my room, her fingers brushing against the cold metal.

“I am not trying to get laid, thank you very much!” I retorted, my glare fierce enough to ward off any more comments. She quickly raised both hands in mock surrender, her laughter bubbling up despite the tension.

“It’s cool, girl. You do you,” she said, a smirk playing on her lips as she poured herself a drink, clearly enjoying the playful banter.

I flung a worn pair of sneakers in her direction as she ducked behind Eric, her startled shriek echoing like a banshee’s wail. I let out a dramatic roll of my eyes, thinking how ridiculous she was being.

“So, we’re going to that party after all?” Eric asked, his voice breaking into our moment of chaos. Sasha and I exchanged glances, eyebrows raised, our faces conveying a shared confusion: WTF?

“Hell yeah!” Sasha and I shouted in unison, our excitement bubbling over.

But before we could celebrate, Eric raised both hands in a gesture that screamed he wasn’t finished. “Good, good. But can you please put your hoodie back on now, Maya?”

Sasha shot me a puzzled look, her eyes wide with curiosity. I just shrugged and shook my head, signaling that I had no clue what he was talking about. What was his problem?

"My eyes feel dizzy as they dart between the shimmering waist chain that clings to your hips and that vibrant butterfly tattoo dancing on your skin; it’s a risky place for such adornments," he remarked with a dramatic flourish, waving his invincible fan as if trying to cool the heat of the moment.

I couldn't resist sticking out my tongue playfully, finally grasping the underlying meaning of his words. With a cheeky wiggle of my waist, I earned an exaggerated groan from him as he buried his face in the plush pillows, seeking refuge. Laughter erupted from Sasha, her head thrown back in pure delight, her contagious joy causing me to giggle uncontrollably. In no time, we were all lost in fits of laughter, the kind that envelops you like a warm hug and feels distinctly like home.

Yes, this is my squad, my chosen family.

Sasha and I bicker like pirates, hurling curses and clever insults that are more affectionate than aggressive. While she puffs away like a chimney, I hold my own in the drinking department, often keeping pace with seasoned alcoholics. Then there’s Eric, the saint of our trio—his flawless, pretty-boy face and charm are annoying at times, but honestly, his kindness is irksome in the best way.

Academically, he shines like a star, a constant straight-A student, while I grasp at B's and occasionally snag an A on good days. Sasha? Well, she's her own brand of chaos. She could easily ace her classes if she put in the effort, but as she often declares, "artists don’t need good grades"—her words echo with defiance, not mine.

Though Eric shies away from trouble unlike us, he’s always there to pick up the pieces when our adventures go awry. As you might have guessed, Sasha is the vibrant free spirit in our motley crew, while I lean toward the tomboyish side, and Eric reclines comfortably in the ‘nerdy’ corner.

But don’t underestimate him when it comes to a fight; this dude can unleash a whirlwind of strength, a black-belt karate master who could take down anyone with grace.

I’ll keep this a secret, but in all honesty, these two are my entire world; I can’t imagine the years that would have passed without their laughter and support. Just don't let them know I said that or I’ll never hear the end of it!