I gave him Donna's number, which he called from his own phone. That was part of the plan, of course, so they would have each other's numbers. Then he asked why I, a 14-year-old girl too young to drive, was out by myself driving a car in this part of the city.
The question hung in the air as I felt Jenny's eyes raking over me. Her gaze lingered on my outfit, taking in every detail. I could almost hear her thoughts as she cataloged each item: designer jeans clinging to my curves, a sheer blouse that left little to the imagination, and heels that added just enough height for my arms to drape comfortably around Eric's neck. My face felt heavy with makeup, and the excessive jewelry clinked softly as I shifted. It was more of an evening look, completely out of place for a Saturday morning picnic.