Chapter 9- Not Edited

Olive burst through my door at 8:00 p.m. on Saturday night. I was laying on my bed, doing the homework I had failed to do before the falling out with my brother and the whole game fiasco. She only started coming over once he was gone. I never let anyone into the house before two weeks ago. Although she was curious, for my sake she never questioned why that was. Thankfully, my mom was always working so she never was suspicious why I didn't ever invite friends over. I mean, I'd hope she'd be smart enough not to inquire why I don't want people around when there was a good chance my "dad" could beat the crap out of me at any moment.

I never even did what normal teenagers do when their parents are away on business trips. While most would throw lavish parties and have booze up the wazoo, I avoided the house because the memories and dreams were even more haunting when there was no one there. Even though my room was soundproof, and extra feature he put in so no one could hear the screams from the dreams, or the abuse.

Anyway, she was now standing in my room, with her arms on her hips dressed like she had somewhere to be. (Also, to clear up any confusion, when Dustin was gone I never actually called her. I figured I couldn't explain why my brother was so distraught over a measly punch without telling her everything. And I couldn't, I couldn't tell anyone.)

"Andy!" She dragged my name out in exasperation.

"What?" I said, mimicking her attitude. What was her problem today?

"I'm guessing you forgot... You PROMISED me we could go to Bruce's party, and it is Saturday, and you aren't even dressed for it! Good thing I came over an hour early to come get you. I've known you long enough to know that would happen." I groaned and tucked my head into my pillow. My plan was to pretend to pass out and ignore her until she gave up... But it didn't work.

Within a matter of seconds, she was pulling me off my bed and I, not so gracefully, came crashing to the floor. For being tiny she was strong. I had height and weight on her... Most girls are embarrassed about their weight, but I am proud to say that I am 5'10 and weigh about 180 pounds. Shocked? Yea, I know, so was like three-quarters of the guys who thought it'd be fun to compare. Funny thing is, I weigh more than most of the team, something they are ashamed to admit.

"Why is your room so cold?" She said, bundling up in her sweater and jeans. Because I wear a sweatshirt or long sleeve at all times? Because I wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. Because my window is unlocked so I could sneak in and out. I would run to the store when I ran out of medication and bandages. I would physically run, to escape my dad, and most times reality.

"What? I like sleeping in the cold." Not a complete lie, just not the complete truth either.

"Anyway, you are going to that party. I don't care that you want to be a nerd and do homework on a Saturday night. I don't care that you want to watch Gilmore Girls for the hundredth time. I also don't care that you don't want to get dressed up. Or that you want to walk your dog. (Oh by the way, I have a golden retriever named Fang. Which, in case you didn't know, was from Harry Potter.) Because, let me tell you girl, you ARE going to that party. So, let me get you all dolled up and we will be on our way!" She demanded, as if getting all dressed up was the most fun thing in the world.

"Fine," I appeased. "But under no circumstances am I wearing a dress. And the makeup you put on will be minimal."

She rolled her eyes, but understood. It was me after all. The one who wore makeup rarely and even that was the subtle "natural" look or whatever the flip girls call it. The one who wore dresses like twice a year, at weddings, funerals, or when my mom forced me to typically using the bribe of food.

After what felt like forever, she was finally satisfied with my makeup. Olive then went into my closet, without even asking for my permission first. She shuffled through all of my clothes with a dissatisfied look on her face. Her eyes lit up and she pulled out a cute short-sleeve shirt.

I rolled my eyes, of course she found this. My mom, against my wishes, would buy things and then put them in my closet. Even though she knew, full-well, I would never wear it. Hence the shirt still had the tag on it, never taken off. I shook my head, about to voice my protests, but Olive beat me to it.

"I know, I know. 'It doesn't have sleeves, I can't wear that!' I just don't understand why not." She complained, about to give me the speech I've heard a million times. "You have a good body, your arms can't be any different. I'm sure whatever you're self-conscious about isn't a big deal. Is it the lack of a tan? Or the arm hair?" If you only knew. "Fine, you pick out something and I will tell you if I approve. And no, Andy, any of your nerdy sweatshirts or even your football ones are out of the question. You are still a girl you know!"

I went back into my closet to find something she would "approve" of. My eyes landed on a new addition to my closet. Huh, that wasn't there this morning. My mom must have done her weekly, buy things for her daughter to earn forgiveness for her sorry excuse of an ex-husband. I didn't mind, I would never admit this, but she had great style.

I brought it out to show the judge. Olive gave me a surprised expression and glanced over it before nodding. "I'm shocked you actually picked out something half-decent on the first try."

"Wow, thanks for the faith in me. I really appreciate it!" I said, sarcasm dripping from voice. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna change so we can this over with." I sighed and walked into my huge closet to change into the top and a dark-blue pair of skinny jeans. And then I finished off the look with a pair of black converse (which I practically always wore, but in different colors.)

I bounced out of my closet and dragged Olive along with me. "What do you want to take?" I asked debating between my truck and bike, knowing full well I was the Designated Driver. I always was, and for good reason. Why force someone else to take that role, when you vowed never to drink a drop of alcohol.

She giggled in excitement, "Let's take your motorcycle, it makes me feel like such a rebel. Not to mention guys would get another reason to drool over us!" She said with a wink, she could be such a dork sometimes. So we got on my bike, and off we went to this "amazing" party. I knew there'd be other football players there... but I didn't know which ones...