First Impressions

The days flew by. The day after our little 'dinner' with the Flitchers', Mom let me borrow her car to go get paint for my room. I decided that day, that I would never paint by myself ever again. When I was standing on the ladder, I got off, but left the paint up there. When I walk under the latter, the bucket of paint fell on me!

I guess walking under a ladder is bad luck.

I watch boredly as Mom throws random things into the cart. This happened every year. Mom would go school shopping for me while I would tag along to make sure she didn't go over her credit card limit. She would get more clothes, preferably ones that are pink and tight, and I would usually return them to the rack when she wasn't paying attention. The only reason why I hate shopping with Mom is because she goes to all these pricey stores, while I would rather go to cheap stores like WalMart and thrift shops.

"Autum, you have to try this on! It's so adorable!" My mother squeals excitedly. I stare blankly at the skirt she held up to me. A mini pleated one.

"Mom, I don't do skirts. I don't even need any clothes." I state. I really don't. Sure, I'd get a couple more pairs of jeans and some hoodies, but I did most of my clothes shopping when I was getting the paint. I've learned to pre-shop before shopping. Mom would throw a fit if she would just watch me buy what I wanted. Clothes mean nothing to me.

"Just go try it on." Mom frowns, tossing me the skirt. I sigh while catching it and head to the fitting rooms. I grab a number and put on the door, signaling it was occupied. I lock the door and shed my holey jeans, grudgedly putting the skirt on. I walk out of the stall to where Mom was standing only a few feet away. I stop dead.

"Autum, honey! That looks wonderful on you!" Mrs. Flitcher screeches happily. I struggle for words to come out, but none come. Brad stares at me, from my combat boots to my skirt to my face. I figidly try pulling my skirt down a little lower so my thighs don't show as Mom pulls me over. I stumble a bit as she pulls.

"See? What did I tell you?" Mom comments, acting like a stylist. I bite my lip as I look around at every other customer that passes by. I turn back and finally find the words to speak.

"Mom, I don't like skirts. I don't want it." I really start trying to pull it down as the stupid skirt starts to ride back up my legs. I watch as Brad stares at my legs, amusement and interest written all over in his eyes. I fold one of my legs over the other, trying to cover up more. I probably looked like I needed to use the bathroom.

"Nonsense! We're definitely getting this!" My mom exclaims, pushing me back towards to changing rooms. I stumble, but manage to run back in and drop off that stupid skirt. I pull my jeans back on and buckle my belt, then, wadding up the skirt, I exit; returning the number back to the counter.

I watch as Mom rips it out of my hands and throws it into the cart. I frown and then cross my arms, signaling that I was pouting. Sighing, I watch Mrs. Fletcher and Mom talk, my pouting going unnoticed. I start clicking my tongue loudly out of boredom. I look up at the ceiling, noticing some stray balloons that had floated up to the top. A hand suddenly appears out of nowhere and clamps my mouth shut, making me let out a surprised squeal. I follow the hand to the arm to the head and then glare at Brad. I rip away.

"What is it with you and putting your hand on my mouth?" I ask, folding my arms and turning my body so I face him. He shrugs while shoving his hands in his pockets, also turning.

"Would you have stopped if I asked you?" He asks as we have something similar to a showdown, staring at each other; except for the part that Brad has to look down to see me. I hate being so short.

"You would have never asked, you would have told; and no." I answer, staring up at him with defiance.

"That's why." He says, flicking his hair out of his eyes. I narrow my eyes and open my mouth to say something but am quickly cut off by a shrill.

"Honey-boo!!" A pink blur pushes past me, making me lose balance and fall on my butt. I growl as I stare up at a girl with hatred. She wore a pink halter top with a jean, mini skirt with leggings. Her pink tennis shoes made a padding sound as she jumped a little, making her waist length, blonde hair bounce.

Our mothers take a moment to realize what is going on and turn to see the girl give Brad a wet, sloppy kiss. I gag as Mom helps me up from the floor, receiving a light smack on the back of the head and a 'Behave.' I roll my eyes and advert them from the couple that just happens to be making out in front of me. I half listen to the conversation between Mrs. Flitcher and Mom, only catching bits and parts. I learned that she is Brad's 'girlfriend', Mrs. Flitcher doesn't like her, the girl can't add or do any simple math, and her name is Shelby. Wonderful.

"Ew! Who's she?" Shelby asks, pointy a bony finger at me. She eyes me up and down, sizing me up, and looks back at Brad with a disgusted face. "She obviously has no sense of style."

"Who cares?" I cough lowly, smirking behind my hand. "Clothes don't mean a thing."

She snaps her head back my way with the ugliest scowl ever. She manages to detach herself from Brad and cross her arms over her non-existing chest. Gross.

"You must not be very popular, or you would think otherwise." She says in a squeaky voice. I snort very un-lady-like.

"You just grow out of them anyway. And what would you know about popularity? You probably know more beds than words." I retort looking at my finger nails. I see my mother cover her mouth with her hand out of the corner of my eye, her face turning red as she tries to keep her laughter in. Mom knows where I stand and knows what I believe; she also knows that I don't take shit from nobody. Exactly like her when she was younger.

"You're so stupid-"

"Atleast I can add." I cut her off quickly. I finally glance over at her and see her face turning so red that it clashes with her halter top. She turns to Brad for help, but he just stares down at her with no emotion. What a good boyfriend he is. What did Mrs. Flitcher say? Something about him only going out with her for a good fuck? What. A. Gentleman. "And at least I don't go out with man-whores."

I smirk a little more as Brad glares at me. Shelby stomps her way over to me, trying to seem taller than me, but for once, I'm actually taller than somebody.

"At least I can get somebody!" She shrieks desperately, trying to keep her composure. I laugh in her face.

"Oh please, who said I was even looking?" I laugh. I finally stop and just smile down at her while she glares. "Hey, you're the one who started it."

She stomps her foot one last time before storming away, obviously mad at Brad as well for not defending her honor. Poor, poor child. What goes around comes around. I giggle to myself before looking back at Brad.

"I am not a man-whore." He states. I raise an eyebrow and let my pointer finger touch my lip.

"Oh really, then why her?" I ask, knowing he has no acceptable answer. Just as suspected, he's silent. I snicker at my victory and walk away to the music section of the store, leaving chattering mothers and a very steamed Brad.I just love annoying him!