Flutter

I'm talkin pedicure on our toes, toes
Tryin on all our clothes, clothes
Boys blowin up our phones, phones
-Tik Tok by Ke$ha

May 28, 2010
3:25 PM-G
Grapevine High School-Grapevine, TX

Three Twenty-Five. Come on. Just one more minute and I’m out of this hellhole, I thought.

One more minute, and we’re out of here for the rest of the summer.

Rosie, my best friend of three years, was sitting next to me, equally entranced by the clock above our teachers head.

Seventh period; last day of sophomore year. This couldn’t be any more agonizing!

Oh wait, it could. Because that would be when the three time winner of Bitch of the Year, Marisa Hall, decided to open her trap, and start going on and on about some big event she was going to the following night.

“It’s gonna be HUGE,” she squealed to her posse of clones. I fought my "That's what she said" urge. “Everyone’s gonna be there. Selena, Chelsea, I even heard that Demi Lovato is their opening act.” I rolled my eyes mechanically, like I did every time that Marisa opened her mouth. In the three years since I’d moved to Texas from the UK, she hadn’t changed one bit. She was still the bragging, overtanned, under-dressed little brat she’d been since third form, or I guess what you call Eighth grade. “And daddy got us, like, second row seats. Aparently the whole first row in that section was booked out already. I whined, of course, but he couldn’t get them to change it.”

“Ohmigod, that’s so horrible!” one of the clones crooned, and I saw Rosie snort next to me. Good to know we were on the same page.

Twenty seconds left. Just twenty seconds and I would be on my way home with Rosie, free to jump in my chlorine-free swimming pool and lounge around in the sun for the next three months.

“And isn’t it, like, their last tour?” I was trying my best to tune the people behind me out, but of course, I couldn’t. I never could, because everything that Marisa and her clones said came out at a level three times as loud as my own voice, which I find particularly amazing, because my voice rivals pretty much anyone else’s.

“It is! It’s soooo depressing. It’s, like, our last chance to see them. And only three of you can come with.” There was an “awwww” from the entire group, and then a loud amount of chatter.

Bringggggggggg.

Summer.

Free at last.

Rosie and I filed out with the rest of the class, and as usual, Marisa chose that moment to shove into me.

“Oh, sorry, Mickie,” she called with a sneer, flipping her brown curls.

“It’s okay,” I said, brushing my shoulder off with a grin, flipping my own equally curly red hair. “You didn’t get any spray tan residue on me.” Rosie laughed next to me. Usually, I wouldn’t have replied at all. I would have kept my sarcastic comments to myself, as I always did for fear of public mockery. But I didn’t care. It was Summer. I was free. Free to swim, write, promote, stay up late at concerts, and hang out with friends.

Or at least, that’s what I thought.