I Am Invincible

I spent my 16th birthday alone. It just didn’t feel right not having Zach there to celebrate my birthday with me; he’d become such an important part of my life in the less than three years that I’d known him, and then it all just disappeared. Sure, he tried to call me about eighty times a day but I was just so upset and hurt by what he did that I never answered. I just can’t believe he would do that to me. He could’ve stopped that slut from dragging him up the stairs and removing his clothes, but no, he didn’t, and that’s why I’m pissed, and hurt, and angry, and miserable.

Jake and everyone tried to get me to go out with them for a celebration because after all “how many times do you turn sixteen?” Jake asked me that question about twenty times before I almost literally kicked him and the others out of my apartment, telling them that I was lucky I made it to sixteen at all considering how shitty I’d been feeling for the past week and a half and if they didn’t fucking leave me alone to wallow in self pity I wouldn’t be making it to seventeen. Yes, I was being a drama queen, but it worked. Their eyes widened and I looked at them with an expression that oozed seriousness. They got the hint and left with a “please don’t kill yourself” thrown over Jake’s shoulder. I rolled my eyes and slammed the door. I ran my fingers through my hair and, with a heavy sigh, made my way over to my bed and threw myself face down on the mattress. I stayed that way all day. My phone rang about a dozen times throughout the day but I ignored it, it was probably just friends and family calling to wish me a “happy” birthday. They could wish me a “birthday” all they liked, but it definitely wouldn’t be a “happy” one no matter how many people wished it for me.

The next few months weren’t much better. I was still angry and hurt but I wanted to forgive Zach, I just didn’t know if I could. For some reason, my mind would not stop running over the last conversation we had, nor would it stop making me imagine what happened with Zach and that girl who ruined our relationship. Not in the dirty way, obviously, just in a way that made me even more unforgiving and pissed off at the unknown girl.

I’m pretty sure everyone was getting fed up with me and my constant lack of caring about… well, everything. I would hardly pay attention to anyone when they were talking to me and often they had to try several times to get a reply out of me. But I’m trying to change all of that. Tiarna (the girl who’s obsessed with Jackson) of all people put everything into perspective for me a few days ago. I don’t know why I chose to listen to her over Emilie, Jake, Jackson, mom, dad, Ryan, Rachael, Ivory, Silver… the list goes on, but I did. What she said to me made sense and I was too busy being stubborn (a trait I get from my father, by the way, so you can’t blame it entirely on me) not to realise that that was what everyone had been saying all along. I wasn’t ready to forgive Zach, not by a long shot, but I was ready to not take out my anger and frustration on everybody else and actually enjoy my time left with my friends in Australia before I head back to America in the middle of November.

So yeah, I was doing my best to act like a normal human being (well, as normal as I can get, anyway) around my friends, and left my ‘I-hate-everyone’ vibe for when I was alone. I was actually getting pretty excited in the last few months before I left about the “Year Ten Formal” that was going to be happening around the end of my time here in Australia. Apparently in Australia, they have a formal in tenth and twelfth grades… and they supposedly hate it when people (i.e. me) call it a “prom” – I discovered this fact when I was yelled at half a dozen times that “it’s not a prom, it’s a formal”. Whatever. It’s still an excuse to get dressed up and celebrate that you’re allowed to leave school if you want to; who cares what the name is? I don’t know; Australians are weird. But yeah, I’d been pretty excited about it. I had picked out my outfit like a month in advance and I was finally getting to put it on for the first time for a reason other than I wanted to see if it looked good on me. Everyone in tenth grade had been stressing about what they were wearing and if their hair would look okay if it rained and everything like that during the day of the formal. The teachers didn’t stand a chance, so they didn’t teach us much, most of them actually talked to the students about things to do with the formal. Only the dickhead science teacher who hates me actually made us do any work.

I had my clothes spread out on my bed and I was scrutinizing them, trying to figure out which shoes to wear with them when I heard a knock on my door. I knew who it was; it was Tiarna. She was having a heart attack about what to wear; she’d changed her mind about her outfit several hundred times and she still hadn’t made a decision an hour before we were meant to be there. Tiarna had asked me during school that day if I could help her pick what to wear, because she wanted to look fabulous for Jackson, who she asked to be her date for the night. I told her to go home, grab all of her dresses and shoes and jewellery and everything else she’d need to get ready and come over to mine after school. She looked frantic when I opened the door and I immediately stepped aside to allow her to enter.

After at least half an hour of deep discussion, we figured out what she was wearing and how she was doing her hair. Now all we needed to do was get ready. We threw on our outfits (yes, in the same room. What would it matter? I’m gay and she was in love, it’s not like we’d be checking each other out) and stood side by side in front of the mirror in my bathroom. My hair straightener was already plugged in and hot and we stared at our reflections, trying to figure out how we’d do our hair. Obviously there wasn’t a huge amount I could do with my hair so I immediately started grabbing chunks and straightening them so that it sat perfectly straight atop of my head. After fifteen minutes, my hair was perfect and Tiarna finally decided what she wanted to do with hers. A French braid. Easy, I’d been braiding Emilie’s hair for years, so I had perfected that hairstyle a long time ago. Tiarna looked surprised when I told her I was practically a pro, but understanding struck her when I explained using one word. “Gay”. Duh.

Anyway, she was happy with the end result and we were running out the door of my apartment to Jackson’s car about two minutes before we were meant to be at the venue. I leaned back and relaxed a bit in the back seat while Jackson drove, chatting animatedly to Tiarna. I smiled when he complemented her on her outfit and hair as we got out after he parked at the venue. Tiarna linked arms with Jackson and I and led us confidently into the place where the formal would be held.