Guess What? Part 1

Guess What? Part 1

This story is completely fictional. None of the characters are real in real life. Any resemblance to actual life is completely coincidental.

Guess what? My heart has been broken. Yeah, I know, it was my fault. It always is. Up until one point, everything is great. The sex, the talking, the intimacy, it is perfect and then the time comes when something happens, and I freak out. This one wasn’t the worst. No, I blew it with Stacey. Stacy, oh God, Stacey was the one. 

Stacey is 5’6’’, 135 pounds, dirty blonde hair, dark brown eyes, and the cutest dimple on her right cheek. She is into drama, and always has a lead role in the school plays. Since I have known her, Stacey has always worn all black and always tells people the truth about something, even if it does hurt.

I met Stacey in high school, where she tried to cheat off of my paper on a British Lit. Test. Well, the teacher caught us, and since then, we have been friends. 

Oh, by the way, my name is Kathryn, but everyone calls me Ryn. I am 5’5’’, 125 pounds, brown hair, hazel eyes, and very athletic. My freshman year of high school, I made it on the varsity lacrosse and basketball teams. Besides my athletic skills, I am a avid reader, and hope to one day own my own library.

Anyway, this story starts during the end of the third semester of high school.

Ring….ring….ring….

“Hello?” My cell phone was ringing.

“Ryn, shut up, you know it’s me.”

“Stacey!!! I just got my history test back. And guess what? A- baby!!!” 

Final’s tests had just been passed back, and I was stoked. 

“You knew you would. I got a C- on my Drama final, but Mrs. Queer (real name Teer) is a whore, and wouldn’t give an A to Shakespeare.”

“Well, how about your English test?” I asked.

“Fine. An A or something. I don’t know. Anyway, what are you doing tonight?”

Uh oh. Please don’t say a party…please. “Nothing.”

“Yes you are. You know Amber Mitchell? Well, she is having this huge party to celebrate the end of finals, and you have to come. Should I pick you up at 9?”

Crap. I wanted to just hang out tonight. Studying all week was tiring, and I was worn out. “I’ll see you then.”

It’s 8, and I still don’t want to go. Maybe I should just call Stacey and tell her the truth. Or maybe I don’t feel good? Shit. She’ll make me go anyway. 

I walk to my closet, and look in. What should I wear? I do have a skirt, but that’s for church. Maybe jeans? I take out my faded blue jeans, and a Puma shirt I haven’t worn yet. I add a pair of converse, brush my hair and teeth, and wait for Stacey.

Ring….ring….ring….

My cell again. “Hey Stacey.”

“Hey, I’m outside. Bring a jacket, it is fuckin freazin tonight.”

Geez. She always cusses. “Yeah. Just hold on a sec.” I get out my black corduroy jacket, and start locking the door after I step outside.

“Get the fuck back in there!”

Aaaahhhh!!!! Oh, it’s Stacey. Why is she walking up the steps? “What’s going on?” I ask.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

“Clothes.” Now that I could see what Stacey was wearing, I was thinking about that skirt again.

Stacey looked good, but then again, she always looked good. She had on this cute black knee length cocktail dress with matching black pumps and purse.

“You look like you are going to shoot a couple hoops on the court, not get your groove on at a party. Come,” she walked into the house, and toward my room, “change.”

I followed her into the house. I look like crap. I know it, she knows, and everyone at the party would. Damn it, why does Stacey always look good?

I found Stacey in my room looking at my closet with a look of astonishment.

“What?” Did she have a brain hemorrhage or something?

“Do not tell me you have this stuff in your closet and not wear it. Do not tell me that.”

What is she looking at? Oh. My birthday was a couple months ago, and I got all these clothes, but never felt like wearing them. I guess I have to now. “Sorry.” I say with a sarcastic undertone. “Pick something.”

Stacey reaches in and pulls out this slinky maroon and black dress. 

What? “Stacey, um, I’ve never even tried it on, let alone worn it to a party.”

“Fine. Then try it on because you are not going to the party dressed like a jock.”

Well, considering I am. “Okay, give me a sec.” I walk toward the bathroom. Why do I care if Stacey sees me in my undies? She has before. I stop, and put the dress on the bed, and start taking off my clothes.

First comes off my shirt. Underneath I had on a sports bra, but looking at the dress, I can tell that won’t work. I can’t even wear a bra under that dress. “Stacey, this won’t work.”

“I know. The bra has to go.”

Is it me, or did Stacey just glace at my boobs? Probably nothing, the light or something. I put my fingers under the hem of the bra, and start to pull up. I am still facing Stacey, and she is now staring at my chest. 

Now you can see my breasts, and as I pull the bra over my head, “So, Ryn, I’ll just be in the bathroom. When you’re done, come in there for some touch ups.”

Shit. What was I doing? Flirting? Hoping? No. 

Wow. The dress really does look good on me. Since I am trim, but not muscular, the dress was snug in all the right places.

I walk in the bathroom, and see Stacey sitting on the counter with a curling iron, bag of make-up, and hairbrush waiting for me. “Great, just love touch-up time. Hey, have you been crying?” Her eyes were bloodshot, and you could see tear stains on her cheeks.

“Yeah, but I’m fine now. Let’s go. Oh, and that dress looks good, just forgot to change shoes.”

She wasn’t looking me in the eye, but I figured she’d talk to me when ready. “Yeah, just forgot.”

The party was okay. The music was good, but too loud. The drinks were a plenty, but not for me, and the dancing wasn’t exactly a waltz. 

We had been there an hour, but I was bored within the first five minutes. Stacey had done my hair and make-up, so I looked good, but I was worried about her. She hadn’t told me why she had been crying yet.

I kept walking around until I saw her. She was grinding against some guy on the dance floor, and looked ready to fall over.

I told her she is too small for tequila, but she thinks she has a high tolerance for alcohol. Not.

I push my way through the crowd. “Stacey,” I push the guy away, and talk into her ear, “let’s go.”

“No. I don’t wanna.” Then for no apparent reason, she starts grinding against me. She must really be drunk.

“Come on. We’ll do something at my place.” My parents were on a weekend get away, and I would let Stacey crash at my house until her vision cleared. Anyway, we had been through this before. She knew that I was Mormon and didn’t drink, but that she would always be my friend no matter what she did.

“Fine, but I’m driving.”

Shit. She’s drunk but not driving. And my permit became expired last month. Great, just great.

“No. Well, I guess we’re walking then.”

As we walked away from the party, and walked on the sidewalk toward my house, I was finally glad that I had worn a jacket.

“Ryn, why do you always do that?” The cold air must have been having an affect on Stacey, because she was walking straight.

“Do what?” I said nonchalantly. Even though she is my friend, I can get pissed at her for getting drunk when she was my ride.

“Help me out when I do something stupid. Why not just let me get myself in trouble?” 

“If I had let you drive tonight, and just walked away, you would have messed up. You could have died, or killed someone else and gone to jail, and I would have to live the rest of my life knowing that I could have changed fate and didn’t. Let’s just walk, it is only a few more blocks until we get there.”

I did not feel in the mood for some philosophical chat. I was tired and cold.

“Well, thanks anyway, for that.”

“Yeah. Well, we’re here.” 

We walked up to my house, and went inside.

“Damn. It’s freezing in here. Turn on the heater.”

Yes ma’am. You would think it was her house. 

I went to the thermostat, and pushed the temp up to 70. “There, give it a minute. I’m gonna go change. Eat, sleep, watch tv. Whatever, I’ll be back in a few.”

“Ryn?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t party anymore, but when I’m drunk, I can do anything. It’s an amazing feeling.”

I didn’t want to get into this now, but she brought it up. “Yeah, you’re right. You could have done anything, like get pregnant, die, kill someone, get alcohol poisoning. Yeah, you’re right. That sounds fun.” My sarcasm astounds me.

I walked up the stairs to the sound of the t.v. being turned on, and a commercial for deodorant.

It’s only 12:00 am, and after I went back down stairs, Stacey had fallen asleep. I changed the channel, and watched some made for t.v. movie on lifetime that was seriously lacking in the talent department. Oh well. Anyway, after it ended, I woke Stacey up, and now she is sleeping in my parent’s bed.