It's His Party and I'll Die if I Want To
by lauren finchum
Not For Sale
Author requests article critique
Not For Sale
Author requests article critique
SEND A PRIVATE MESSAGE
HIRE THIS WRITER
I’ve never been so nervous in my life.
It’s the night of Lane’s party, and I’m hoping I don’t have any moments resembling the ones at Kroger’s.
That’s the last thing I want to do.
To get my nerve up, I smooth down my jeans and my cami with the long-sleeve shrug over it, then ring Lane’s doorbell.
As I wait I see a smear on my shiny, black sling backs, and I decide to rub it off with my finger–I wanna make a good impression you know.
Well, I turn from the door and polish my right shoe. . .then I hear the door open, “Olivia?” Lane’s deep voice asks.
Of course it’s me, who else would shine their posterior at your front door.
I stand and turn to face him, “Hi, Lane.” I smile.
“Hey, come on in.” he’s grinning as he lets me enter his cozy abode from the cool night air.
As I follow him to his den, I see this man is as delicious in his house and he was in the produce department.
While I notice this I walk right into the corner of the doorway, and crack my head–half the room stares at me.
Here we go.
“Hi, I’m Olivia.” I wiggle my fingers sheepishly as a hello to the staring people.
Lane puts his arm around my should and directs me to the table of finger food. He introduces me to some friends and his sister.
“Hi.” I smile a little girl grin.
As I talk to Lane’s sister, Kara, and my friend, Jessie, Lane hands me a glass of ginger ale.
I’m doing fine. . .till I get a little too expressive with my hands and splash the bubbling champagne wanna-be into Lane’s father’s face.
“Oh, my gosh!” I exclaim, “I’m SO sorry! So, so sorry!” I incessantly dab the man with my napkin, but Jessie peels me away from the incident to deliver me from my shame.
“Are you ok, Olivia?” Jessie asks.
“Me? I’m not the one with ginger ale dripping from my nose.” I flop in a chair.
I’m not moving from this spot.
If I do, I will ruin the party and prove my hand/eye coordination sucks.
I talk to some older people I really don’t know, and watch the younger ones I do play games.
Jessica and Kara beg my to join, but I say no.
Me and Jenga don’t mix.
Finally, Lane comes over.
“Hey, I miss you, come play with us.” he says.
He misses me?
“Well, ok.” I walk to the table with him.
After a great game of Taboo, I win two rounds of Boggle.
Maybe this night isn’t a total lose.
“Ok, everyone! Karioke!” I hear Lane’s voice ring.
Oh, Lord, no!
I love singing, but I’m not doing it here–they think I’m a fool already.
“Who’s first?!” Lane asks.
“Us!” Jessie and Kara cry, “But we need one more.”
Jessie smiles at me with a slightly evil smirk I don’t like.
“Oh, no. Not me.” I shake my head and feel my chandelier earrings knock my neck.
“Puh-leeeeeeeze!” Jessie whines.
“Yeah, come on.” Kara joins.
“Oh, fine.” I take a mic.
The music starts.
Oh, Lord, they picked “Walk Like an Egyptian”.
I should have asked what they were singing, since the only words in the song I know ARE “walk like an Egyptian”!
But as the girls sing, and I belt out the only line I know, I suddenly feel free.
I’m not sure of what, but free none the less.
I start dancing around with Kara and Jessie, and do the Egyptian hand thing as if we WERE the Bangles.
At the end of the song, I’m out of breath, but laughing and hugging Jessie.
All the sudden I realized I did that in front of the whole party!
And. . .Lane!
I hop off the stage and head outside into the crisp night to get away from my “fans”.
I sit on a bench in Lane’s backyard.
“If you don’t mind rubbing elbows with the Middle-Class and Senseless.” I quip.
He laughs, “That was a good one.”
A pause of silence after the hunk sits down.
“I enjoyed what you did in there.” Lane finally says.
“People generally like to watch the village idiot.” I comment wryly.
“No, I admire you for it.”
“You admire me for acting like a jackass?” I cock a brow.
“No, for having the guts to be yourself.”
Oh, was that what I was doing?
“I like that in a woman.” his breath makes steam puffs in the cool air.
He looks REALLY good in that brown sweater.
“Well, I can’t help myself–self won’t go away.” I laugh.
“Good.” Lane looks me in the face.
Those blue eyes.
Ooo, shivers down the spine!
We sit and look at the stars a while–since the sky is so clear.
Then the thing I hoped would happen, but didn’t really expect it to, happens.
Lane kisses me.
I’m surprised, but not dejected.
He’s a good–no–great kisser.
“Now, what do you say we go try that ginger ale drinking thing over again–and maybe an encore? I’m thinking something from Whitney Houston.” he smiles a playful grin.
“Sure.” I murmur, still breathless from the kiss.
This is the best party I’ve ever gone too!
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