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@alyssaangelic-blog
peyton opted not to reply rather than make a snippy comment about the fact that no one in the vicinity cared. after all, she was gulping down her water, may as well be friendly. she set the bottle between them both, giving a painful smile. “slightly. death is still winning out so far, but i’m sure your water has saved my life, or something.”
Alyssa let the bottle sit, supposing that Peyton might want it again. “Mmhm. Hangover?”
“Maybe if their parents exercised responsible parenting they would know they shouldn’t do something that dangerous and stupid,” he huffed stubbornly. The seemingly sexual comment was lost on the virgin who (can) drive, but Alyssa’s gentle approach to the silliness her boyfriend got into was more than noticed by the blonde, “I wasn’t aware people still owned super soakers, but I’m glad he can have so much fun without his girlfriend by his side. How did your thing go?”
“Hopefully he didn’t have too much fun,” Alyssa chimed. “I think he’s going to leave me for that thing. My audition went okay. I didn’t quite make the cut.”
She shrugged, as if this was not a knife of bitter disappointment twisting in her gut. Her mom had been quick to console her, citing all sorts of supposed professional failings on the part of the judges--Alyssa, for her part, simply reminded herself, again and again, that she did not mean to stay. She did not mean to keep on with ballet, not really. She should appear hurt, of course, but in reality it was a non-issue. Stay focused.
“I did get a lot of advice, though,” she added. “There was, um, a dancer I really admire there, and she had a ton of stuff to say.”
“I didn’t have time to constantly keep a can of coke in my hand at all times. The pit stop at the punch bowl was just to recharge before I ran after someone else; I guess I should’ve asked people for tips about party happenings,” He let out a soft sigh, “No, he didn’t, but he squirted a large number of people in my house and managed to get only half of the super soaker contents into their mouths. The floor was wet and sticky for hours; it was a lovely time, really.”
“Everyone spikes the punch,” Alyssa repeated, but this time with a sympathetic overtone. “There’s like, no way to make them not.”
The squirting sounded like Brooklyn, too. “Sounds like he had better aim than he usually does,” she remarked, unthinking. After a moment, she heard herself, and rolled her eyes. “I mean with the super soaker. Oh my God--! He’s such a sweetie but I can’t wait until summer’s over and that thing goes back in the garage.”
“ha-ha,” peyton groaned, grabbing the bottle and taking a gulp. “guess i’ve reached desperation. you happy?”
“I wouldn’t say happy,” Alyssa said, settling down beside Peyton. “Like ... is the word vindicated? I think it’s vindicated.”
A quick check on her phone while Peyton was drinking confirmed that yes, it was vindicated. “You feeling better?”
Derek laughed and took a bow, wiping his face with a towel, “Thanks for the encouragement! You should come cheer me on every time I work out.”
“No problem,” Alyssa said, rocking back and forth slightly on the swing. “Oh, you can like, come up and sit if you want ... I feel like I totally missed my window, y’know, like I should have joined Cara and Ellery in cheer.”
“i would, but that’s so tame,” he laughed, only half-joke. he’d had a fake i.d. since he was fifteen - living in nevada, casinos were child’s play. “oh, you shouldn’t have,” micah said, a genuine smile coming to his face. this was one of the few actual birthday presents he’d gotten, even if it was late. “what is it?”
“Uh, duh,” Alyssa said, ushering the card into his hands. “You have to open it to find out.”
It was a fairly standard happy birthday card, overtaken by stickers, washi tape, glitter and gel pens. The gift was not anything particularly special--just a few Instagram photos she had to hand of their hangouts and an Amazon giftcard.
alyssa + ollie
Ollie: but the picture?? that stuff gives you away so easily!
Ollie: oh no :( but you DIDN'T get anyone into trouble, and that's important
Alyssa: she looked like me! she had my hair kinda
Alyssa: i guess! for now i'll just stick to parties
alyssa + ollie
Ollie: You've had a fake ID?
Ollie: :O
Ollie: Wow
Ollie: You do look little, he wasn't psychic :P
Alyssa: it wasn't fake, but it was some other lady's
Alyssa: i heard somewhere that was a better way to do it bcs it's a real id that way
Alyssa: "ur gonna get everyone here in trouble" i felt so bad!!
takccara:
She hadn’t noticed Aly was that sick, but surely she was. Her sister would never miss a date with her perfect, oh-so-amazing boyfriend. And after all the world war level negotiation work she had done with Trista to go along ith the plan. Cara couldn’t protest the ride because she didn’t know what the actual fuck was going on in Brooklyn’s head. She tried to eye him over her Alyssa’s shoulder, quickly whispering “Did you plan this?” Because if he did, he was screwed. And yet she couldn’t deny the adrenaline she felt under all the tension, the overwhelmingly possiblity of getting caught always gave her butterflies.
Cara really didn’t know what to do. She felt bad for leaving her sister behind, but it wasn’t like she could just say she wouldn’t meet Trista anymore because they’d already offered her a ride. “You sure?” She left the question open in the air, so whoever felt like answering her was welcome to. “I’m sure Brook will miss you.” She forced a smile on, one foot already out the door.
Brooklyn was torn. On one hand, he really, really wanted to see that gory zombie movie playing at the drive-in, but on the other, he knew that Aly’s sudden and mysterious illness was a test of sorts. Perhaps not by her intention, but he knew he needed to pass, for himself, for the future, for the baby. Because, surely, that’s what the whole blagh was about. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, trying to avoid Cara’s glare, but inevitably, his eyes locked with hers and he couldn’t pretend he didn’t see her mouthed words. “Please don’t hate me,” he mouthed back, although he knew she wasn’t so easily appeased.
“Are you sure you can’t come, boo? It wouldn’t be the same without you, please pleaase.” But forcing Aly to go when she was sick was worse than abandoning her, even Brooklyn knew that. The idea struck suddenly. “Well, you shouldn’t be all alone at home while you’re sick. We’ll just skip the drive-in and watch a movie at home with you! Right, Cara? …T-Trista could even come if she wants to.” He looked over at Cara, silently and desperately pleading.
“Baby, I really don’t want an audience for this,” Alyssa said, but she placed a tender hand on his arm, her palm hot from the burning back of the phone still clutched tight to her chest. Brooklyn, adorable, beautiful, thoughtful-in-his-own-way Brooklyn, was not going to leave her. It was sweet. She made her heart swell up, repeating how sweet how sweet how sweet until it touched her lips, expressed in the form of a tiny, artfully weary smile. This was what she wanted. This was proof of loyalty.
More than that, it was a kind of ... vindication. She did not need to wonder. There was no need for doubt. It had only been cast because--
Her mind stumbled, too slow to reframe the truth. Alyssa swallowed and picked up the loose ends of the lie, ready to tie off. “And I really don’t want Trista to get sick,” Alyssa added, this time looking to Cara, for Cara’s benefit. There was really no way for Trista to catch what she supposedly had, barring some super unlikely turns of events, but Cara had no way of knowing that. She fixed herself back on Brook. (When had he offered Cara the ride? At the party, probably, but Cara had seemed so mad about being ‘shadowed’ that she couldn’t quite fix the scenario in her head where they’d hash details. Afterward? She’d have to do a little light investigation on facebook, maybe.) “I’d hate to be trouble, like ... I know you wanted to go see, um, what’s it called?”
“it’s so nice to be finally eighteen. i’m a man now. i can vote, get a tattoo, sign up for the military draft, do porn, and adopt a dog without parental consent. guess which one i’m doing first?”
“What, you’re not going to a casino?” Alyssa grinned, handing off a yellow envelope with MICAH written across it in her chirpy, girlish handwriting. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it--happy birthday, though!”
Cara was sitting on the ground. Around her, there was complete c h a o s — which could also be translated to ‘what looked like a thoroughly used children’s art studio’. She was covered in paint, half a dozen canvases MAJESTICALLY RAVAGED in explosions of more colors than the eye could see. She looked up when the door opened, it was still creaking when it was halfway open. It didn’t need fixing. People who liked privacy could use a warning or too. “What? I’m an art hoe this week.” It didn’t even bother her anymore that she was known for her lack of purpose. She just didn’t know what to do. Cara wanted so many different things that it destroyed her —but hey, at least she could joke about it.
Alyssa had a basket full of assorted girl things--underwear and bras, rompers and skirts, socks and blouses--balanced against her hip. The blurry division of her clothes and Cara’s was worsened by her own indifference to what was probably hers and probably her sister’s, but mom wanted the clothes to go somewhere and it had to be soon. There was a maid who came by but it wasn’t ‘her job to do all the work.’
“Well, laundry hoe needs you to go through and see what’s yours,” Alyssa said, setting the basket on the only clear surface she could find, Cara’s bed. She picked up a canvas near her feet, a blue and purple swirl spattered with orange. “What’s this one supposed to be?”
“loud.” whether she was talking about the whistle of the faraway soccer game or the slight breeze, it was unclear. really, it was all peyton could manage to mumble as she lay in the grass, ignoring the growing itchiness all over her body from it. she’d brought a blanket, of course she’d thought to bring a blanket. she just hadn’t managed to spread it out before laying down. even with her eyes closed and sunglasses on, the world was too bright. everything was too much. “d’you have water?”
“Oh, so now you want water,” Alyssa observed, not quite good enough not to sound just a little smug. She dug around in her purse for a few seconds, anyway, and pulled out a water bottle--a new one, the old one would never be clean again--and held it over Peyton for her to take.
Derek was breathless after his regular afternoon jog, going extra hard after the giant calorie fest that was Micah’s birthday party. He heard another voice as he stretched to lower his heart rate, only looking up when he was finished with the workout. “Hey, what’s up? I didn’t hear anything you just said,” he spoke apologetically before chugging what was left of his water bottle.
It was just mindless cheering, something you said when someone you knew was obviously on the tail end of a workout. “I said, woo, go team,” Alyssa repeated, obliging him. She was still clapping, her book open beside her on the porch swing.
It was unlike Brooklyn to actually come to the door to pick her up, so Cara frozed when she heard the bell ringing. Pulling the first tee shirt she saw on, she ran dowsntairs to answer it before anyone else could figure out what was actually going on. What the fuck was he playing at anyway? Alyssa, however, beat her to it — as it was typical, and didn’t seem surprised to see her boyfriend there. Cara’s eyes widened with realization. She couldn’t believe Brooklyn. He came a step too close to fucking things up royally.
Grimacing, she felt the need to intervene. “Uh, not really Aly. Brook knows I wanted to watch this movie so he told me about it.” She explained. “You guys were going to give me a ride to meet Tris there.” It tasted more bitter than sweet in her mouth, the taste of guilt attaching itself not to the lie, but to how easily it rolled off her tongue. “Are you not going anymore, A?” She asked, unlocking her phone to text Trista a 911 in case her sister decided she would indeed be joining them..
Brooklyn smiled innocently, hoping to alleviate the surprised tension in the foyer, but it was not reciprocated. Alyssa and Cara looked less than pleased. He gulped, regretting showing up already. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting exactly, but it wasn’t this: Aly in her pajamas—and not the tiny lacy ones he usually saw her in—and Cara ready to invite Trista (who he hadn’t spoken to since the whole party fiasco) to their little outing. Well, first things first.
Pulling Aly aside, Brooklyn spoke in a hushed tone, “She mentioned wanting to see the movie, and I thought it would be nice if we took her, kind of like an apology for the whole babying her thing at the party, ya know? C’mon baby, you have to come.” He nodded in agreement with Cara’s story, although the prospect of seeing Trista again wasn’t the most appealing. “Exactly! It could be like a… a double date, kinda!”
“Oh,” she said, one word. So ... did that mean Cara would get out of Brooklyn’s car and into Trista’s in this scenario? Why, if Trista was supposed to have a car at a drive-in, would Cara need a ride? Better question, could Trista even drive? She was younger than just about everyone. Whatever. Alyssa would figure this out later. When Brooklyn pulled her aside, she wilted, shaking her head like she was so, so sad. “Baby,” she whispered in his ear, with special emphasis on the word. “I really, really can’t. I’m sick. Like ... blagh. Like every few minutes, blagh.”
Alyssa touched her throat to illustrate, in the vaguest terms, the problem. She glanced back at Cara, just for a moment. Her other hand clutched her phone so hard it should have cracked. “Just ... go without me, okay? If you promised Cara the ride, then it’s not fair to her and Trista not to. You can ... uh, you can text me what happens in the movie. Okay?”
She raised her voice so Cara could here. “It’s okay, Brook can still drive you, C.”
@alyssaangelic & @takccara
A nagging feeling had been haunting Brooklyn all day as he got ready for the drive-in, but its source didn’t hit him until he was already in his car, on the way to the Hastings-Angelo household, suddenly confused as to which sister he was picking up. Grabbing his phone, Brooklyn groaned when he realized that he’d accidentally invited both. Well, fuck. It was too late to cancel so it was with grim trepidation that he parked the car and made his way to their front door. As the door opened, he smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you I invited your sister too,” he said to no one in particular, letting the apology apply to both.
So much of Alyssa’s efforts had been towards never looking wan or messy or anything less than lovely in front of Brooklyn that to appear ill was just to neglect to do anything at all. She answered the door, slumped in the pajamas she had woken up in, loose peachy shorts and a tank top a size or two too large, barefoot with no intention of going anywhere. She looked up at him, pitifully, big eyes with just a little bit of mascara left sticking at the base of her lashes. She imagined the weight of illness settling on her. She remembered the time she’d gotten food poisoning from the shrimp at her L.A. dad’s favorite restaurant, the one he had leveled a mighty complaint at while Alyssa bolted awake at 3AM to puke out what seemed to be everything that had ever been inside her. Her phone burned in her hand.
“Oh, sweetie, I feel so bad about this but I just feel so so awful and sick--” Alyssa stopped, looked behind her. “Um ... you were going to bring Cara ... ?”
