If I have to see Clara West ever again, I will spontaneously combust and die.

     That is, if she doesn't kill me first.

     A problem, seeing as we still have months left of school, we're in all the same classes, Winter break is almost over, and, oh yeah, my mom's throwing her annual NYE party. The one she invites everyone on the PBA board to. Hell, she practically invites the whole town.

     I could not be in attendance tonight. My house was too small, feeling smaller by the second, and I'd have nowhere to hide from the wrath of Clara West.

     "Think about how much room you'll have," I said dramatically. "Without me there."

     Convincing my mom to cancel her New Year's Eve Party? Impossible. But convincing her to let me sit this one out?

     Also impossible.

     "You're my daughter," she said, not even sparing me a glance as she moved around the kitchen. "Everyone is expecting to see you."

     There was no way I could tell her the real reason I couldn't be in attendance tonight. I couldn't even tell her part of that reason without sounding absolutely insane. I can't go tonight, mom, because I absolutely cannot see Clara West. Because she's going to murder me.

     My mom would just roll her eyes and tell me to squash whatever beef I had with Clara. If it was as easy as just squashing, I would've squashed it already. The beef would be so squashed it'd be minced meat. But as it stood, I'd been avoiding Clara for days and she was out for blood.

     She nearly cornered me in the locker room at school but by gods saving grace Shonda walked in because she forgot her knee sleeve for practice in her locker and it was just enough of a distraction for me to get the hell out of dodge.

     Avoiding Clara was no easy feat when she was literally everywhere always. She was in all of my AP classes and we ran in the same clubs and her freaking face lit up our iPad screens every morning to greet us and read morning announcements. There was no avoiding Clara, there was simply prolonging the inevitable and I wanted to prolong it long enough to make it into the new year before I died.

     My only hope was that if I sulked enough, my parents would grant me clemency and I wouldn't have to show my face tonight.

     I pushed my bowl of cereal away from me and crossed my arms. "This isn't fair, mom. You're not making Michael or James go to this thing."

     "Michael has a fiancé he's spending New Years Eve with," she responded with a roll of her eyes my way.

     "Why can't I go out with James?" I whined.

     "Because James is twenty-one, and last time I checked you were still sixteen." She sighed. "Veda, what has gotten into you? You always loved this party."

     "It's boring mom," I responded. "None of my friends are going to be there. I'm just going to be stuck in a corner the whole night."

     She looked at me, confused. "A bunch of girls from your class will be there, Veda. The McKinley family. The Jamesy's." Her tone changed slightly. "The West's."

     "Again," I said flatly. "None of my friends will be there."

     My mother shook her head several times. "I thought you and Clara were friends?"

     I balked. "She hates my guts."

     "Oh, don't be dramatic, Veda. She does not."

     I looked at her like she was crazy. "Hates my guts is actually quite the understatement."

     Clara West didn't just hate me. She despised my very existence. I was sure that if she believed she could get away with it and still maintain her perfect image she'd have me expelled for some ludicrous accusation.

     She didn't always hate me. At one point in our school career, I wasn't even on Clara's radar. That was the pre-second grade incident era and it was such a time to be alive, honestly. Clara and I, like many of our schoolmates, have aged up together through the same grammar and high school.

     I couldn't remember anything before second grade, except for this feeling, like I'd always wanted Clara's attention. Which was true. I had. And in second grade, I'd decided I would get it by making Clara this amazing, artistic, fantastic birthday card covered almost entirely in glitter.

     The thing about Clara was that everyone wanted her attention. Clara commanded a room. She was barely four feet but she walked taller than some of the adults. She spoke with a confidence that bellied the trophy-winning acts she performed at the local beauty pageants. (She stopped doing beauty pageants in sixth grade when she declared them to be sexist) (Clara is woke if she's anything at all)

     So it was her birthday and I'd made her this card and she was wearing this brand new plaid dress. Her hair was done in two bouncy ponytails that hung over each shoulder. She looked perfect, up until the moment I was tripped by a boy named Ross who no longer lived in our town and slathered the front of her dress with my more-glue-than-glitter card.

     Thus how I became Clara West's public enemy number one.

     The class turned on me in an instant claiming my second grade self was trying to sabotage Clara on her birthday. That I'd ruined her dress on purpose. Which I totally had not. Clara looked so pretty in her dress. I would never try to ruin it. But I couldn't make anyone, let alone Clara, see that.

     After showering her in glitter glue, I became a battleship she was ready to sink. The crazy thing was even though it was her anger and hatred that she shot at me during every class, I felt at ease knowing I finally had her attention. How stupid am I?

     "Veda," my mother said finally. "We're not having this debate anymore. Your presence is required this evening. Now head upstairs. The caterers will be here soon and I don't want you in the way."

     Groaning, I responded with a tone of defeat, "This bites."

     "Yes, yes, the world is a cruel and unfortunate place for you," mom responded with a bit of laughter.

     "You're just plain mean."

     I sulked off figuring the only other person I could plead my case to now was my father.

     He was in his office, and on his phone when I walked in. I curled up in one of the leather armchairs on the other side of his desk waiting for him to finish. When he hung up, he smiled at me and said, "What's up?"

     "You love me right, dad?" I started, figuring I had to play my cards just right.

     "Yes," he responded hesitantly.

     "And you want me to be happy, right?"

     Again, a very hesitant, drawn out, "Yes."

     "Would you do anything for my happiness?"

     He looked at me quizzically. "What's this about, Veda?"

     "I really, really can't go to mom's party tonight."

     He said, "You don't have to go anywhere. It's right here in the house."

     I groaned. "You know what I mean, dad."

     He shook his head. "This is your mother's call, not mine. You know that."

     "Dadddddd," I groaned. "This is a literal matter of a life and death. Mainly death. My death."

     My mother's voice rang from the doorway, "What's a matter of life and death?"

     Dad said, "Veda doesn't want to be at the party tonight" the same time I said, "Nothing."

     "Veda!" my mom barked. "Enough is enough. You're going to the party and that's final."

     Annoyed, I jumped out of the armchair and shoved past my mother. I heard her call, "You are being extremely disrespectful! I raised you better than that, Veda."

     It became apparently clear by noon that there was no way I'd get out of this New Years party. Not unless I spontaneously combusted or had a sudden and unexpected onset of some illness like the measles or mumps, but since I'd had all my vaccinations it was a fat chance of that.

     My mom came to my room later that afternoon, already dressed in a clingy black gown, her dark hair wrapped in an intricate low chignon.

     I had just finished drying my hair when she joined me. She gestured for me to sit down as she picked up my curling iron.

     "Veda, what's going on?" she asked quietly. "Why are you so adamant about not going to the party?" She parted my hair, clipped some of it up and started curling.

     I sighed. I wanted to tell my mom everything. It was making me sick keeping all the secrets inside me. But would she still love me if she knew I wasn't the daughter she'd expected me to be?

     "It's nothing," I said quietly.

     "Well, I simply don't believe that," my mom responded.

     I didn't say anything and we both were quiet as she curled my hair. When she finished, I handed her some hairspray, and covered my face as she sprayed. "You know," she said softly looking at me in the mirror. "You can always talk to me. You're my daughter. And I love you. Always."

     "I know mom," I said but with a feeling in my gut that I didn't really know it. "It's nothing. Really."

     She hesitated, looked like she was going to say more but decided not to, leaving quietly. I finished getting ready in a daze, and by six the first guests were arriving. My father stopped by my room as I slipped my feet into my heels. "You look beautiful, sweetheart."

     I smiled. "Thanks dad."

     He held his arm out to me, so I stepped forward and linked mine with his. "Before you know it, the night will be over and so will this year."

     I only wished that was enough.

     Two hours down and things were moving smoothly. I was helping myself to all types of different hors d'oeurve, circulating the room as I chatted with family and friends. Maybe the West's wouldn't attend the party this year.

     Or maybe they would.

    They showed up at nine, which maybe in their books was fashionably late. Mr. and Mrs. West entered first, greeting my parents with hugs before Clara surfaced behind them. I should've ducked then, should've made a mad dash for my bedroom or something, but I didn't. I had to see her first.

     Clara stood in the doorway, looking perfect, as usual in a short, satin emerald green dress that hugged her figure. She didn't notice me, not at first, but then her eyes found mine and latched on like she was a hypnotic snake. I certainly felt hypnotized. Everything in my brain was screaming at me to run but I was stuck in place. She squinted slightly, like she wasn't sure it was me she was staring and then I saw it.

     I knew the I'm-on-a-warpath look well, and knew I had to get out of there before she got to me. "Excuse me," I blurted to the Bernstein's before I fled into the kitchen, knocking into a caterer. "Sorry," I cried, rushing out the other doorway into the foyer.

     I didn't know where to go that I'd be able to hide from her, so I slid into the bathroom locking the door and pressing my back against it as I caught my breath. This was good. This was safe. I could hide out in the bathroom till midnight. That was only three hours away.

     No, this was actually stupid.

     The worst idea ever. I needed to get to my bedroom, where I could lock the door and no one would disturb me. People were going to need to use the bathroom eventually.

     After some indeterminate amount of time I decided it was safe to open the door a crack and scope the hallway. The moment I slid the lock, though, the door was forced open. I was shoved backwards into the bathroom, blindsided as I was pushed into the wall. I had to grab the towel rack for support as I lost my footing.

     Clara West had a hell of an arm.

     She locked the door behind her, turning to me like it wasn't unusual at all to force your way into a bathroom. She pressed down the front of her dress, removing a crease. Her blond hair was pulled away from her face, save for the two wisps of her curtain bangs that framed her face.

     She crossed her arms, angling her head slightly at me in question. One of her eyebrows was raised as if to reiterate that question. I didn't know what the question was, though.

     I considered dunking my head in the toilet and giving myself a swirly. I couldn't talk if I was too busy drowning, right?

     I decided to plea for my life, instead.

     "Please don't kill me," I said pathetically, holding up my hands for protection.

     "Oh shut up," Clara responded rolling her eyes. Clara was very straight forward. "Why did you kiss me?" She also didn't mince words.

     "Uhm," I said stupidly, eyes too wide that it was actually harder to see her.

     Why had I kissed Clara? I didn't know. It was a Friday and instead of having an assembly with a guest speaker who'd tell us about their life's passion, the whole school was in the gymnasium listening to Christmas music and drinking hot chocolate.

     Clara was in Mr. Clarke's classroom, sorting through the boxes of clothes our school had been collecting for months that would go to homeless youth in the surrounding neighborhoods. Clara was the President of the Mission Club so it wasn't surprising that she would be here, working while everyone else was enjoying themselves.

     "I bought you a hot chocolate," I said holding out the foam cup.

     She was glaring at me as she took it. "Don't think sucking up is going to gain my support for student body secretary."

     Clara was currently VP and would undoubtedly be President next year. Whoever she backed for the current elections would have a guarantee in, but that wasn't why I was there.

     Truth be told, I had no idea why I was there.

     "Do you want some help?" I had asked expecting her to decline.

     Surprisingly, she said, "Sure."

     It was the first time in a long time that Clara West was actually civil with me and maybe the reason I had kissed her. I didn't really know for sure. Maybe somebody had spiked the hot chocolate. All I do know is that one minute we were kneeling on the floor, surrounded by boxes of clothes and the next I was digging my fingers through her blond hair and planting a big one on her. I am not even sure how to kiss someone, so it was probably awful. It was probably terrible. And the fact I was compelled to do it was just — uncharacteristic, ballsy, so out of the realm of typical Veda behavior.

     And the fact that I wanted to do it again, right now, here in this bathroom with her was just plain annoying.

     "Well?" Clara snapped when a long pause ensued and I still hadn't answered her question.

     I shrugged unsurely. "I don't know."

     That eyebrow, the one trimmed and manicured to a perfect arch, rose to meet the other one. "You don't know?"

     I gave a shake of my head. "Nope."

     "Do you have a crush on me?" she said like that was an even valid question. I blushed. She tried again, slower this time, "Do you like...girls?"

     I bit my lip. "I don't know."

     "You don't know?"

     "Nope."

     "Have you ever kissed a girl?"

     Quietly, embarrassed, I said, "You."

     Her eyebrows came down, furrowing above her eyes. "Well, why did you kiss me?" I didn't say anything. We seemed to be circling back here. She looked at me critically, her tone getting sharp. "Who told you?"

     "Told me what?" I asked, confused.

     Clara rolled her eyes. "Seriously, how many people know?"

     "Know what?"

     "That I like girls, Veda."

     "You like girls?"

     She looked at me like I was crazy. "Why is that so surprising? God, it is so close-minded to assume that a person's default orientation is straight until proven otherwise."

     "I just – I didn't," I stammered. "You've never dated a girl at school before so."

     She rolled her eyes. "And have you seen me date any guys at our school?"

     Now that she pointed it out, I hadn't. I just assumed Clara had been above the boys at our school, though. That Clara thought she was entirely too godly to stoop as a low as a high school boy. She was pretty much the smartest person in our grade and she was off saving the world, contributing to every club and organization. Volunteering her time. Fighting the patriarchy. God, now that I thought about it, how was Clara not absolutely exhausted.

     I stumbled on my response, unsure of what to say.

     She turned her head slightly and said, "Well, wait, if you didn't know I liked girls why did you kiss me?"

     I felt my face heat up again. "Uhm."

     She took a step forward, lips puckering thoughtfully. The bathroom was suddenly overwhelmingly small. "Do you," she paused slightly, "do you have a crush on me?"

     I laughed anxiously, just one hollow bark. She took another step forward. I rubbed my hands together. "You do," she said slowly, her lips pulling back into a grin. I mumbled something that might not have been coherent. She turned her head and said, "Hm?" So I was pretty sure it was definitely not coherent.

     "I uh – and, uh, I'm sorry?"

     She peered at me curiously. "You're sorry?"

     "I shouldn't have kissed you. I don't know why I did it. So I'm saying sorry, for crossing your boundaries or whatever."

     She took another step towards me, and the little space between us shrunk even more. Clara had to look up to meet my gaze but it didn't make her seem any less powerful in this situation. "Do you think maybe you did it because you wanted to?"

     I muttered, "Maybe."

     "And do you think maybe you want to now?"

     I pressed my back against the wall. "I don't understand what's happening."

     "If I kiss you right now are you going to freak out and bolt from the room?" Clara really didn't mince words. I tried to shake my head one way, but it was a stiff movement. Clara quirked her brows and I noticed her lip twitch as she took the last few steps between us.

     Her body pressed closely to mine. I shut my eyes too soon, before we'd even met like I was actually more fearful she was going to punch me and not kiss me. "Veda," she said quietly. "Will you loosen up?"

     I felt Clara's hands on my face, holding me steady. I opened my eyes the smallest bit and her lips were like directly in sight. They were all I could see. She leaned in and I blurted, "Wait. What if I do have a crush on you?"

     She shrugged softly. "So what if you do?"

     "I don't want to give you any more of a reason to hate me."

     Clara was laughing as soon as the words left my mouth. "You think, you think I hate you?" I nodded slowly. "I had a thing for you, Veda."

     My mouth was dry again. Someone knocked on the bathroom door, and Clara glanced over her shoulder, calling, "Just a minute" and then her gaze returned to mine, questioningly.

     "Had?" I asked and she laughed again, pushing the sound into my mouth as she kissed me.

    Turns out Clara West didn't want me dead.

     (She just wanted me.)