5th

"Being attractive is not an excuse for being a lousy person." - Unknown.

"Scarlett," Imogen moans, tugging impatiently on my sleeve. "Come on."

I sigh, trying to brush away the wisps of mousey brown hair that are repeatedly falling in front of my eyes. Despite scraping around in my locker for minutes now, I can't find the gift I'm almost positive should be awaiting me.

"I told you earlier, I want to get the early bus so I have enough time to get ready for tonight."

         I mumble something incoherent in a vague attempt to satisfy exasperated best friend. Finally, my fingers latch on to a tiny parcel wrapped into tissue paper. I pull it from my locker and stuff it into my pocket. Thankfully, Immy is too preoccupied by examining her appearance in a miniature mirror to see.

"Ready," I breathe, closing the metal door and leaning back against it.

"Finally; did you want me to go to the party of the year looking like this?" She gestures towards herself, as if to show how dreadful she looks. Honestly, I think she looks pretty, with only a small amount of mascara swiped across her lashes and dark hair swept into a ponytail. But apparently the event tonight is the most important thing everand a ponytail just won't do.

❄️

I quickly say goodbye to Imogen, making her promise to wait to pick me up before everything kicks off, and then get off the bus. Unlike usual, I don't feel so much in a hurry to open my gift. So, when I arrive into the comforting warmth of my own home I focus my attentions onto making myself a hot chocolate.

When Jay arrives home, barging through the door unceremoniously with a friend I don't recognise, I'm still curled up on the sofa although my hot drink was finished a while ago.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for the party? Immy won't talk to you for, like, a month unless you go," he tells me. I throw a cushion at him. Soon, Jay and his mate have disappeared upstairs and I'm alone again. Sighing, I realise I probably should starting to get ready. After all, I haven't even planned what I was wearing.

I quickly send a snapchat to Imogen, pulling a face and captioning it 'what are you wearing?!'. She replies instantly with a blurry photo of what looks like a red dress. Mentally scanning through my wardrobe, I make my way to my room. No doubt I'm going to be in a rush later.

❄

The Bastille track I'm playing as background music is rudely interrupted by my mobile buzzing against the dressing table. An absentminded glance at the screen tells me that Imogen is on her way. Looking back to my reflection in the mirror, I quickly finish the eyeliner on my right eye. On examining my appearance, I decide it's best to ignore the fact it's a lot more wobbly than the smooth black liner on my left eye.

The doorbell rings and I rush to answer the door. I open it to find Immy stood in front of me in a red dress that seems to cling to her figure in all the right places. I glance down to my silver-blue dress and suddenly feel very awkward. I haven't dressed like this since... a long time.

She gasps, raising a hand with matching red nails to her mouth as she takes in my appearance. It's impossible to prevent the goofy smile that breaks out on my face. I missed how good it felt to get all dressed up.

I look the polar opposite to my friend I'm accompanying. She looks boldly stunning in her matching red dress, shoes, nails and lips. Her dark brown hair is twisted into the most intricate fishtail plait I've ever seen; it must've taken her hours. Whereas I'm taller, skinnier with olive skin and loose fair hair that falls just past my shoulders. My dress matches my appearance: light and simple.

"You ready to go?"

Suddenly remembering my secret Santa gift for the first time tonight, I dart into my bedroom and retrieve it off the bed. I'm glad I did, because in my hands is a silver bracelet with a single silver heart on it. It matches my outfit perfectly, so much so it's almost scary. I slip it onto my wrist before rushing back out to Imogen, my mind reeling.

I chew my lip the entire drive to the party, nervously worrying about everything. What if I'm too dressed up? Too dressed down? What am I supposed to do if I lose Immy?

Meanwhile, my best friend sits beside me, completely cool and collected. She never seems to worry about anything, especially not parties and popular people. Then again, I guess overthinking about everything, especially parties and popular people, is my speciality.

"You look beautiful," Immy reassures me, as if reading my mind. She squeezes my hand just as the car pulls to a halt.

When we step out onto the pavement, I can already hear the music. Aaron Dean's house is three buildings away from us, but the lights and the noise are already too much for me. I want to turn around and run away and go home and wish I'd never even considered to coming to one of these parties. But Imogen's iron grip on my hand stops me. So I carry on walking – left, right, left, right.

You can do this Scarlett. You've been to these things before. I remind myself, but it doesn't comfort me.

All too soon we're knocking on the door of Aaron's huge house. It seems a little pointless, seeing as nobody would hear the knocking over the blaring music, but somebody I don't recognise opens the door. He grins then stumbles over to a group of people who are congregating in the hallway.

Somehow, I end up in the lounge, which appears to be the heart of the party. A slightly slurred voice calls out my best friend's name and suddenly, just like that, I'm alone. The music is even louder in here; it's the kind I don't like, with the heavy bass that pounds so loudly you're not sure if there is even anything else to the song. It smells like house parties: a mixture of sweat and alcohol and God knows what else. It's strangely familiar, from a while ago, but I push any memories to the back of my mind.

There are so many people. I don't recognise most of them; the ones I do recognise seem to all be off their faces or just plain ignoring me. My eyes dart around the room as the music skips to another song that sounds almost identical to the track before. The majority of the girls are in tiny, obscene Christmas outfits that are barely more than a strip of PVC.

         A girl who I recognise as being in a few of my classes approaches me and hands me a red cup, smiling widely. I'm about to say something to her when a boy approaches her from behind and wraps his arms around her, drawing her away. Frowning, I take a sip of the drink she gave me. I instantly regret it; now I just feel more sick.

I want to get out, I need to get out, but it's as if I'm trapped. The room is huge but not in proportion to amount of sweaty, noisy teenagers crammed into it. It's dark too, with flashing lights that make my eyes hurt.

Imogen has disappeared completely; she didn't need me here at all. Suddenly, I feel an overwhelming urge to cry. Everything builds up; it's too loud, too loud, too loud and too cramped and too squashed and I just want to go home. But I can't, because I need Immy to do that and there's no doubt she'll leave after what must only be a matter of minutes.

Finally, I manage to worm my way out and into a room that looks like a study. It's empty and oddly quiet compared to the deafening music and shouting in the lounge. I feel as though the room is out of bounds, but I'm hardly going to make a mess or break anything, so I stay. In the moonlight illuminating the room through the window I catch a glimpse at my bracelet. It looks expensive. I feel even more lost as to who on earth would be willing to spend that much money on me.

My haven of calm is interrupted when a couple burst in, so wrapped up in kissing each other they don't even notice me. I quickly slip away, back into the harshness of the party.

At one point, I spot Immy dancing as she grabs a drink, surrounded by a group of people. She fits in here, I don't. Not anymore, anyway.

Also, whilst hovering awkwardly in the kitchen on my phone, I see the boy who gave me the first letter. He seemed nice, so out of pure loneliness, I offer a small smile. Maybe he smiles back, or maybe it's just my tired and slightly intoxicated mind that imagines it. Either way, nothing more happens as I'm too damn scared to go over and talk to him. At the end of the day, he's popular. A friend of Aaron, I presume.

After what feels like hours of trying to find somewhere to go, someone to fit in with, I attempt to find Immy again. Last time I saw her, she was heading into the lounge. I swallow hard. It's only a party, they're only people. It seems even more crowded than the last time, but at least the music has calmed a little. It's a Christmas pop song I feel as though I should recognise.

I make my way through my peers in the aim of reaching the other side of the room. In my hand I clutch a paper cup of Smirnoff Ice. Suddenly, a boy who's a lot taller and stockier than me collides with me, sending my drink flying, mostly over my dress. I look up to see him looking down at me with disdain, not a single word of apology coming from his lips.

"An apology would be nice. Learn some manners," I mutter. But apparently my words come out louder than expected because it feels like everybody in the room has turned to look at me, shock etched on every single face. Gritting my teeth and forcing myself not to blush, I look up again at the boy before me. I realise with a jolt who it is. Aaron Dean, the most popular and powerful boy in the school, is glaring daggers at me. Oh, crap.

Well, that explains the shocked look on everybody's faces. I clench my fists. Maybe it looks aggressive, but really it's to stop them from shaking. Aaron tilts his head to the side, as if assessing what he should say or do to me.

"What?" he says eventually, in a voice that's cold and hard. His anger is evident. But, apparently, so is mine because I see someone mouth to their friend that I'm about to hit him. Glancing down to my balled hands, I take a deep breath.

I may be a nobody but I know how it works. Somebody has to stand up to the big guy. Unfortunately, that person is me.

"I said: an apology would be nice," I reply, surprised at how confident and steady my voice sounds in comparison to my pounding heart. "You pushed into me and spilt my drink on my dress. Another, less rude, person would apologise. But I guess you lack the manners of most people."

A collective gasp of awe sounds around the room. Either that or they're all taking a deep breath for me, knowing what my words will make Aaron do. But, somehow, I don't feel affected by it. The quiet, background noise Scarlett has been replaced by a bolder, if slightly tipsy, version of myself.

"You do know who you're talking to, don't you?" Aaron says. He still looks annoyed, but at the same time a little dumbfounded. People clearly don't stand up to him often.

"Yeah, you're Aaron Dean, right? I'm Scarlett, Scarlett Moore. You probably don't know me," I inform him simply. There's no evident spite on my voice, but it's not exactly friendly. Aaron stares at me, as everyone else is right now. At least forty pairs of eyes bore into me – left, right and centre.

But then I spot another pair of eyes. Just past Aaron's shoulder, almost hidden by all the other people, a pair of green eyes have their gaze rested on me. Something about them strikes at something in my mind, but before I can ponder on it they've disappeared within the crowd once more.

"Listen, I suggest you leave right now. Or else I'll-"

"You'll what? Hit me? Hitting someone is bad manners, you know. Then again, so is kicking someone out of your party. You're only proving my point, whatever you do," I comment slyly, lips curling into a wry smile. I'm thankful of my intelligence, because that's the only thing I can do. Aaron is stronger; more powerful; louder; more popular than me. But I'm smarter. So I'll just outsmart him.

"Didn't think so," I say, after a stunned silence. At some point, the music appears to have been paused, because there is nothing but silence suffocating us. "Anyway, I would say thanks for a great party, but frankly it wasn't. So thanks for an interesting night, but I think I'll leave now. Bye Aaron."

Without risking looking around, I turn on my heel and walk out, eyes focused only ahead of me as my fingers toy at my bracelet.

ooh lil bit of sassy scarlett for you there.
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ella x