When Our Worlds Collide (Our Worlds #1)(9)
Amanda is directly behind us and overhears Violet’s question as we are making small steps to getting out of the crowded auditorium. “Kennedy’s not going to Craig’s. Why do you even bother asking? We all know it’s not her scene,” she snarls in my direction. Her voice is sharp as if she can’t be bothered with the idea of me showing up at someplace she intends on being. “Just because you can dance like a stripper doesn’t mean you’ll gain the attention of the guys around here.”
It works for her. I don’t have the audacity to say that out loud, but it’s a thrilling thought.
Graham slides past us trying to get to his friends when he stops dead in his tracks causing me to nearly collide into his back. He turns to face the three of us. I suck in my breath in surprise practically bouncing backwards to put some distance between us.
“If they danced like you then I’d be spending my weekends at the strip clubs,” Graham winks at me (Again!) then turns to catch up with his friends. I can feel the heat creeping up my neck. Amanda groans under her breath in irritation at her boyfriend’s comment.
I look over at Amanda wanting to say something, to stand up for myself. I choose not to. Graham handled it for me. She is right about me not fitting in with the rest of them. Drunk and stoned teenagers aren’t and will never be my scene. I am proud of that. I have nothing against people who think it is the only way to spend a Saturday night. It’s just not something that has ever intrigued me and Violet knows that. It doesn’t stop her from asking me every weekend. The answer is always the same.
“Don’t listen to her. She’s a bitch and you don’t dance like a stripper. As for Graham’s comment, holy shit,” Violet squeals linking her arm through mine as we walk the rest of the way to our cars in the parking lot. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”
“Just be safe tonight and call me if you need a ride,” I remind her. I hate to think that Violet would be dumb enough to drink and drive, but things happen. Life happens.
“That’s why I love you. Always taking care of my ass,” she says in her sweetest voice prancing off to her car.
“I love you too.” I call out. With that, I am on my way back home to spend my weekend how I usually do when I’m not with Violet. Alone, and yes I know how pathetic it actually sounds to admit. I pull out of the parking lot and roll down my windows letting the cool wind run circles through my car.
I turn my music up loud and for the first time tonight I feel relaxed. I had gotten through dancing in front of everyone from school without making a complete idiot of myself. That was my one and only goal for the night.
It isn’t long until I am pulling into my driveway. We live only three miles down the road in a development that is fairly new, a few cul-de-sacs linked together by a few smaller streets. Outside of the neighborhood there are a few larger homes that look out of place amongst the rest of ours. I pull in to find both of my parent’s cars sitting in the driveway. They shouldn’t be home already. I nearly had to push them out the door earlier convincing them that they didn’t need to come watch me. It’s the anniversary for crying out loud and they’ve seen me dance almost every day since I was three. I think they could miss this one performance.
As I stepped in the front door, I immediately understood why they were home before ten. They’re arguing. Shocker.
It’s been the same argument for a while now. How are they going to continue to help my brother with school while sending me to Columbia at the same time? The odd thing about this argument is that I haven’t even been accepted yet, and they still insist on having this pointless fight. I’ve explained that I’m not against taking out student loans. They counter with the same argument every time--“We aren’t making your brother and we aren’t going to make you.” My hope is to go on scholarship, if I even get accepted.
I went straight to my room. I don’t even think my parents noticed me sneaking by them. I pull on a pair of my most embarrassingly comfortable sweatpants and a hoodie after getting out of the shower and grab my book from the nightstand. I begin to read and before I know it, it’s already past midnight. My parents are now at the lower level of the argument, but no matter which way you turn it’s still an argument. I hate when they argue especially about something that is still out of mine or anyone’s control.
I try to continue to read, but it becomes impossible to drown out their words. I walk over to my window and slide it open just as I have for the past two years since we moved in. Whenever my parent’s fight, I have the urge to go for a walk. I did it one night after a really big one and it sort of became a habit. I never go too far in fear of upsetting them if they find my room empty. I just go far enough to clear my head of everything.
My parents love each other more than two people should be capable of, so don’t get the wrong idea by the fighting. Like other couples that go through financial difficulties and have been together for as long as they have, they’re bound to pick a fight now and then. It’s always the same thing. They wake up in the morning and all’s forgiven and forgotten until the next time. I can only dream of finding a love like theirs.
They met freshman year of college, both studying accounting. Of course, they have opposite ideas of how the night they met actually went. Mom claims that she didn’t want anything to do with my dad. Dad likes to remember that night with Mom plopping her butt on his lap begging for a ride home from a party. We’ll never know the truth. Watching them argue about it throughout the years made it painfully obvious how much they truly love each other. You can just see the pureness in their eyes when they look at each other remembering where their story began. Like I said, I can only dream of that type of love.