Chapter 1: Dinner party gone wrong?

I don't know what news was worse. Finding out that the Luxens had moved back, or that my mother was planning a 'welcome back' dinner with them.

I'd have to toss a coin up on that one."It's not THAT bad Azalea." My mother--whom I'll often refer to as The B***h-- places down the plate she was inspecting, and reaches her arm across the kitchen table. She grips my hand, and squeezes it affectionately.

"I understand why you're upset." No, no you don't. "But you must move on from the past, and throw away the grudge you have against all of his family."

I grit my teeth. "I don't have a grudge against his family, only his sorry a*s."

She drops my hand, and recedes back to the sink to continue scrubbing the dishes. "You must stop this. I know he was horrible to you and Kate for the last two months before he left," three months, "but before that time, you two were the best of friends..." Yeah, before he became all popular and bullied--no, tormented us. He RUINED our last year of middle school.

Her back was turned towards me, but her growing irritation lit up the room like a lightbulb. "Mom, I know you and Mrs. Luxen are friends...But Will and I aren't. And you can't make us be."

"That's not my intention," she scoffs as she dries a plate.

"Maybe not at the moment, but I guarantee you and Mrs. Luxen will try some group activity to get us together, like that stupid bingo game last time." Before she can respond I cut her off, "I'll go to the stupid dinner tonight, but don't even try some stupid stunt. Will and I are history." I cut her off once more, by retreating up the steps to my room. From the distance I can hear her swearing, and dialing digits on her phone--probably Mrs. Luxen's-- but I didn't care. No matter what she did, it couldn't take back what HE did.

"Darling, can I speak to you for a moment?" I peer over my shoulder, as my hand connects with my silver doorknob. "Please." My father is leaning against his own bedroom door, a wary expression hanging across his aged face.

Sighing in defeat, I swivel around to face him. His beard has grown out a bit. New grey hairs shined against his dark brown hair. Like me, he had untamable knotty curls that just refused to listen to any brush or straightener. You can really tell which parent I resemble, both appearance and personality wise.

"What was that about downstairs?" He gestures towards the stairs with his thumb, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Nothing worth talking about." I huff, impatiently tapping my foot. He remains silent, his gaze staring deep into my soul. Seriously, I hate when he does this! It makes me feel uneasy. This goes on for about five more minutes. His unnerving stare, my impatient tapping.

I couldn't take it any longer, "Okay! Okay!" I sigh, "the Luxens are moving back, and mom is throwing them a welcome back dinner." I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose so to ease the sudden stabs of pain in my head. Just the mention of him made me irritated.

"I could have guessed by your permanent scowl." He cracks a smile, revealing his perfect pearly white teeth that I was unfortunate enough not to inherit. Like my mom, I have a slightly angled top canine that three years of braces just couldn't fix.

"So you understand my feelings about this event? Perfect. Talk mom out of it." It's bad enough I'll have to deal with him at our new school. But at least there I can avoid him. When he's living down the block, and constantly over for dinners, I'll have to endure his constant annoying company. Couldn't she spare me ONE dinner?

"Please don't make this hard on your mother. She hasn't seen her friend, in what, a year?"I roll my eyes, "They talk over the phone like every other hour."

"You know that's not the same."
"And Facebook."
"Not the same."
"And Skype."
"Still isn't the same as in person."

"And Instagram, and Goplus, and Twitter. Hell, I even think she downloaded snapchat to send Mrs. Luxen a selfie with her new curtains the other day!"

"I have no idea what the half of that is. But I promise, none of it is like seeing your bestfriend in person." He leans forward, walking towards the top of the steps. "Just try to be good, this dinners means a lot to her." And then he's gone, down the steps to see the devil incarnation herself. Good try dad. But you can't use your guilt act on me.

The bedside clock strikes seven, as I nervously toy with the strings on my ratty old hoodie. In a matter of moments my mom would call, no, order me down to greet the 'guests' that had arrived a total of 8 minutes and 43 seconds ago. Yes, I was counting down to the decimal. And I know the moment she catches sight of my messy unwashed hair, old faded hoodie, and SAO pajama pants she'd just about have a stroke.

"Azalea! Please come down here, our guests have been waiting patiently." And there it was. The chime to the bell of death.

Am I really going to do this? Can I really silence my inner ninja around the a*****e who threw away years of friendship for a few months of popularity? "Azalea!!!"

"I GET IT! I'M COMING!" I angrily kick off my bed, throwing my hair up in an extremely messy bun (I actually can't do them to save my life, but at least with text you can picture it done correctly), before descending the stairs cautiously.

With each step, voices become more prominent. I feel my heart beating faster and the massive black hole in my stomach growing heavier. It somehow sucks up every ounce of my confidence, yet so conveniently leaves behind my full bladder. I really have to pee.

I hesitantly enter the kitchen, my eyes sticking to the floor beneath us. And as predicted, my mother's response to my outfit is...well...

"AZALEA BENNET! WHAT IN GODS NAME ARE YOU WEARING?!?! DID YOU NOT SEE THE OUTFIT I SPECIFICALLY LAID OUT ON YOUR BED?! PLEASE TELL ME YOU AT LEAST SHOWERED...OH GOD YOU DIDN'T. AND TO THINK I BOUGHT YOU THOSE SCENTED BATH BEADS. I COULD BE IN PARIS RIGHT NOW-"

"Mom," I fight a smile, it's always extremely funny to hear my mother's rants, "calm down-" I look up from the floor paneling, expecting to see my mother, but instead spot a pair of murky grey eyes only feet away from me. Will.

I see that my mother is in fact a few feet behind him, a seemingly hidden smirk beneath her otherwise angry face. Will. He continues to stand motionless in front of me. His grey eyes sweep over mine, a bored expression paved across his sun-kissed face. I couldn't help it, I had to once him over--just to see what I was dealing with here.

He was always a decent looking guy, even as a child younger girls seemed drawn to his boyish face. What with his pale skin that resembled the finest China, grey eyes the color of the sky after a storm passes, and brown--almost black hair that seemed to contrast perfectly with his otherwise light features. And even now; his once lanky frame a bit broader and more sculpted, his China skin now significantly tanner from long nights at beaches, and ebony black hair grown out enough, so that it sweeps to his left temple. Even now, I can see the boy that was once him. A different, better, him.

A smile finds its way to his face, "Hello Azzie." The use of my childhood nickname catches me off guard. "It's been a while. A year, if I can remember correctly."

"Hi." I mutter. It's lame, I know...but my ninjas are too busy processing what is happening. Like, why isn't he being the jerk like he was at school? Or why isn't he ignoring me like he did at bingo last year?I guess the adults seem to realize the growing tension, because they finally find the wits to step in.

"Azalea!" Mrs. Luxen steps in between Will and I, breaking our unnerving stare off. She pulls me into a half hug, practically suffocating me with her fur coat and pungent perfume. "How are you, my dear?"

"I'm...great!" I struggle to get a breath with the overwhelming smell of her spray poison. God, what possesses woman to wear so much perfume?

"That's great!" She steps back again, willing clean (untainted) air to come in her wake. "We have so much to talk about over dinner!"

I eye a bored looking Will behind her, whose eyes seem to drift in and out of thought. There was certainly something different about him, but different doesn't necessarily mean good. "We certainly do."

Author's Note

Currently unedited