When Distress Meets Distress - S01 E65

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When Distress Meets Distress - S01 E65

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 65

I smacked his arm, laughing at his reaction. “I’m not

sure if it was him.”

“Who else was there?” he asked me as he sprawled

out on the couch, putting his legs on my lap. I

casually lifted the controller above his legs and

continued hitting my opponent.

I thought for a moment. “Francis, well, at least he’s

the only one I knew.”

“Don’t you hate that guy? And doesn’t he hate you?”

Jer asked me.

“Pretty much,” I told him.

My brother made a ‘duh’ noise. “Then isn’t it obvious

who it is?”

“Jesus?” I asked him with a smirk on my lips. My

brother and I laughed together before I groaned. “But

seriously, Jonah doesn’t like me. He’d probably kiss

Francis before he’d kiss me.”

My brother let out a howling laugh before he fell off

of the couch, distracting me from my game. He

caused me to lose and I tossed the controller at his

head. It bounced off like a bouncy ball and he didn’t

even acknowledge it. “I can imagine that right now.”

“You don’t know what Francis looks like though,” I

replied.

“I imagine him as Tom Felton,” he told me and I

scoffed.

“That’s not right at all,” I replied and he rolled his eyes

while getting up.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready? It takes a long time

to transform from an ape to a princess right? Well,

too bad, we don’t have that much time,” my brother

snorted.

“You’re mean,” I snapped.

“Don’t worry; I’ll make it up to you. I’ll help you solve

your kissing mystery.” The thought of him meddling

in my love life scared me so I just walked upstairs,

taking his advice. It would take a while to get ready.

~~~

As I’m telling you this, I realize how cliché I sound. I

don’t dance well. I hate dresses. And I’ve had one

boyfriend before in my life and it ended terribly. But

they’re all totally true. The second one is the one that

I’m focusing on right now. Let me tell you the story

of why I hate dresses okay.

I was in the 6th grade and it was picture day;

everything tragic happens on picture day. My mom

dressed me in a bright yellow dress and I actually

liked it. I had black ballet shoes on, too. I had my hair

in pig tails and I was ready to take on the camera.

There was one problem, though. We had recess

before picture time and I, being the hyperactive child

that I was, decided that girls can play sports too,

even if they’re wearing dresses without shorts on

under it. I was playing football, when I fell and ripped

the dress down the back. Long story short, I flashed

my underwear to all of the six and seventh grade

that day.

Anyway, I looked at the dress my mother picked out

for me for the first time today and I hate it. It’s red

and sparkly and I hate it. It splits into two and wraps

around the neck and I hate it. It comes down to

about two inches above the knee and I hate it.

It’s a horrible dress and I still wonder why my

mother would even look at the thing, never mind

purchase it. I wonder why my father didn’t make her

return the stupid thing, either.

“Are you ready yet, Van?” my father asked from

outside of my door. I’d styled my hair already and

even went as far as to put on mascara and eyeliner,

not for my sake; but for the sake of procrastination. I

didn’t want to see this dress and I now regret even

looking at the thing.

“Yeah, I’m putting on the dress,” I lied. My mother

forgot to buy stockings, too, so now I’m going to

have to wear the dress without them. I groaned.

What’s the point of even wearing a dress for a

Christmas party? Isn’t Christmas in the winter? And

isn’t it cold in the winter? Can my mother and father

apply logic before inviting guests to spend the day at

our humble abode wearing things that they’ll freeze

in?