I glance around at the darkened gym and repress a sigh.
Well, here I am again.
Most girls would kill to have anyone ask them to homecoming, but me? I’d like to go single, just this once.
I shift toward the punch table, debating on whether to actually take a cup. It isn’t spiked, no matter what the stupid freshmen say. Ha, I bet they haven’t even tasted alcohol before. I shake my head at the freshmen’s stupidity and pick up a cup, taking a deep gulp.
At my elbow, my date tries to say something. I can’t hear him. The music is too loud.
I see my friend Emily jumping and bobbing to the music like she hasn’t a care in the world. I’m absurdly jealous.
She wasn’t the one who got 5 homecoming invitations. And she’s obviously having more fun than me.
It probably helps that she isn’t obsessed with keeping up appearences, like me.
Because she isn’t obsessed with making everyone else happy, to the point that her own happiness is impossible.
Yes, I am jealous.
Because I wish I could just let go like her.