We all hate our bodies. Isn’t that normal? How can we be content with our not-perfectly white teeth, mannish hands, and the fact that one boob is larger than the other? We can’t help but look in the mirror and point out our differences, competing to see who’s ugliest. Perhaps we did this to prove to each other who is actually the prettiest, or perhaps because showing love to ourselves and each other is too foreign of a concept.

One of us will start complaining, “God, I hate my lips. Why are they so big?” Then a chain reaction begins and another one of us says, “At least you don’t have to deal with these giant shoulders, making it impossible to buy shirts that flatter you.”

“Shut up. You know it’s better to have big shoulders than a massive ass. I can never find jeans that fit!”

The conversation goes on this way as we continue to get dressed for gym class. Hiking up our shorts and tucking in our shirts to make our figures more appealing to the boys, hoping to reel in a new, more attractive boyfriend than our last.

We touch up our concealer and foundation to cover the newly-emerging pimples. In this world, a blemish on the skin is worse than a blemish on the soul. We can be a back-stabbing bitch as long as we look good doing it. The boys only ever want to date the beautiful, big-breasted, bubbly bitches, so that’s what we mould ourselves into being. We seek to appease and please the male eye in every step, bend, and breath. Being your true self is not an option. No one cares who you really are. This locker room is a warzone. It’s kill or be killed.

“Hey Aria, are you going to Danielle’s party this weekend?”

“Danielle’s having a party this weekend?”

“Yeah. Her parents are going to a spiritual retreat or whatever, so the house will be free for us to party. Oh wait… she didn’t tell you? Shit, my bad.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell me she was having a party?”

“Well, weren’t you talking to her ex? Maybe she’s mad.”

“He texted me! I only responded to tell him to fuck off.”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you came by.”

“Wait, how would she know Matt was texting me? I never told anyone.”

“Well, maybe he told her to make her jealous or whatever.”

“Maybe I should just talk to her…”

“You could, but she’s in like a really shitty mood because she’s on her period.”

“Dang, okay. I’ll just come by Saturday night. Thanks for the heads up, Britt.”

“No problem, girl. I’ve got your back.”

Most of us that knew about the party showed up fashionably late in our cutest outfits. An ultra mini-skirt here, a cropped crop top there, and maybe some thigh-high boots to keep our legs warm. We laugh at all the boys’ jokes, placing our hands on their arms or shoulders. Some of us enjoy the close proximity and genuinely think their jokes are funny, but most of us just go through the motions awkwardly, still unsure of how to stand in these damn heels.

In each corner of the modestly lavish house, small herds of fawns whisper over their White Claws.

“Don’t you think Brett is looking fine tonight?” says Kelly as she shifts her weight from one leg to the other. Her calf has begun cramping and it’s only midnight.

“Oh god, you did not just say that,” says Alana, nauseated.

“His face isn’t that cute, but he looks amazing in Speedos.”

“Kelly, please stop. That’s disgusting. He’s your cousin.”

“Yeah, but I can still look and appreciate a nice package when I see one.”

“I’m literally going to puke.”

“That’s not right, is it?”

Alana looks at Brett across the room, looks back at Kelly who’s still daydreaming about him, and says, “That’s definitely not right.”

Kelly nods sullenly, but her gaze drifts back to Brett as she notices him walking into the kitchen and says “Wait, Brett!” as she staggers after him.

Abandoned and exasperated, Alana looks around for another group to be absorbed into because we can’t be left alone with our own thoughts for too long. It causes us to have independent thought and introspection. Two things that we know boys are definitely not into. That’s when Alana notices Britt and Danielle talking avidly on the patio. Curious, she makes her way through the crowd of tipsy teenagers to see what could get Danielle so worked up. Once she’s in earshot, Alana catches part of their conversation.

“I swear to god. If I see her face again, I’m going to rip that stupid weave right out of her stupid head. It doesn’t even match her hair color. Who the fuck does she think she’s fooling? No one can grow four inches of hair over one summer,” says Danielle.

Britt responds, “I’m just as shocked as you are. Like, it should like be a law that friends don’t date other friends’ boyfriends, especially not behind their backs.”

Just as the conversation starts to get juicy, someone turns up the volume and all that Alana could hear was the pulsating beat of some hip hop song. Wanting to hear more, she edges closer to them and leans on the bannister while sipping her Claw, pretending to be listening to a group of jocks talk about last week’s game. Now she can hear the two of them clearly.

“She knew how heartbroken I was after Matt and I broke up. Aria was always there for me during that time,” says Danielle as she takes a shot of Fireball.

“Didn’t you break up with him?”

“Yeah, but it still hurt. I guess you wouldn’t know, Britt. You’ve never had a boyfriend. Honestly, don’t waste your fuckin time. Men are trash.”

“I wouldn’t say all men are trash. Matt was pretty good to you. He always called you beautiful and stuff.”

“Yeah, but he was, like, so clingy. He always wanted me to hang out and, like, meet his parents. It was so annoying.”

“What about Jake?”

“He’s definitely way less annoying than Matt, but sometimes he doesn’t make any sense. He’ll start talking about weird science stuff and I’m just like, ‘uhhh can we talk about something interesting?’ and he’ll get mad. I don’t get him sometimes, but the sex is good. I almost came one time.”

“Huh, yeah, uh… every relationship has its bumps.”

Danielle takes another shot and says, “It’s whatever though. I’ve already got my eye on someone better.”

“Really? Who?”

“I noticed that guy, Brett, when I was walking past the pool and he looks so sexy in those Speedos. I was thinking of breaking it off with Jake tomorrow and getting with Brett instead.”

That’s when the jocks’ conversation began to turn from playful banter into rough housing and Alana got pushed back off the bannister and into the rose bushes below, ripping her from the most interesting gossip she’s heard all night. Unfortunately, the music was too loud and the jocks didn’t notice what they had done. Alana was left alone once again to tend to her dislocated shoulder, about to miss the most interesting thing to happen all week.

Aria had a hard time sneaking out of the house with her parents watching Seinfeld reruns late into the night, but she finally made it to the party. She could hear the baseline of some hip hop song from the front yard. Excited, but mostly nervous, Aria knocks on the door and some random dude opens it to let her in. The party was already in full swing, so she made a beeline for tequila shots to catch up. She pours herself a shot and chases it with some Sprite.

At this point in the night, all of us are drunk. If we weren’t drunk, we were wasted. The winner of most drunk bitch at the party, hands down, went to Danielle and she claimed that title outright upon seeing Aria in her kitchen, drinking her tequila. Marching with all the drunken purpose in the world, Danielle said, “You bitch,” as she slapped Aria in the face. Stunned and confused, Aria stumbles behind the counter to put some distance and a blockade between her and Danielle.

“What the fuck was that for?!”

“For fucking Matt behind my back!”

“I wouldn’t do that to you!”

“Then, why the fuck did Britt tell me you did?”

That was Britt’s cue to try to slip out of slapping distance as quickly as possible. Unfortunately for her, Danielle was faster. She grabbed Britt by the end of her high ponytail and yanked her back into the ring. Now, a crowd was forming around us, chanting, “Fight, fight, fight!”

Danielle yells, spitting slightly in Britt’s face, “What the fuck is going on?”

Shaking, Britt confesses, “It’s just that you’re so much prettier and more popular than me. I knew I never had a chance with Jake, but if I can’t be with him, then I don’t see why anyone else should. I wanted him to break up with you, but, when I found out you were going to break up with him, I realized all my work was pointless.”

Right before all the drama, Jake had walked into the hallway by the kitchen to take a little break. Upon hearing Britt’s confession, he walked back into the kitchen, astonished, and said, “You’re gonna break up with me? Why?”

Knowing that the truth was too shitty to say, Danielle decided to omit some facts.

“I just thought we didn’t really vibe as well as I thought we would.”

“Well, you’re right about that because I’m definitely not digging your vibe right now. I mean, look at you. Getting into drunk cat fights with your own friends? Making a scene in front of all my friends? How do you think that makes me look? How do you think that makes me feel? You know what, I don’t don’t even want to hear it. I liked you because I thought you were nice and at least somewhat of a good person. Now, I’m not so sure… I’m done. We’re done. By the way, Britt, that was a really shitty thing for you to do to a friend. I’m glad your plan didn’t work. Otherwise, I’d be feeling shitty without knowing the reason. At least, now, I know why.”

Walking past wannabe white girls, sloshed jocks, and puffed up posers, Jake walks out the door without looking back, leaving behind three bambi-legged bitches wondering what had possessed them in the first place.

© 2021 Writings by Z

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