I lie in the tub soaking. Dreams fill my head, but so does Mudpie Mojo; my brain shoves him out, but he creeps back in.
The phone buzzes on the washcloth in the corner behind my head. I sneak a peek. “P-A-R-T-Y!” JuneBug’s one-word text wakes me.
“I’m so there! Emoji flame, flame, flame” I answer. My heart races. My new-found social life is about to be officially launched. I grab my razor and check my legs for any spots I may have missed. Good enough. Water splashes around my feet that hop out of the tub without tripping. I rummage through my clothes and come up empty-handed. “I’m seriously lacking in the fun clubbing department.” I grumble as I text JuneBug. “Closet raid needed desperately. You’re talking to the Queen of athletics and comfort.”
“I’ll be right over. We’ll find an outfit. It’ll be Clash!” she answers.
Five minutes later, no lie, there’s a pounding on the stairs. She flies through the door gasping for breath. JuneBug doesn’t mess around. “Alright…”(pant, pant) “what we got to…”(pant, pant) “work with here?” (pant, pant)
We’re best friends, so there’s no point in dancing around. “I was kind of a jock in Florida, so like, I don’t really have much that isn’t like, athlete’s wear.”
“Okayyy, well, we can make this work. We’ll go for the ‘messy hair, don’t care’ look. How about that?”
“Sure. It’s worth a shot. I mean, whatever you say, you’re like the fashion queen over here, and I’m like…well, I don’t even know.”
“Hey!” Her hand is out like a stop sign. “If we’re going to hang out in pubs, you gotta own it. That means whatever the hell you’re wearin’ is exactly what you intended to. Got it? No lookin’ down at the ground, all apologetic. Anyone don’t like what you wear, that’s their probs. Right?”
“Yeah. Sure. Got it.” She stares me down, testing me. I look her in the eye. “Yeah, B. I Got It. And, yes, I meant a female dog. I don’t swear. It’s just one of my things.”
“Alright. Fine. But I ain’t gonna say you won’t hear some words coming from this mouth. I’m pretty sure I was a sailor in my other life.”
“Cool! I always wanted to be friends with a Captain. I’ll be your first mate.” I salute her.
JuneBug eye checks me. “Dude, Tone…It…Down. You’re an odd duck, that’s for certain. People gonna think you’re a home-schooled Heidi. You might want to dial down your enthusiasm. I can handle it, but I don’t know about the rest of the general population…”
I’m so lost. “Home-schooled Heidi?”
“Heidi was the orphan who lived in the Swiss Alps? I thought you were like a literary genius.”
I feel stupid. I don’t like it. “Dude. I am. Like in this century.”
“Whatever. I totally got you. So just admit it.”
“Fine. I admit it. Please find me something to wear.”
She tosses my clothes left and right. She settles on a pair of yoga pants? “I’m telling you. You’ve got mile-long legs like Pretty Woman. You don’t even know.”
“Okay.” I seriously doubt it.
“This one.” She holds up a champion off-the-shoulder sweatshirt I didn’t know I had. “And these shoes”
“They’re tennis shoes.”
“Yeah, but they’re all colorful and comfy. And they match.”
None of it looks too promising. “JuneBug. This is sooo going to make me look like my mom’s outdated workout videos plus thirty pounds and five inches.”
JuneBug laughs. “You’re so weird. Just give it a shot. Put it on.”
I do as she says. It looks halfway decent. JuneBug does my hair in a little messy bun atop my head, yet I don’t look like a bumbling mess. ”Whoa. I look like a bored college girl,” I saw in awe. “Thanks, JuneBug!”
Her face gets serious. “Next comes the make-up. I just happen to have an emergency make-up kit with me. Now, I will reveal to you the super-secret secrets of the magical tool kit every Cosmogirl must have on them at all times.”
I nod my head in solemn solidarity, wishing I could take notes but that would be going too far, so instead, I try to store all of her advice in my brain. I play it cool like I’ve been to tons of parties, coming from Florida and all.
In reality, I haven’t been to a party since I was in 7th grade and I spent most of that party trying to blend in with the wall, desperately attempting to stay beneath the predatory radar of “Wendi with an I”, every school girl’s nightmare; perfect hair, perfect teeth, and an insane, innate ability to nail people’s fears perfectly of the thing they were most self-conscious about, which I thought I did an excellent job of until halfway through the party, somehow I ended up with the nickname “Kate the Great who Never Has a Date” which now sounds ridiculous, but at the time, it was soul-crushing. Listening to a group of middle schoolers chant this for probably less than a minute at the time felt as threatening and demeaning as the nightmares I’ve had when I’m standing in a crowded school hallway in my underwear.
“Katie. Katie! Where are you? In dreamland again? Care to share?”
I try to shake off that party memory. “Nope. I think I’m good. We ready to go then? What else do I need?”
“Money. You got any money?”
“Hold on.” I run downstairs.
“Mom, I’m going out with JuneBug. Got any money?”
“Sure. Here.” She hands me a twenty.
“Thank, Mom. I’ll pay you back.”
She waves her hand at me. “No need this time. Be back by midnight.”