This choice: Find a way of going to the Warehouse. • Go Back...Chapter #8Making a Makeover by: Seuzz   Dean gives you a meaningful look to go with his warning, then turns toward the restroom. You stop him with a word: "Hey, are you up for going out to the Warehouse tonight?"
He hesitates for only a fraction before nodding. "Sure, I'd be up for that. Probably Patrick and Lorenzo too. That where you're going?"
"I was thinking about it." You have a sense like you've walked off a precipice into midair, and you feel your stomach lurch. "How do you want to get out there?"
"We'll talk about it after we get done here." He nods vaguely at you, then turns back to the restroom.
* * * * *
Two more people have joined the party by the time you get back to the table. One is a small, slim girl who wears her dark hair in a short bob. The other is a grinning, brown-haired scarecrow who bobs and weaves and squirms in his seat. Kristin introduces them.
"Hey, this is Lacie's sister, Bree." She indicates the girl. "And that's Jonas. This is Will," she adds for their benefit.
"Hey man," Jonas jerks his chin at you, then turns back to Bree. He ducks his head to put his face close to hers. They grin and titter at each other.
And you feel yourself getting very stiff and very spongy and very sparkly as you slide back into the booth. Though it comes with a very electric thrill, you don't much like it.
So here's Lorenzo with his arm around Kristin, and this Jonas guy flirting so hard with this Bree girl that they have to be going out together. Tiffany has been badgering you about which girls you're into.
This kind of thing, in a sense, is what you came out here for—to hang out where you have a chance of hooking up with a girl or two. It's also why you're taking the plunge and going out to the Warehouse.
So why are you feeling so ill?
It's just your fucking nerves, man, you chide yourself through gritted teeth. And jealousy. Suck it up!
So when Tiffany asks you, as the party is breaking up, what you're doing now, you ask what everyone else is doing.
"Going home for some dinner," she says, "then I think we're all going out to Legends. Though," she adds, "if you want to go out to the Warehouse, I bet you can get Patrick and Dean to go with you. Don't let Jonas or Bree go too, though," she adds more darkly.
That was your plan anyway, so you linger outside the restaurant, waiting for them to emerge.
"Oh that's awesome!" Patrick exclaims when you ask him about going to the Warehouse, and he high-fives you again. "We can start at Legends, then carpool out to the Warehouse at around eleven." He looks to Dean for confirmation, who nods.
Eleven? you think in some alarm. That's practically your curfew!
"Can't we go out earlier?" you ask.
Patrick's brow crinkles. "Things don't really get started out there till eleven, midnight, you know."
You hesitate.
"Well, thing is, I got this stupid early curfew. But you know," you quickly correct yourself as Patrick blinks at you, "fuck it. If I get grounded I get grounded."
"Yeah, that's right!" Patrick high-fives you again. "But if you wanna head out there early anyway— Ten?" he looks at Dean, who shrugs. "We can hang out in the bar, smoke a little weed while we wait for things to kick in."
"You got weed, man?" That's Jonas who asked. He has just come out of the restaurant, and he's got his arm around Bree. Seeing them together, you're struck by how much taller he is than her. He's as tall as you, while the crown of her head would barely reach the bottom of his nose.
"Yeah," says Patrick. "You need some?"
"I'll take some."
"We're goin' out to the Warehouse tonight, Dean'n Will'n me. Wanna come?"
"Sure." Jonas ducks his head to look at Bree. You think you see the tiniest light of panic come into her eyes. "You wanna go out?" he asks her in a small, mewling voice. "It'll be fun."
"Sure," she says, though she sounds almost frightened.
"It'll be her first time," Jonas explains to Patrick. At you, he waggles his eyebrows. "But we'll take care of her. What time're we going out?"
"Will might have to take off early," Patrick says. "So ... ten? We can meet up at Legends."
"That'll be great," Jonas says. "I'll talk to Scott'n Daniel, maybe a couple'a other guys. Catch ya later." With a glinting smile and another jerk of his chin, he leaves you.
"Dude!" Patrick exclaims when Jonas is gone, and he punches Dean in the chest. "I gotta get me some new threads! We'll go to Second Pickins b'fore we head out!" He turns to you. "You need to pick you up something new to wear?"
You haven't got the money, but it would probably be a good idea to have some disposable clothes, so you tell him you'll go out to the thrift shop with them. Maybe you could get Patrick to lend you a couple of bucks.
You all part with a plan for meeting up at Second Pickins at around eight.
* * * * *
In the event, you manage to get a couple of twenties off your mom. She gives you a wary look as she hands them over, and questions your excuse about "clothes shopping" on a Friday night, so you spin her a yarn about how you're going with some guy to see his girlfriend who works late at the thrift shop, and how you want to "throw a little business" her way. She asks if you're going to be out late, and you admit that you probably will. "Well, don't forget we have church in the morning," she says, which is a real boner-killer.
Second Pickins is down by the university, catering mostly to the college crowd. It's a general thrift shop with lots of second-hand furniture and used appliances. It has a very large clothing section, though, with jeans, shirts, sweaters, blouses, skirts, shorts, and most everything else (except used socks and underwear, of course) that anyone could want. A musty smell—a mix of dust, old sweat, and weed, you deem—hangs in the air.
Patrick and Dean are late showing up, which gives you plenty of time to paw through the stacks of hoodies, shirts and jeans, making faces, before they arrive.
"Hey man!" Patrick clips you on the back of the head—as he did Keith—in greeting. "You pick anything out yet?"
"Nah, just looking. What are you looking for?"
"Something I can dangle off'a here." He points to his left ear. "And I dunno, something else."
He looks around the store vaguely. Dean catches your eye, and shares a secret grin with you.
So together you follow Patrick around, listening as he picks up, critiques, puts down, and asks opinions of various items without letting you or Dean get a word in.
"Trouble is," he complains, "everything I got I've worn to school. I don't wanna look like I'm goin' to class!"
"So stop wearing your club clothes to school," Dean dryly suggests.
"I gotta look good, man!"
"What do you wear to school?" you ask him. He's dressed hardly different than you, in a light-purple plaid shirt over a white t-shirt and some khakis. That, along with his paunch and pile of short but puffy-curly hair, reminds you a little bit of an overgrown hobbit.
"Oh, this," he says, fluffing out his shirt. "That's how come I gotta get something new!"
"What about you, Will?" Dean asks.
"I dunno. What about you?" you retort.
"I'm going like this." He spreads his pale arms out—arms which look paler in contrast with his black, short-sleeve polo shirt and dark jeans. Those are also school clothes, but you'd have to admit they wouldn't look bad in a club.
But you decide to take your cue from Patrick, which is how you stumble into an ensemble that is both mortifying and exciting.
It starts when Patrick picks out some track clothes, observing that he doesn't have anything like that already, and that he's not going to wear anything like that to school. (He emphasizes the point by slapping his own paunch.) That gets you thinking about how track pants, at least, would be a little different look for you, being a little ... athletic. So you hunt around for some your size. And when Patrick fingers and discards a flannel track jacket, you pick it up and try it on.
Dean plunges in at that point to help, giving you a trucker cap to wear backward; a heavy metal chain to drape around your neck; and a clip-on stud to hang off your ear. He steers you over to a mirror when you're done, where you stare aghast at your alter ego.
"I should wear this at Halloween," you mutter in a half-gasp, half-gargle.
Dean laughs. "You think it's not Halloween out at the Warehouse?" You glance at him, then go back to peeping sidelong at your reflection.
Well, it's a different look for me, you conclude. And going to the Warehouse would be something different for you too. You are more than half-afraid you'll get laughed and jeered at. But if not—
Your cock stirs.
If not, it might be kind of freeing. A chance to be someone not yourself.
A chance not to be such a fucking loser.
* * * * *
Patrick doesn't want to mirror your look, but he winds up mirroring Dean's, with a black denim shirt and dark pants. But he does tweak his ensemble with a pale straw cowboy hat. He shoves Dean when the latter says, "Oh, you're going as Daniel, maybe that way you can actually score."
But maybe the jibe pissed him off, because although he rode out with Dean, he leaves with you. He's scrolling through his phone when he asks, "You gonna text anyone, get her meet you out there?"
You don't know who you'd ask, so you only grunt in reply.
"I can get someone out there for you, if you want," he offers.  | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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