Use Somebody
Authors: Riley Jean
By Riley Jean
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, groups, events and locations are only intended to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, dead and alive, are not to be interpreted as real.
Use Somebody
© Copyright 2015 by Riley Jean
All Rights Reserved
Cover design by Riley Jean
Editing by Joanne LaRe Thompson
For my wonderful husband who has been my biggest support and inspiration.
Thank you for your patience, your comfort, your friendship and your love.
This one’s for you.
This story was never intended to be released.
It began as a creative outlet and turned into a hobby. A string of words here, a paragraph there. Ideas jotted down on Post-its and napkins and text drafts, in total chaos and a far cry from chronological order.
There were a few points that I kept rereading, tweaking and building upon until the dots started to connect. Then I became anxious to see how the journey would play out. And it made me wonder if I was entertained by it, would anyone else enjoy reading it, too?
Three years later, I hit “Publish.” And it feels like I just publicized my own diary.
So to each and every reader, I just want to say that I feel incredibly humbled that you have allowed me to share my story with you. I hope the characters and music touch you as much as they have touched me. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
“OMG, girlie! I loooove your hair!”
Fact: Drunk girls are fascinated by curly hair.
That was one thing I’d learned early on in my first year of college. There was something about curls that turned drunk girls into grabby toddlers. It’s like I had some sort of gravitational pull for them. And let me confess, that’s not the super power I would have chosen for myself. It never failed, they always found me—unsteady on their heels, reeking of beer, and gushing over my head of long, corkscrew curls.
“It’s like a spring! Boing! Boing!” she giggled, tugging on a blond spiral by my ear, then hiccupped.
“My hair like, neeeever curls like this. For real,” her friend joined in, stretching out another ringlet. “Like, I’ll spend forever with a curling iron and within an hour, poof! It falls straight!”
Nevertheless, I couldn’t argue that it made a great conversation starter. So I politely humored them and let them rake their acrylic nails through my hair.
Lexi always said never to trust girls at parties like these, that everything was a competition for attention, and if it meant having an advantage, no one would hesitate to stab you with a stiletto. But these two seemed harmless enough. It wasn’t like I posed any threat to them; guys certainly weren’t tripping over themselves to talk to little ol’ me.
As predicted, Lexi had ditched me for some new guy two minutes after we arrived at this party. I’d been a bit of a wallflower since then. So I couldn’t afford to be picky. When the two girls approached me in my corner, I was happy to talk to them.
“You are so cute I could just put you in my pocket,” drunk girl number one said, still petting my hair. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
See? Not every female out there was hiding red horns and a pitch fork.
“Scarlett,” I told her with a polite smile.
“Awww,” she cooed a little louder than necessary.
“Little Scarlett.
An adorable name for an
adorable
wittle girl!” She wiggled her nose at me, and with one last pat on the head, the two chortled and moved on.
I frowned. Maybe Lexi wasn’t so wrong after all.
A few snickers sounded, making my cheeks heat with embarrassment. I knew exactly what they were all thinking: I didn’t belong here. And they were right. The party around me raged on with pulsing music and bodies loitering behind a haze of smoke. Girls were scantily clad in miniskirts and heels. Guys played quarters and pounded shots. A couple was dry humping in a corner. Or so I hoped.
I was just a lowly freshmen hiding in a corner at a big, bad college party. And on account of these goldilocks, dimples in my cherub cheeks and big brown eyes, I might as well have been wearing pigtails and singing about animal crackers in my soup.
I was well aware that I stuck out like a purple cow in this crowd. Yet when Lexi insisted she didn’t want to arrive alone, I gave in (like always) and conceded to come along anyway. Parents always ask, ‘if your friends jumped off a bridge, would you follow?’ Apparently, at my lowest point, I was one of the sheep who would.
“Got any cash left?”
Lexi snuck up next to me, tapping her pointed toe and looking around like she had somewhere better to be.
“Sure,” I dug in my pockets and found a ten, then quickly pulled it out of reach. “Wait, this isn’t for alcohol, is it? It’s your turn to be DD.”
Her face pinched impatiently. “Are you even drinking tonight?”
“Yes.” As proof, I held up my red plastic cup, a rum and Coke. Mostly Coke. Okay you caught me, it was all Coke.
She snatched the bill out of my other hand. “It’s not for me. It’s for Isaac,” she purred.
Right. Isaac. Her new flavor of the week. “Oh.”
She let out an exasperated snort, using the mirror behind me to fix her hair. Not that one blond strand was ever out of place. “Ugh,” she whined. “Those guys over there are totally checking me out!”
I pressed my lips together, my eyes itching to fall to her barely-there skirt.
Unlike me, Lexi didn’t dread attention—she craved it. She knew how to dress, fix her hair and makeup, and carry herself to turn heads at any party. She was built like a model, standing 5’9” barefoot with bleach-blond hair and impossibly long legs toned year round by volleyball and soccer. When she was dressed to the nines like this, she was known to attract boys from a three-block radius. She was the embodiment of sexy. She knew this, and she used it to her advantage.
I was never fooled when she complained about guys checking her out. I knew she loved the attention, no matter where it came from. I used to tell her,
if you dress like that, you lose the right to complain when guys stare at you
. Her response was always that I didn’t understand and just needed to get laid.
Yep… I gave up on giving her my opinion on anything a while ago. She never listened, so what was the point? Instead I just shook my head and humored her. “Pervs.”
Lexi and I had been best friends since my family moved in next door when we were six. Even back then, we were as different as leather and lace. My bedroom was pale pink with stuffed bears and Disney princesses, while her walls were covered in posters of boy bands and handsome movie stars. She was into makeup, stylish clothes and boys early on, and frowned upon my wind-blown locks and the sweater tied around my waist.
What? I was six and couldn’t care less about “serious fashion ‘don’ts’.”
We were opposites in every way. I still held to the conservative values of my original hometown in Texas, even though we uprooted to California twelve years ago. The southern state was barely a memory at this point, yet in so many ways it was ingrained in every part of me. I was the lady my mama raised me to be. I didn’t swear or gossip. I trusted easily and believed in true love. I grew up singing in the choir instead of playing sports, and would prefer a bubble bath and a good book to a crowded party any day.
From what I could remember, the simplicity and slower pace had given me a happy childhood. Even fifteen hundred miles away, it would always hold a special place in my heart.
So, again, why was I even at this party?
Baa.
I hadn’t always been such a pathetic follower. For most of my life, I was headed in a completely different direction: the straight and narrow. Be home before curfew; get good grades; work hard; no sex, drinking or drugs. Totally straight edge and perfectly content. When my clique—the same tight friends I’d had through junior high and high school—started to seek the wild side of life, I resisted. That kind of “fun” didn’t hold an interest for me. But the older we got, the more I began to stand out from them. From everyone.
I’d been in a bit of a funk ever since my breakup with Miles over the summer. That’s when the doubt began to take hold. As soon as Lexi and I moved to the beach, she made it her personal mission to lead me in a proper rebound filled with booze and boys. So I dropped the “higher expectations.” I chose to numb my mind and body from experiencing the pain of yet another failed relationship. All my life I’d been the goody-goody, the prude. And what had it gotten me? One stoner and one cheater. The dream of finding true love seemed to fade a little more every day.
I had always been skeptical of how drunken nights and random hookups would solve my problems. According to Lexi, I just needed to “fake it til I make it.” I wasn’t sure I believed her, but I was lost enough to go along with it anyway.
Baa.
They say college is the time in life when you’re supposed to find yourself. But so far, I’d never felt more adrift. It’s a confusing age, that time between adolescence and adulthood. As a teen, we think we know everything, we are told we can do anything, we are invincible. As an adult we have responsibilities and limitations. Everyone is struggling to dream big when we have little. To fit in while trying to discover our own uniqueness and individuality.
For me, even standing in front of the mirror had become an identity crisis. The same girl with golden curls and big brown eyes stared back at me. Was I still innocent like my youthful appearance suggested? Or had I crossed the line into new territory based on my scandalous summer? I used to be so absolute in my social label, but within a matter of months, the girl in the mirror had become a mystery to me. I didn’t know her at all anymore.
Last week marked the start of the New Year, where I decided to stop playing this game, take back some control, and rediscover who I was inside. Maybe I wasn’t that innocent high school girl anymore, but I couldn’t be this imposter, either. Deep down, I believed there was more to life than partying and hookups. Answers were out there somewhere. I didn’t know when or how, but eventually, I was going to find them.
“Maybe if Isaac’s roommate thinks you’re hot, he’ll hookup with you,” offered Lexi.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, a little too obvious that I wasn’t interested.
“Don’t sulk in this damn corner all night,” she scolded, applying lip gloss and finishing the job with a loud smack. “At least
try
to get a guy interested in you.”
With those final words of encouragement, she turned from the mirror and strode away without a backward glance. She did stop once to flirt with a guy standing by the kitchen. Like a well-practiced party trick, she took his beer bottle and popped the top with her belly button, stealing a sip before giving it back.
Everyone in the vicinity made catcalls and gravitated toward the beautiful blond. She was in her element here—fun, superior, sexy. She could’ve had anyone she wanted. And maybe eventually she would. For now, she just blew them a kiss and continued on her way.
I watched her retreating back (complete with pink butterfly tattoo) get swallowed by the sea of people. Even the way she swung her hips was intentionally seductive. She earned a few more fans just by exiting the room.
Life was a game that came all too easily for Lexi Monroe. She kept dragging me to these parties thinking a good romp would fix me, but I wasn’t like her. I didn’t want to show off my “assets” or work a crowd. I wanted a gentleman. Romance. A real love. A man interested in getting to know
me
. (Crazy, I know.) An entire list of qualities was catalogued in one of my past journal entries. And starting this year, I was determined not to settle for the next Joe Schmo that came along, just because I was lonely.
With such a strict list of standards, I was under no illusion that I’d find what I was looking for at a party like this. Likewise, I doubted anyone here was interested in courting a shy prude who was merely
adorable
.
That’s right—I had never been called “sexy” in my life. But
cute
or
adorable
… now those I heard often. It came with the territory of dimples and curls. Lexi tried to get me to show more skin and layer on the makeup, but what was the point? If I dressed sexy, I would attract the type of boys who were looking for sex. Then they’d just call me a tease when I refused to go past first base. Therefore, I didn’t dress sexy.
Common sense, right? You see, it’s just simple marketing.
Don’t get me wrong—my fashion sense didn’t consist solely of turtle necks and moo-moo’s. Like I said, I passed for cute. Between my two high school boyfriends, my rebound summer and first semester of college parties, I’d now kissed my fair share of boys. But much to the dismay of Lexi and my exes, I’d never gone all the way.
I sighed and leaned against the wall, absently swirling the fizzy liquid in my cup. Tonight was Lexi’s night to drive, but I still didn’t feel like drinking. I hadn’t yet learned how to accurately gauge my limits so I usually ended up overdoing it. I had developed a taste (and a slight dependency, in a purely social sense) for alcohol. Maybe Lexi was right about that whole “fake it til you make it” thing after all.
All the same, I wasn’t going to reduce myself to
the giggler
tonight while she was preoccupied. Thus, without my liquid courage, I’d likely just stay in this corner all night.
“Hey! Scarlett!”
I glanced up to see someone waving me over. It was one of the drunk girls I’d met earlier tonight. Not the one who called me adorable, but her friend who told me she could never get her hair to stay curled. I blinked. Surely she wasn’t speaking to
me?
I looked left and then right but there was no one. Besides, hadn’t she called to me by name?
Again, she motioned me over to where a group of several girls moved to the music in the middle of the living room, creating a makeshift dance floor. She was inviting me to join them.
I smiled, our awkward first encounter immediately forgotten. It was so sweet of her to call out to me. Maybe I wouldn’t be stuck in the corner all night after all.
It was decided. I downed the remaining contents of my cup and set it aside. I was going to dance.
I ambled my way up to their circle, nearly getting knocked over twice by rowdy partygoers, and took in the scene. A few girls were working hard to put on a show. They stood in a line all facing the same direction, tucked in tightly. Hips grinded into hips and hands slid up one another’s bodies in intimate places. Sweat glistened off their skin as they moved together to the beat. The girl in front kept her legs in a straight, wide stance and very slowly bent all the way forward.
