Chapter Five: Waste of Paint

The Crackhead Chronicles

Chapter Five: Waste of Paint A/N: Sorry for not updating sooner. Not much of a creative inspiration for this story—though my other story is coming along well (four chapters…OK, not much but still…). Thanks for all of your reviews! D

Thursday, October 9

I’m feeling really lonely right now.

I mean, there’s no wonder why: I don’t really have many friends out of the Computer Club and I don’t have a girlfriend. Hell, I’ve only kissed two or three girls in my sixteen years. Nothing farther than that.

I am going to die a virgin. I’m almost sure of it. I’ll end up old and alone, being tortured in a retirement home. And I’ll spend my days playing chess by myself or playing…bingo or something.

Note to self: GET A LIFE.

Friday, October 10, 5 p.m.

Oh my Lord.

I was walking with the rest of the Computer Club to the computer room, where we usually have our meetings, when I ran face first into Mia. Yes. Mia. I didn’t see her face at first and I wondered who I had bumped into when I looked up into Mia’s face and saw war paint smeared on her face.

Yes. War paint. Or, rather, makeup.

"Christ, Thermopolis," I said, as Mia started trying to quickly pick up all of the stuff she had dropped when we literally ran into each other. "What happened to you?" And I was generally curious.

Let me tell you: Mia’s not usually one to wear lipstick or whatever it is.

Mia must have understood me wrong because she said, "You know I have to meet with Mr. Gianini everyday after school because I’m flunking Alge—"

"I know that." I held up the lipstick that had come out of her backpack. "I mean what’s with the war paint?" She took it away from me, gently brushing her fingers against mine. And I kind of felt nervous by that point.

"Nothing. Don’t tell Lilly."

"Don’t tell Lilly what? Jesus, Thermopolis. Where are you going?" She stood up and that’s when I noticed the pantyhose. Ah, sick thoughts, Moscovitz! SICK THOUGHTS!

"Nowhere."

"Nobody goes nowhere looking like that." I shifted my laptop to my left arm when I suddenly realized where she might be going. And I felt sick to my stomach. I probably looked it too.

"Thermopolis, are you going out on a date?"

"What? No, I’m not going on a date!" Mia exclaimed, looking genuinely surprised. "I’m meeting my grandmother!" I didn’t believe her of course. I mean, who wears pantyhose and war paint to meet their grandmother?

"And do you usually wear lipstick and pantyhose to meet your grandmother?"

I heard someone coughing. Mia turned around and there was this sort of big, muscular guy apparently waiting for her by the door. And I was thinking: Is that who’s she going out with??

"Look, don’t tell Lilly, okay?" And then she ran off.

Smooth moves, Moscovitz.

Friday, October 10, 6:15 p.m.

I was actually desperate enough to ask Lilly about Mia.

I walked into the kitchen (with a shirt on, thank you!) and saw Lilly sitting at the counter, flipping through some magazine.

"Lilly," I said.

"What?" Lilly asked, not looking up from magazine.

"Um…Mia’s not going out with anyone, is she?"

"Why do you care?" Lilly said grumpily.

"I don’t," I said, just as nastily. "I was just curious."

"Right. I am so sure." I rolled my eyes. "Well, she isn’t. Dating anyone, I mean. If she was, she wouldn’t be so nervous or uptight."

So, I just got a pint of Chunky Monkey and got out of there.

But I can’t help but think that maybe Lilly is lying.

Please God…please let what she said have been the truth.

Please.

Saturday, October 11

Woah.

And I thought the war paint was…different.

I had just finished my bowl of cereal when I heard quiet yelling (well, not exactly yelling) coming from the living room. I recognized Mia’s voice and quickly ditched the shirt. I entered the room right when Mia said something I have never heard her say before.

"Lilly, shut up."

And I was particularly amazed. I don’t think she had ever told anyone to shut up until earlier today. And to her supposed best friend too. Not that Lilly never says that. No, but Lilly isn’t as nice and sweet as Mia.

No, scratch that. Lilly’s never nice and sweet.

"Whoa," I said, backing up. And right after that, I noticed Mia’s hair. And it wasn’t…Mia-like, anymore. No, it had been cut pretty short and she had…had…

DYED HER HAIR THE SHADE OF LANA WEINBERGER’S.

I’m not shallow though. No. She was still as amazing as ever.

"What?" Lilly barked. "What did you say to me?"

I thought that Mia would apologize. But she just seemed to get madder. "I’m tired of you putting me down all the time. All day long, my mom and dad and grandmother and teachers are telling me what to do. I don’t need my friends getting on my case, too."

"Whoa," I said again, very shocked. But proud. She had finally stood up to Lilly.

Good someone finally did. Besides me, I mean.

"What," Lilly said, her eyes narrowing into these scary snakelike slits, "is your problem?"

"You know what? I don’t have a problem. You’re the one with the problem. You seem to have a big problem with me. Well, you know what? I’m going to solve your problem for you. I’m leaving. I never wanted to help you with your stupid Ho-Gate story anyway. The Hos are nice people. They haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t see why you have to pick on them. And"—she said this as she opened the door—"my hair is not yellow." Then she left, sort of slamming the door.

"What was that all about?" I said, looking at Lilly. She shot me a glare and angrily left the room.

And I was left alone. Shirtless.

A/N: You know what to do. )