“I am not under any circumstance going to his house,” I tell my mom sternly. “I don’t care if my life depends on it. I’m not going.”
“Oh, come on sweetie. I’m sure Chase is a nice boy once you get to know him.” she says, with a smile that tells me I have no other choice.
At this very moment, I am being persuaded to go to my worst enemy’s house. Our parents work at the same company, and to my delight, they invited us over for a dinner party. Out of all people, why did my parents have to befriend the Parker’s?
Since day one of knowing Chase, we have never gotten along. In kindergarten he stole my crayons and pulled my hair, in grade school he made fun of me for being overweight, in middle school, when I had finally lost all of my baby fat, he bullied me for being anorexic. And now, in high school, he constantly teases me for being associated with the “loser” crowd. I have always thought of my friends as being loyal, kind, and trustworthy, unlike his good for nothing pothead followers.
“Mom, Chase does drugs, sleeps with every girl he meets, and drinks more booze every week than you ever have in your lifetime. Do you really want me to associate with someone like that?” I ask her, hoping that she will change her mind.
Unfortunately for me, when my mom makes up her mind, there’s no turning back. I really was going to Chase Parker’s, also known as, my worst enemy’s house.
***
Once we arrive to Chase’s overly large house, I can already feel hatred lingering inside of me. Why are jerks always so handsome and rich? Because life is unfair, that’s why, I tell myself. My parents look excited as ever, almost running to the porch and ringing the doorbell numerous times. A tall blonde woman, Chase’s mom I assume, opens the door, with a cheesy grin plastered on her face. Beside her is a bald man with glasses and a moustache.
“Hello Betty and Arnold!” they say almost simultaneously. “This must be your daughter, Anna.”
“Why yes it is.” my dad says, obviously proud of them noticing me.
“Chase get down here! Anna’s here,” Chase’s mom yells, eyeing the staircase.
I hear a loud groan from upstairs. Obviously, Chase is not thrilled that I’m here. It doesn’t bother me, seeing as I’d rather die than spend an evening with him. He stumbles downstairs, looking annoyed as ever. His dark brown hair is messier looking than usual, and the pupils on his gray eyes look unusually large. It is more than obvious that he is smoking weed upstairs right now. I guess it isn’t obvious to my mom because as soon as she sees him, a huge smile grows on her face.
“Hi Chase! Anna has told me so much about you.” she says excitedly.
“I’m sure she has.” he answers, almost smirking at me.
I groan. Why in the world is my mom so fond of Chase? He’s obviously the worst son a parent can possibly have.
“Well, have fun kids!” my dad says.
Chase and I just stand there, not knowing what to do, or where to go.
“Chase, go show Anna your room.” his mom commands, pointing to an open door on the second floor that is visible from the hallway.
He groans once more, and starts heading upstairs. My parents wave for me to follow him, and with every hint of strength that I have, I do.
His room is huge, with a couch, queen sized bed, plasma TV, and posters of half naked women covering the walls. On the windowsill I spot a neatly wrapped joint of weed. I sit down on the couch, pull out my cell phone from my pocket, and pretend to be texting someone by viciously typing on the keyboard. I peek up for a second and notice that Chase has picked up his precious joint of weed and is smoking again. The smell of the smoke lingers in my nostrils, making me want to puke. I try to ignore it as much as I can.
“Wanna try some?” he asks after sitting in silence for about five minutes. His words sound slurred and forced, obviously a side effect from the marijuana.
“No, I’ll pass.” I answer, frowning at him.
“Don’t be such a pansy.” he says mockingly.
“I may be a pansy, but I have way more balls than you ever will.” I say, continuing to pretend to type on my cell phone’s keyboard.
“Then try some, pansy.”
