High by @((Y^!@ Allyvia (motivational novels for students txt) 📕

 She was waiting for her father to come in and tell her she was going to have to pack up and head back to her mother's house, but so far there was no avail. She had begun to sketch a pair of familiar brown eyes that looked like melted Rolo's-- not that she was still thinking of Nick or anything, simply because he had pretty eyes, or so she told herself anyways-- when a knock came at her bedroom door, making her jump and shove her sketchbook underneath her pillow hurriedly.

"Lucy," a sugary, fake voice cried, making Lucy cringe and paste a smile on her face. Step-Mother Hen stood in the doorway, her wiry frame making Lucy glad to have curves. Liza's beaky nose looked especially beaky today, Lucy decided, since it was paired with bright red lipstick and cat-tail liquid liner. Liza wore a white toga dress, acccented with a gold belt and bangles. Gold bangles looked so much better on Lucy's mom.

"Liza," she imitated in the same sickly-sweet, sickly fake tone. She reluctantly climbed from her bed and gave Step-Mother Hen a half-hearted hug. This sucks, she was thinking as she breathed in Liza's suffocating Chanel perfume. Her father didn't have any pets; her father's girlfriend was allergic. Her father didn't have any junk food; Liza was an organic veggie freak who spent her days looking up no-fat vegeterian foods on the Internet that made Lucy wrinkle her nose in protest. Lucy was bored, and craving some greasy potato chips.

 "So, your father told me you went on a date," Liza grinned, distastefully looking around the room before grabbing hold of the back of the desk chair and sitting down, finding the unmade bed simply disgusting. Lucy rolled her eyes and plopped down on the floor.

"It wasn't a date. He was just a friend from school."

"Right," Liza laughed airily, dismissing everything Lucy had just said, "fathers get worried over guys who are 'just friends'. So, who is this 'friend'?"

Lucy shrugged, and tugged at the ends of her sweater in hopes of avoiding any conversation with Liza. "Nick. Nick Keatings. He goes-"

"Keatings...? He isn't related to Nora Keatings is he," Liza asked, managing her French twist in the vanity across the room. Lucy rolled her eyes.

"I don't know. I've never met his mothe-"

"You know, if he is, I wouldn't reccommend you getting involved with him. Although he's a cutie-- I've seen some of those pictures Nora has in her office space-- his  family is so dysfunctional. Their dad was killed in some war, and Nora met her boyfriend Jack at some trashy bar. He's a total creep, I think."

Liza was a 'newer model houseewife' as Lucy's mother called her. Liza, although perfectly educated, talked like a teenage girl half the time. She was always on her phone, and tanning, and eating healthy because 'your body is your temple, Lucy. In fact, you should eat some more veggies; you're looking a little pudgy'.

 Lucy just dismissed what Liza said, even though it left little prickles on her skin. She had seen Jack a couple times at school functions and the occassional awkward run-in at Walmart, and he always put her on edge. Although Nick had never mentioned having any problems, Lucy had a feeling Jack wasn't the kindest to him. The thought made her nervous, although why, she wasn't exactly sure. Trying to forget everything Liza said, Lucy jumped from her bed when she heard the familiar honking of her mother's car.

'I will always be grateful for you, Mother," she thought, so happy to be free of Liza, and she gathered her bag and scrambled out of the room without so much as a goodbye to her Step-Mother Hen.

 ~~~

 Kingsley had just finished filling the bowl full of chips when Slater came into the kitchen and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Kingsley, my man, we are going to have yet another great party. Jess's even bringing the brownies."

The music pulsed through the house, complete with the strobe lights Slater's brother had stolen from his last dead-end job at a haunted house, and the packed living room was proof of Slater's statement. Laughter and cheers could be heard throughout the whole house, and a new record of red Solo cups-- only twenty so far-- had been spilled.

Kingsley chuckled, and thought of his first horrific experience with pot brownies. Not only had he eaten nearly a whole pan, but he almost had to get his stomach pumped. Great times, he thought, shaking his head as Slater popped a pill.

Slater was an even bigger junkie than Kingsley, which was saying something. He had the pale skin, and the dark rings under his eyes; the needle marks that were always laced up his arm seemed permanent. He looked kind of sick, with empty dark eyes and an angry twisted smile.

"Great," Kingsley sighed, although his heart wasn't so into the party right now. It's because you're tired, he told himself, even though he had been ritualistically sipping coffee for the past twelve hours. After spending four hours with Princess Amanda Friday night, Kinglsey could just feel the fun sapping from his body. Sure, the girl was hot, but she was as boring as watching paint dry. Or, no, she wasn't boring she was... she was virginal, naive.

The girl acted like she lived in a Disney movie half the time, humming to herself as she finished stamping the last of the books. Kingsley couldn't help but watch her; he had never seen someone who was so blind to the real world. Even Lucy, who managed to be happy almost twenty-four seven in her own weird way,  had made some bad descisions. But, Amanda... even the mentioning of drugs made her clap her hands over her ears and sing so she wouldn't have to listen.

She was freakishly inhuman, and would probably never admit to her faults, even though Kingsley had counted a few when she wasn't watching. She twirled her hair subconciously, and she liked those big psychology books that had to be reshelved, because she had paused and flipped through some of the pages with a keen amount of interest. Those weren't exactly flaws, but it showed she wasn't as shallow as most of the cheerleaders. It showed she had some sense of independence from her pack of gold-skirt wearing wolves.

Speaking of the wolves, the doorbell rang. Slater, grinning once more, grabbed the now-full bowl of chips and placed them in the living room before answering the door. Kingsley followed only to be stopped by AJ, who insisted he give her a shot gun. As if to persuade him, she pulled the rolled blunt from her pocket and twirled it around her fingers like a skilled baton twirler.

 "It's more fun," she purred, trying her best to look seductive, while pulling him by his collar closer to her, "when there's two. C'mon, Kingsley, I've missed partying with my favorite Hamilton Bulldog."

AJ went to Ridgemont, and was possibly the biggest slut he had ever met. Although she was fun to mess around with, Kingsley found his eyes wondering to the doorway. Where those gold-skirted wolves stood. Where Amanda Nichols stood.

Kingsley had to blink, and brought his hands up to remove AJ's fingers from his collar, to test if what he was seeing really was what he was seeing, or if it was some drug-induced hallucination. Nope, he realized, a smug smile tugging at his lips, this was Amanda Too-Perfect-For-Anyone Nichols standing in his friend's living room, looking as out of place as a penguin in the tiger pen.

Despite AJ's protests, Kingsley stumbled out of her grip and towards the door, where Amanda was looking hopeless and very uncomfortable. Grabbing a random cup filled with soda from the stairs and taking a whiff to smell vodka, Kingsley made his way over, putting on his best lazy smile.

"Manda Panda, crazy shit seeing you here," he cried, wrapping an arm around  her shoulder and holding out the cup. Amanda, diffidence surfacing on her pretty little features, looked at the cup.

"It's virgin," Kingsley insisted, although wondering if she'd even notice the difference of a little alcohol. Amanda, sighing, took the cup from his hand and smiled weakly.

"You know," she said, her chest shaking as she exhaled loudly, "I'm actually kind of relieved your here. I'm not used to the party scene."

"Amanda," Kinglsey chuckled, amused by her innocence and slight stupidity, "I am the party scene. A few more cups of this, and you'll be good as golden at parties."

Amanda smiled, taking another nervous sip of the funny tasting soda, and pulled his arm from her shoulder. The nervousness that had been stewing in her stomach was bubbling and boiling now, it seemed. She wore her favorite A-line Betsey Johnson Airbrush with Fate dress, and yet she still felt so... out of place. Okay, so the dress looked like something from Leave It to Beaver, with light blue polka dots, and she didn't really know anyone here, but she still felt like a fox in the henhouse. If Kingsley hadn't been holding onto her arm, she probably would have ran out the door, too afraid of the label on her forehead that screamed she just didn't belong.

 Kingsley, sensing her discomfort, genuinely smiled at her, putting on his nice guy act in spite of the party that was exploding before him. "It'll be fun. C'mon, we can dance together," he offered nicely, taking her hand and smiling at her. If it weren't for his bloodshot eyes and the smell of pot that wafted off his jacket, Amanda might have actually called him handsome.

"I'm not much of a dancer," Amanda insisted, only to be tugged onto the dance floor. Kingsley smiled, as a slower song poured from the speakers, and pulled her closer.

"Looks like you're going to have to learn, Panda."

They danced slowly at first, Kingsley leading with a surprising amount of grace. Amanda cracked a smile, as he charmingly swayed her on the dance floor, his hands clasping hers. The lights were dim, and although the kids around them grinded and booed and drunkenly cried out, Amanda was genuinely having fun by the time he had slipped his hand onto her waist. His hand was warm through the cotton of her dress, and he glanced up into her hazel eyes and cracked a smile. A golden strand of hair hung in her eyes, as she hopelessly moved her feet in some attempt to mirror him. 

"Just slow down. Follow my lead," he insisted, making her nod. In her defense, she had warned him of her horrendous dance skills. 

They settled into the same tempo, Kingsley leading, his right hand clasping her left and his other hand on her hip. He told himself it was because of the dancing, not because his hand seemed to almost fit there. 

"Mind if I cut in," a loud, obnoxious voice asked. Kingsley arched a brow and turned to see Eric Sanders. A smile bloomed on his face, before he could stop it, and he dropped Amanda's hand. 

"Eric, you showed! Now, you know, if I beat the living shit out of you here, there's no running to tell the teacher," Kingsley snapped, rolling his eyes. Eric shrugged him off and smiled at Amanda. 

"Mind if I cut in," he asked again.

Amanda shook her head. "Uh... sure."

Eric smiled the smile that made teachers love him and parents fawn over him and girls go over the moon for him, and took Amanda's hand. 

"Good."

Kingsley didn't seem to mind, at first, Amanda thinking he was simply annoyed because Eric had showed up at the party in the first place. She watched, from over Eric's shoulder when he spun her, as Kingsley shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around the dance floor, looking suddenly out-of-place at his own party. She immediatly felt pitying, and opened her mouth to say something when a busty blond, in a tank top that reveal the purple cups