To Taste the Fruit by Lorelei Sutton (the best electronic book reader TXT) 📕

“Ow!” I scream, propping myself up and off the floor. Mom stares at Ana, seemingly unperturbed. What great help she is. 

Rachel pads to the doorway, her face lighting up as soon as she catches sight of Ana. It’s pretty obvious that she idolizes her, with the way Rachel follows us around every time she comes over. “What’s going on?” She asks excitedly. 

“I need you, Rachel. You can pick out her clothes so Mrs. Richards doesn’t have to help,” Ana commands, and then turns her head graciously towards my mother. “I thought you might like some time to yourself so you can finish your cake you left sitting downstairs.” 

Mother’s hand flies to her face as her eyes widen. “Oh, poppycock, I forgot all about it!” She squeals, turning and leaving the room in a flash. I watch her leave, and then dubiously tilt my head towards Ana. 

“Poppycock?” Ana snickers, her hands reaching for my body. I glare at her as she lifts me up, and then leads me to the bathroom. “Good thing you already have makeup on. We can just darken it up a little.” 

“Ana, I know what you’re doing. You’re going to try and force me into some inappropriate clothing that Mother would never pick out, aren’t you?” I glance into the bedroom, where Rachel is laying out several audacious clothing combinations onto the bed. 

“This isn’t a family game night.” Ana rolls her eyes. “And what better time to show some skin? Election day is just around the corner.” She takes my hair and starts to curl it, but almost immediately afterwards changes her mind on the spur of the moment and pulls out a straightener from my drawer.  

“Reelection day,” I mutter, grabbing a smoky palette and gingerly applying the darkest shade to my outer corner. I wince at the rich burgundy color that I was not very used to, contrasting with the paleness of my skin tone.  

“I always thought that deep reds and pinks suits your eye color best,” Ana comments, picking up the straightener and getting the kinks out of my bed head. My hair is naturally straight, so she is probably just fixing it up a bit. 

I take the color called rose from the corner of the palette and put some in the inner corners of my eyelid, blending it all out with a brush and then extending my eyeliner past the normal shape of my eyes. I have to admit, this Noel excites me in some ways. She seems more confident and daring. With this dark, sultry look, I might have a chance at making Sebastian feel at least slightly attracted to me. I mean... not that I care. 

“We have about no time,” Ana says, glancing at her watch. With a sigh she rips out the cord to the straightener and pulls me to the bed, where I just stare at all the mess of clothing I didn’t know I had. 

“What’s this?” I ask, pulling up a tiny, black piece of fabric that was about as long as my hand. “A headband?” 

“A skirt,” Rachel says, “it’s one of mine.” 

I twist from my position to stare at her. “How did you get this past Mom?” 

“Mona, don’t worry about that. We have to get you dressed. How… do you feel about this?” Ana holds up a short dress with green detailing and a gold necklace. 

“That’s cute, but way too short.” I blush imagining myself wearing that dress in front of the high school population. To be honest, I had bought the dress with every intention of saving it until I move to New York, Chicago, or anywhere that doesn’t start with Sunny. In places like that, no one will know me and I can wear whatever I want. 

“How many times do I have to tell you? Not for a birthday party!” Ana remains insistent, her gaze piercing. “This is too hot for you not to wear.” 

“I’m not wearing that dress.” I shake my head firmly. 

“Then you are wearing this,” Ana insists, pulling a black mini dress from the pile. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s so tight it’s illegal,” I say, staring at it with wide eyes. It’s so small it looks like pantyhose. Where the crap did Rachel get that? 

“A little risqué, but it will get the buzz going,” Ana replies nonchalantly, “and get the attention you need.” 

“It’s not like you are wearing anything like that,” I scoff, staring pointedly at her oversized jacket and jeans.  

“I have a nice shirt on underneath this. I just got cold on the way over. And my monster heels are sitting in the car.” By monster heels, she means her six inch spiky wedges, which strikes fear into both the hearts of men and women. Well, it scares me, anyways. 

She flashes her jacket open, revealing a bright, gold sequined top that frays off into tiny silver strips right below her belt. It’s certainly eye-catching, and I blink my eyes several times. “What is that, Ana? Are you hoping to blind the entire party when you walk in the door?”  

“Possibly. I don’t know,” she smiles, “I felt like being flashy. And so should you.” 

“I’m not even the birthday girl,” I mutter, grabbing a set of tight black pants and a dark green shirt also on the bed. “I’ll just wear this for now.” The last thing I want to do is walk into a party I wasn’t even officially invited to while overdressed. 

“If you switch that green shirt for this yellow one, it’s a deal,” Ana bargains, and I cringe slightly. The shirt in question is pretty low in the front and cinches in my waist so tightly that it’s a little hard for me to breathe. 

“Fine.” I grab the clothing and change in the bathroom. As I do so, I can’t help but just wonder in my head why I allow Ana to sucker me into doing all this stupid stuff. There are much better things I could be doing right now. Like sleeping. Or dreaming about Sebastian instead of having to worry about meeting him and revealing any of my vulnerabilities. 

When I step out into the room, Ana smiles in satisfaction as she surveys me. “I love that shirt,” she says soothingly while patting my back in circular motions, “you have to let me borrow it.” She knows I’m anxious and self-conscious, probably made obvious by my shortness of breath.  

She waves to Rachel as she guides me down the stairwell. “Your heels look great, Noel, though they don’t exactly stack up to my own.” She winks at me, making me laugh. I am reminded of how much I really love her. 

I stumble to the door, at which Ana throws me a careless glance. “We are taking the Jeep, right?” She asks, turning the knob. I try to get adjusted to my four inch heels, the wind slapping my face as a sinking feeling gathers in my stomach. 

“I don’t know about this, Ana…” I mutter as I clatter down the steps and nearly trip over the last one. I have never been adept at heels, this fact made very obvious by my struggling. “You know, this could backfire,” I say as I swing open the driver side, “I could trip in front of everyone and then look like a total idiot.” 

“Noel, you couldn’t look like an idiot if you tried. Well, unless you’re mad at someone.” She is is probably the only one outside my family to know about my temper issues. Basically, I am pretty slow to anger, which is how I have tried to both tame and hide my anger when I am with anyone I’m unfamiliar with. I like to give the person a little benefit of the doubt, recite the social stigmas that would cast me out of the running for Secretary, and think about all the times when my temper got me into big trouble every time I get really close to my breaking point.  

I’m not the type to compare myself to ridiculous inanimate objects like some people in these parts like to do in abundance, but I have to admit my problems can be summed up in one word: volcano. And even now, as I am thinking this, I am mentally slapping myself. 

Embarrassment is also a big problem in my life, as it relates to my anxiety and the overwhelmingly high standards I set for myself. That is why I tend to stick to what’s comfortable, such as my plans, my habits, and my flat shoes. 

And no, before you start to feel pity for me, I don’t have that thing where people start hyperventilating whenever they are in a weird situation. But I do feel intense fear and nausea, information I usually don’t volunteer to the general public. 

“I don’t know where we are going,” I say quietly, at which point Ana starts to get frustrated. I can see it in her eyes—the spark of something bright and fearsome. I shut my mouth tightly, keeping both hands on the wheel. We both know I know the way to Lindsay’s house. Even though she’s the bad word for a flirt, the two of us have good relations with her and she’s invited us to her house several times to hang out with her current boyfriends. Personally, she reminds me of a little rat, always squeaking on and on without anyone caring to listen. 

“I hope you didn’t bring a swimsuit,” I finally comment, after a long period of driving in silence. I know Ana gets annoyed at me sometimes, but after a while she usually calms down and we can talk again. 

“I didn’t, thank God,” She replies, the hint of the smile on the corner of her lips. “You know what happened last time we did.” 

“How could I forget? When Lindsay told us to change and swim with her in the fifty degree weather and we couldn’t get out of it…” I laugh with her, the awkwardness fading away. “Good times, huh?” 

“Yeah…” Ana says abstractly. She seems to be thinking about something, her lips pursed together. “I… wonder who else is going to be here besides your dream man.” 

“Are you looking for anyone?” I ask jokingly, not expecting any sort of real reaction. But then I see a red splotch on her cheeks, and get more than a little worried. “Oh no.” 

“Well, I was hoping to meet Matt… possibly…” She says softly, making me almost throw up in my mouth. No… she couldn’t mean… 

“Carter? Please tell me-“ Her facial expression cuts me off.  

I guess I should have known it would be him sooner or later. “I think you two would suit each other.” I sigh, trying to give my support. 

"Are you sure it's fine?" 

"It's... fine. Really. No problem," I say, trying to hide the shakiness that I inwardly felt. 

"If it bothers you, tell me. I don't want-" 

"It's fine. You have the right to like whomever you want. I'm not trying to stop you." 

"Noel..." She glances at me, and a blush colors my cheeks. I guess I have to tell her now, or else she will never let me hear the end of it. I can't stand it when she just stares at me, and as a result I always break down eventually. I'm not proud of that fact, but it is what it is. 

"I just really, really hate that kid." I narrow my eyes, and Ana's eyes widen. "On our dates, he would pick his nose when he thought I wasn't looking, talk about boring crap the entire time without letting me get a word in, and even order my food for me. It wouldn't even be food that I liked." 

"You... dated him?" Ana asks, her tone incredulous. I look at her, confused.  

"Maybe, so what?" I ask, eyes glued to the road. Red is on my cheeks now, proof of the embarrassment I can't help but then. This is why I don't like to share anything about my woefully inadequate love life. 

"You don't still like him, do you?" 

"I pretty much hate him with all of my guts," I disagree angrily, "but if you want to date him, that's okay, I guess." 

Ana just stares at me.  

"Okay, I don't hate him.