I'm tired! I can't think of a description now.
Who wears pajamas to a fancy party?
...not that Rebel even wanted to go. It would be filled with unfamiliar grownups, mindless chitchat, and, god forbid, disco music.
But her mom's 50th bash, (yes, a bash) was a big deal and Rebel felt morally obligated to go.
Before the party on Sunday, her mom, dad, big brother Edgar, and little brother Wayne, and her had a quote, "weekend of fun," in downtown Seattle. They stayed at the Sheraton, watching this creepy show called Forensic Files and exploring the city.
12 mini waffles, 1 protest stencil kit (Wayne), 3 rocket cat T-shirts (Rebel), 5 rolls of Trump toilet paper (Edgar), 1 box of pastels (Mom), 9 hotdogs (Dad) (You do not want to know), and 8 hours of Forensic Files later, it was at last time for the party preperations.
As previously stated, Rebel, the middle child, didn't want to go. Her mom was quite a conversationalist, which got her lots of friends, and had invited over 100 people to the party.
Being 'stupid grown-ups with no drive to go anywhere or do anything,' (Rebel's unspoken words) only 60 or so would show up. But still. That was a lot of people in the room, most of whom she didn't recognize but, of course, remembered her. Not awkward at all.
So while her dad and brothers got on their suits, eyes still glued to the real-life grisly murder investigations on Forensic Files, and her mom pulled on a silver-sequined jumpsuit that looked great but no doubt itched like there was no tomorrow, she just sat on the bed in her new green rocket cat T-shirt and pink, black, and gold Star Wars pajama pants.
Her mom came out of the bathroom, where she was obsessing over makeup, to retrieve her dangly rhinestone earrings. When she saw Rebel, she let out a big sigh.
"Honey, I thought you agreed to wear something nice."
"This isn't nice?" She looked down at her clothes. "Oh, yeah, I suppose it could use some work."
She reached down into the abyss between a hotel bed and a wall, into her backpack, and grabbed a little black hairbow barette, sticking it haphazardly into her blue-green hair.
"Is that good?" she asked with a smile so sincere her mom just had to dismiss the insubordination and walk away. The kid wasn't always upfront about her thoughts, and she didn't want to force her daughter into a box. Besides, Rebel was a talented singer and guitarist, and that certainly got you more places than sequins.
Finally, they went down the elevator (Wayne and Edgar were fighting in the hallway over who got to push the buttons. Amidst the tussling, Rebel just reached out and pushed it herself, a soft smirk on her face.
They stared at her coldly for the whole elevator ride.
They got into the big blue Subaru, which smelled like sweaty biker clothes, (courtesy of Edgar) burrito farts, (courtesy of Dad) beer, (courtesy of Mom) and evergreen air freshener. (Rebel's idea, mom's execution.)
They drove the congested Seattle streets, rain plunking down everywhere, until they reached the Van Houtenita Place People Host Stuff. They filed out of the car and into the place.
Warm light everywhere, worn wood floors, bowls of snacks everywhere, but very few seats. Rebel's sneakered feet shook a little. She was going to be here a few hours. It was never fun go stand that long.
Only five or so people had showed up so early, but they cheered loudly and started to greet the birthday girl. Rebel slipped away and started compulsively snacking on pretzel bites in the corner while her brothers grinned and made conversation.
More and more people started showing up, so she hid in the stalls until her pretzel cravings returned.
Blocking Rebel's way to the bowl stood Ava, her mom's best friend. She was an outspoken Chinese-American gynecologist whose vanity plate read 'VAG GOO.' She was also Rebel's favorite mom-friend.
Ava started to smile. Rebel thought about walking away and going back to the stalls, wistfully thinking about Percy Jackson.
But she liked Ava. Nothing wrong with talking a little bit.
"Hi," she said nervously.
As Ava's mouth started to open, Rebel knew that there was no turning back.