Bunch of Posers

It's three fifteen and they're not here yet. They said they'd be here at three. I've been sitting on the step, staring at the front door, picking the lint off my sweater for the past thirty minutes. My feet are stuffed sweatily inside my boots, my hand-me-down skates lean against them.

Mom checks on me every few minutes, asking if I'm sure I don't need a ride, asking if I'm sure I don't want a warmer jacket, asking if I'm sure they meant to pick me up at all.

My mother is slightly insane. Maybe all moms are.

I remind her for the tenth time that my invite was real, and that Kristy and the other girls are going to be here any minute.

I get why she keeps questioning me. Kristy and the girls had never invited me out before. Trips to the beach, to the mall, rock climbing, paddleboarding, even out to the park with iced coffees. It's always something with them, and they make it look so fun. I'm always on the sidelines, scrolling through their adventures in the dark, clicking the little heart on the screen while my real one aches to be included.

Finally, my phone dings with a simple one-line message:

Here.

I leap to my feet, grab my stuff, and book it out the door with a chaste, "bye Mom!"

Kristy's mom's red SUV stands out against the backdrop of winter, which has already faded from its original pristine white to a grungy grey, the road stained brown. My feet crunch along the hardened snow as I try to reign my smile in and open the door to the back seat.

"Hey," Kristy says from the front, all nonchalant. She tosses her blue hair over her shoulder and bats her glue-on eyelashes at me. She's pretty in all the right ways. A real knock-out. I guess it's okay to show up late when you look that good.

I climb in the back and buckle up, Jessica and Lauren next to me. It feels good to be here, to be included, but there's a gnawing feeling in my gut-- where's Chelsea, and why wasn't she invited on this adventure? Was this her seat?

Oh well, her loss is my gain. If there's room in the group and I'm the runner up, I'll take it. Sucks to be her.

"So, Eclaire--" Kristy begins from the front seat, not bothering to look up from her phone. She's always calling me that, instead of Claire. It doesn't matter what your name is, you could have the coolest name in the world and someone will find a way to make fun of it. People are always ruining things. "I heard Benjamin's gonna be there tonight. I heard he likes you."

"Really?" I ask, my voice coming out at a higher octave than I expect.

The girls snicker.

"Oh, you do like him?"

I shrug. I'd like anyone who liked me at this point. "Yeah, I guess."

"Gross. He's so gross. Wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole," she says, sticking out her tongue and making a gagging sound. The others chitter.

"Oh, no, yeah, no. Totally. Gross," I agree with an overly aggressive nod.

"He got me flowers the other day. Carnations. Like, flowers are for funerals, obvi."

"Totally," I agree. Though, I don't think anyone wants flowers when they're dead.

To my sweet relief, Kristy turns on some music and I'm not forced to talk to them for the remainder of the drive. In every conversation I'm always five seconds away from ruining it. I wish I could tag along and be with them without having to talk to them. That would be really terrific.

Finally, we get there. The pond is frozen over and everyone's skating on it. We climb out and I walk toward the ice, but Kristy stops me, beckons me toward the little pop-up hot chocolate shop. I follow them, though I really don't feel much like a hot chocolate right now. I still spend all the money Dad gave me for my allowance on one measily cup that's too hot to drink, anyway.

After waiting forever for our drinks we go out towards the ice. The girls whip out their phones and pull me in with them. Finally, I'm exactly where I want to be. I smile, even though I'm sure it's all crooked and stuff compared to theirs. I can't wait to be tagged in their posts later. Someone else can hide behind their screen and be jealous of me, for once.

Moment captured, I walk to ice and set my hot chocolate down, which I don't think I'll even drink. Sitting on one of those cold, wet benches, I begin tying up my skates. The other girls are still by the shop, their steaming cups lifted to their face, the frozen pond serving as their backdrop, and a phone elevated in front of them on selfie mode. We already got a picture. Let's get on with it. Let's do the thing.

I wait. And wait. And wait.

They snap picture after picture, then turn their phones around to look. No. Those ones were no good. They do it again. Nope. Still not right. They can't seem to get a picture everyone's happy with. Just take the damn picture and get a move on.

I look out to the ice, beckoning me. The weather's really perfect, it's one of those teriffically cold nights where your breath comes out in a fog and little crystals fall from the sky, even though there's no clouds.

Kristy's mom will be back to pick us up soon. They're going to waste it.

I look back over to the girls, still working on getting that perfect picture. That's all this ever was to them. They don't have adventures. They just pretend to.

They're nothing but a bunch of posers.

Getting up, I glide onto the ice, leaving them behind.

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This is a story inspired by Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger. I tried to do my best Holden Caulfield impression, and used very similar wording to some of my fave quotes in the book.

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