"If you ever try that shit again, I'll murder you and hide your body parts in a Ziploc bag."
Sapphire Sanders is almost 18 years old, and she's about to graduate high school. She only lives with her siblings, since her parents are basically non exis...
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I was completely fucked.
Again.
I had texted Trevor on what I should wear, and he said something fancy.
Now I'm at the restaurant he said I should be at.
The girl, who I assume was the ugly Pierre person, was wearing a red long sleeved mini dress, and the dude she was with was wearing a two pieced suit with a plain white t shirt.
Then Trevor.
He looked way more casual than the other two, but he still managed to look...good.
What, you expected me to say he was hot? Never. Trevor could never be hot. Even with the way the college varsity jacket he was sporting was showing off his very...mediocre and definitely not impressive biceps.
Definitely not.
And I could see the half sleeve of tattoos on his forearm, which I hadn't seen often recently due to Neon's uniform changing to long sleeved shirts.
He wore a plain white collared t shirt with beige trousers, and he was wearing a pair of clear glasses.
I was wearing a huge Rick and Morty T-shirt Ricky had lent to me, and the baggiest pair of jeans I had, with my worn out but perfect lucky converse.
When he said dress fancy, I didn't think he meant I should actually dress fancy. I thought he just meant that I shouldn't dress like I was the last survivor of the zombie apocalypse like I usually did.
My shoulder length hair was tied back into a pretty disappointing bun, and I tucked the few stubborn strands of hair that had refused to join the others.
His eyes met mine before I could run in the other direction, murder someone that looked fancy enough, and wear their clothes like Hera did that one time in Lore Olympus.
She did that right?
I would've done it anyway though, but he had this sort of impatient look on his face that made my leg start walking towards their table on their own.
Again, I was completely fucked.
Trevor stood up when I was about two feet from their table, and spread out his arms like he was expecting me to actually walk faster and reciprocate his gesture.
I immediately started to walk slower like I had just miraculously became drunk.
Could I use that as an excuse to get he fuck out of here?
I sucked it up eventually, cringing internally as his arms enveloped me in the most awkward way possible.
"What the fuck are you wearing?" He spit out, his mouth next to my ear. "You look like you're on your way to fucking comic con. What happened to dress fancy?"
"Fuck you mean, this is fancy?" I retort, gesturing to my clothes and he sighs, frustrated already. His hands were still placed on my lower back, and he didn't move them once, like he was afraid of going either higher or lower.
