Chapter 19
His parties—or, technically, his older brother’s parties—were well known all across Halford, and only the very best of those in Christopher’s and Michael’s warranted an invitation. We were sixteen, immature and full of notions regarding what it meant to be cool. Connie chose my outfit, as she was prone to do; a skin-tight skirt and bralette that served no real purpose, as far as I could see, because it didn’t exactly leave a whole lot to the imagination and I was fucking freezing. She let me wear my own denim jacket and eventually caved enough to allow me to wear my own runners, but I failed to feel like myself even still. Jeans would have been more appropriate for the occasion. I tried to reason with her but of course, she simply failed to listen.