Lizzie

Is it me, or was Brandon being a bit uptight when I mentioned going out with the girls and seeing how it goes with Dexter for going to the prom with me? I feel dumb really because I had thought Brandon would ask me. I am still experiencing anxiety at the thought of him taking some other girl. Not as much anxiety as him going out with Jennie again later tonight.

As we walk along the wide sidewalk towards my house and Brandon's opposite, I try desperately hard not to think of him and Jennie tonight. Then I wonder where they actually do it. Perhaps in Brandon's pickup truck, ugh, what a thought. I sit in there on a regular basis when he drives me around. Nope, I haven't got my license yet. I do, however, need to get around to getting one. Daddy keeps saying he'll take me out in his car, but really. I don't want to learn to drive in his Bentley. That is hugely outrageous. He said I should decide which car I want, and he'll buy it for me. I have no idea what type of vehicle I want, although I do like the Volkswagen cabriolets. They're kind of cute and girlie.

I'm totally not listening to a word Brandon is saying as my gut clenches and unclenches thinking of where he and Jennie are having sex. Sometimes life can be a real bitch. It just got really complicated. I mean, one minute we were young kids just running around, climbing trees, coloring in our books, riding our bikes everywhere and hanging out in the tree house dad had built me in our back yard/forest area. And now we're growing up and hormones are involved and wants, needs and desires; I find myself so attracted to Brandon and want him so badly that it's literally killing me. I can't let him know. I just can't. He seems way too content with dating different girls all the time.

"Are you even listening to me, Lizzie?" He asks as we approach the drive to my house. It's an imposing house with a grand, sweeping set of stone steps leading up to the front door, where two large terracotta urns sit. I know I fit in them, or at least I used to, because they were my favorite hiding place when we were kids. Until mom decided to stick some plants in them. Don't ask what they are; I have no idea about plants. But it is a passion of Mom's, and when she isn't at some society dinner, a charity event with Dad, the opening of a museum, or whatever else she does. You will find my mother just like any other normal mom, in her jeans, favorite pink hoodie, and gardening gloves. She can spend hours outside pottering around. Even though we hire a gardener. He's kind of hot too, but I already know he has a beautiful Hispanic girlfriend. His name is Enzo, and he's been our gardener for about three years now.

Dad likes him, mom adores him. She's probably crushing on him. Ewww. "Yes, I'm listening," I say, pushing a lock of hair behind my ears and opening our large wooden front door. "We're back," I yell out. No reply.

Mom is probably out back playing with her plants, and Dad, I already know, is still at work. My father works a lot. We rarely see him, as he also travels a great deal with Brandon's dad. Our moms are great friends, though.

"So what was I saying?" I stop and turn and stare at him. "Only I know you were miles away. Remember Lizzie, my best friend, I know you inside and out." He smirks and pushes past me to enter our large round entrance hall. It's a stunning space with rose-marble flooring, a rounded atrium, and a massive chandelier that hangs from the ceiling. The gorgeous walnut table dominates the space with its elegant lines and polished wood. Atop sits a majestic fresh-cut flower display in one of Mom's expensive vases. She changes the flowers weekly, and to date I have never seen one display be the same as the last. They must cost an absolute fortune. Probably sufficient to keep a small family going for years.

Charity, though, is very high on both my parent's agenda. They are always hosting events for one charity or another or attending them. Mom likes to give back in any way she can. She is talking about adopting a dog too. I would love that. I always wanted a dog, and it looks like we may be able to get one soon. It's a black Labrador called Charlie. We'll know in a few days whether we can have him. He's still only a puppy, about 16 weeks old. As you can guess, I am really excited.

I stand with my hands on my hips after I've closed the large door. "So what? I was miles away. What did you even say?" I slip off my shoes; Mom hates us wearing shoes around the house. She says money doesn't grow on trees and that our cleaner works like a demon to keep the house spotless. That she does; I've seen her, and sometimes she looks like she is going to pass out with exertion keeping on top of this mansion.

"I was saying, Lizzie. What are you going to do if Dexter has already got a date for the prom? I mean he's only one of the most popular boys in school, aside from me, of course."

"Brandon, you are so conceited. Who says you're popular? You're such a jerk sometimes."

"Because all the girls love me and I'm a ball player." I roll my eyes and walk to the first door on the right where our kitchen is.

"You wish," I mumble and push the door open, wishing that my best friend wasn't quite the hot guy that he is. It makes my life so damn difficult.