I hate that it has become Kamalani tradition to come to these stupid, fancy events where I got to put on a penguin suit to portray this image that I’m put together and going places. Like, for fuck’s sake; I’m only a sophomore in college majoring in music composition, and that’s not something you talk about in a room full of business owners and big-shot investors.
I walk out of the bathroom and back into the huge ballroom full of other people in gowns and tuxedos. I roll my eyes, not really knowing where or what I should go and do. I turn my head in the direction I hear someone calling my name.
“Micah!” a girl called out. I realized it was my sister, Reagan. Her hair was done all fancy and shit, and she had on this sparkly dress that if I didn’t know any better could pass as a wedding dress. Reagan loved these fancy ass events. Whenever my parents would tell us these events were coming, she would prepare weeks in advance for them. I mean, I’m glad one of us in this family likes these corny and dumb events.
“You’re good?” I asked Reagan as she got closer to me. She seemed upset.
“I need you to help me with my zipper,” Reagan said as she turned around to show me where her zipper was. “I swear this is my size and it keeps going down every time I move and-“
“Yo, Reese,” I stop her mid-sentence. “Take a Xanax or something.” I pull up her zipper and try to lock it in place so that it doesn’t keep falling down. She quickly turns around, clearly annoyed with my carelessness.
“You’re not the one that is having a complex thinking you gained weight,” Reagan spat back. I rolled my eyes, not because I didn’t care about what Reagan was telling me, but because I couldn’t stand Reagan thinking she was fat or something.
“Reese, you look fine,” I tried to reassure her. Sometimes, I forget that as her big brother, I am supposed to be the one to tell her she’s beautiful and that no man is ever worth her thinking otherwise. But in this case, Reagan is single and knows she’s a pretty girl, so I sometimes find it annoying that she thinks otherwise. “If you’re trying to impress a guy here tonight, he’s not worth it.”
“Ugh, said you,” Reagan scoffed. “You’re not a multi-millionaire heir of a 500 fortune company.”
“Ain’t no one in this damn corny ass event a 500 Fortune company owner,” I laughed. “Trust me, he’s lying to you.”
“Prescott Jones isn’t the owner, he’s the heir, like I just mentioned,” Reagan responded, now annoyed. Prescott Jones? Why the fuck is Reagan bringing up his name?
“Prescott Jones?” I repeated, just in case I didn’t hear Reagan properly.
“Uhh, yeah,” Reagan sarcastically answered back. I got close to Reagan to get in her face; I felt my protective brother instinct kick in and I swear if that guy even said a single word to my sister, he was going to die tonight.
“Listen, Reagan,” I started off. “You stay away from men like him. For starters, the man is like 25 years old and you are 16. You don’t have anything that he wants and I’m glad you don’t because men like him are complete fucking trash.” I stared at her in her face, not moving until she understood just how serious I was. Reagan’s face turned from frightened to angry in a split second. She pushed me away.
“Well thanks for telling me that I don’t have anything to offer,” Reagan said as she started to walk away from me.
“I mean it, Reese,” I yelled at her. “Stay away from that asshole!” I look around the bathroom, now wondering where that asshole is. I know this was an event with business owners and shit, but what is a nobody heir doing at a place like this; he’s not a business owner.
Well, Micah; you aren’t either; your mom is.
I begin to walk even further into the crowd of people, watching to see if Reagan is going to try to talk to Prescott. It didn’t hit me until I thought about it even deeper… Rosie might actually be here. I rolled my eyes at the thought of Rosie being here. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was still seeing that asshole; he has her wrapped around his finger for all I know. Rosie and I haven’t spoken since I showed up at her house drunk as fuck in the middle of the night coming from practice with Dani and Tanner. I only know this because it took Dani to even start talking to me again 2 weeks after that night. She had told me that I showed up at Rosie’s apartment that night because I told her when I was drunk texting her and Tanner. I feel stupid for ever doing that, and it explains why she has avoided even sitting next to me in our Art History class since then. Who cares though; the semester was ending in a couple of weeks and then I don’t ever have to see her face on campus ever again.
Fuck. I might never see Rosie again on campus.
I walk back toward the bathroom once I spot Reagan in the ballroom with Dylan. At least she’s safe with her sister. I wonder if maybe I hid inside this huge bathroom for the majority of the night, so I can get away from socializing and shit. The bathroom had a waiting room as big as my bedroom just for the bathroom stalls. Who fucking thinks of this shit? I sat in one of the chairs in the waiting room bathroom thing and took out my phone.
“Hey there, Kamalani,” a voice greeted me. I looked up from my phone to see it was the asshole I was looking for all night.
“Jones,” I simply said. I didn’t want to let this man know that his presence irked me and that he was the reason why my friendship with Rosie has become non-existent.
“I didn’t take you as a tuxedo-wearing type of man,” Prescott said as he dried his hands. “But then again, you are in the bathroom so perhaps you are the bathroom boy?”
“Fuck off, Jones; you’re not a business owner either; being born into a rich family doesn’t make you shit,” I spat back, getting angrier the more I spoke to this asshole.
“That’s where you’re wrong, that rich family I was born in just made me co-owner of our business so technically, yes, I am a business owner,” Prescott was walking towards the exit of the bathroom, laughing to himself. “I’m shocked Rosie didn’t tell you that. But then again, she’s been too busy with me.”
“So what the fuck are you doing flirting with underage girls?” I got up from the seat, trying to control my anger because God knows I’m just seconds away from giving this douchebag a black eye.
“Underage girls? I don’t do such things,” Prescott turned around to face me. I realize now just how much older he is than Rosie and I. The man’s hairline is receding, his laugh lines are definitely present, and he has a slight scruff which, I mean, you’d think you would actually look clean at these types of events, Jones.
“Yeah? That girl you were leading on in that sparkly dress isn’t the age you think she is,” I admitted. “She’s fucking 16.”
“16? Bummer,” Prescott shrugged. “She told me she was 18. She would’ve gotten away with it; young girls these days always want to be older than they truly are. But then they can’t handle actually being with a man. That’s why they should stay with losers and lowlifes; like yourself.”
“Stay away from Reagan,” I threatened. It was my mistake for saying her name, but I needed him to know that yes, I know the girl you’re trying to flirt with and it’s not happening. Prescott raised an eyebrow.
“Reagan Kamalani,” Prescott hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “It should’ve clicked when she told me her name. She’s really pretty,” Prescott was trying to provoke me. Chill Micah; you already told Reagan to stay away so anything this fucker says is a lie. Prescott turns back around and begins to exit the bathroom once more. He opens the door and holds it open; turning around to say one last thing to me. “Tell your sister she needs to lose weight. That dress is not flattering on her.”
“You fucking punk,” I couldn’t keep it in anymore. He was pressing all of the buttons and knew which ones will set the bomb off. I charged for him until he hurried out of the bathroom and back to the crowd of people in the ballroom. I looked around the ballroom, but it was too late; he was now among the crowd of people. I needed some air, so I jolted towards the balcony.
“Chill, Micah,” I tried to calm myself down. I inhaled and exhaled until I felt my heart rate go back to its normal speed. I hate that he was here tonight and I hate that Rosie doesn’t fucking trust me anymore to even let her know that her boy toy is in this gala flirting with underage girls. Shit, does Rosie already know? I mean, clearly, she has to if she’s okay with being 5 years younger than him. Maybe Rosie didn’t mind it. Maybe she got used to the fact that the person she’s protecting and so blindly in love with is a man that doesn’t do relationships, and accepted the fact that she’s not good enough to be in one with anyone. I wonder if he was the one that made her believe all those things about herself; or, if he just knows how to choose the girls that are insecure and have daddy issues or some shit.
But Rosie was never insecure. She never made herself this insecure girl that didn’t think she was pretty. She’s not a 16-year-old girl that is still in high school, growing yet seeing every girl around her look pretty or skinny and all of that superficial shit. Rosie never cared about that shit, but maybe she secretly did? Maybe she sat in that apartment for hours on end trying to figure out if she was good enough for someone like Prescott Jones. You are good enough; shit, he’s not good enough for you.
And you are? For fuck’s sake, Micah; the last time you saw that girl you nearly scared her half to death, and probably more than what Prescott ever did because she knew how he got. She never saw that dark side of you before.
I hold my head in my hand and wanted nothing more to just go home. I lifted my head, thinking I was so mentally exhausted to the point I was now hearing voices call out my name.
“Micah?”
I turned around to see if maybe there was someone calling out my name.
“Kalia?”
Letters From Liz. 