There was a house party at Shorty's on Artesian and 49th.
We wore our butterfly skorts and kswiss shoes, our hair gelled and split, with two thick strands of hair tied tightly behind our heads. Slick.
We pre partied by spending hours looking in the mirror. we looked so damn good at 14.
We walked from 52nd and Talman to the party. At 50th and maplewood, we see Moreno making his way, too. We all thought he looked kinda good, but whatever.
Once we got to Shorty's she came to greet us at her house door, her lip liner flawless and her curly hair crisp with herbal mousse.
Her beeper went off and we walked in, shyly.
Prototype played loudly through the mix board speakers, the single floor house was filled with boys. We walked to the couch and sat down, our knees inward.
Shorty's back at the door, Mikey!, she says, I turned my head and took a look.
He was tall, with a white shirt showing beneath his unbuttoned shirt. He had boot cut jeans that layed over his black combat boots. A silver chain hung from his front belt loop to his back pocket. I still get butterflies when I remember that image of him. Mikey, Mikey.
I turned back around. I had made my choice. That boy was going to be mine.
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