Chloe POV:

"Oh my gosh, he's taking you to Homecoming?!" A short high pitched scream came from the other line, causing me to basically go deaf.

"Clara, I'm sure it's not that big of a deal." I replied nonchalantly.

Clara was one of my best friends in my small group of close friends. We've been friends ever since 7th grade when I got pushed into a locker and she had to help me to the nurse; just to make sure that I didn't have a concussion. I had big, dork glasses back then. Oh, and braces. Clunky, retro braces. So I was glad that I actually had the skill of making at least one friend with my embarrassing appearance.
Back then she was just a plain jane. She had dirty blonde hair that she would always put in french-braided pigtails, but her eyes were a strong green-hazel (depending on the lighting). And now that we've grown out of that awkward, puberty, adolescence stage; she's no longer the plain jane that I came to know. Her dirty blonde hair lightened to a softer blonde color, and it reached well past her shoulders. But the thing that I was most jealous of was the way that it naturally and flawlessly curled.

And I have to admit, I wasn't a freak show anymore either (even though I still and always will live with the label). I did have some features about myself that I liked. And she always told me how jealous she was of my hair. If hair swapping was only as easy as wife swapping now-a-days. But it didn't matter how many compliments I got. I still felt like the awkward, freak show, 7th grader that I used to be.

"Not a big deal?! Chlo, it's a huge deal! Okay, we have to go dress shopping and shoe shopping and... OH! We have to make hair and nail appointments!" Another high pitched scream. I rolled my eyes and smiled. I love this girl. "Oh my gosh, I can't believe you're going to Homecoming!... WITH A BOY!"

I laughed at that, "What? Did you think I'd turn out to be a lesbian? Just because we're not popular with the boys doesn't mean that I'm going to automatically become a lesbian. Even though, there isn't anything wrong with being one."

She scoffed, "Noooooo. I wasn't suggesting that. I just... We usually just go with friends so the fact that Chloe Thompson-- Formally known as 'Braceface'-- Can get a date means that happy endings don't just happen to the rich, famous, and popular."

"Gee, thanks, Clara. 'The fact that Chloe Thompson can get a date means that there's hope!'. You act like I have herpes or something."

"Well, you don't, do yo-"

"CLARA!" I shouted out of embarrassment.

She chuckled, "Joking! Joking. So. Since you have a date... That means I need a date, right? So, who do you think I would look good with?"

"Hm. Well. Jeremy Sweitzer's kinda cute." I said. I mean, he was no Dean Styles but he was still okay.

She made a buzzer noise, "Nope. Next."

I thought about it for another second and a light bulb went off, "OH! How about Sam Tomlinson?"

Sam Tomlinson was on the soccer team, in music theater, and was blessed with extremely good looks.

"Wait, isn't he gay?"

I sighed, "Just because a guy is in musical theatre doesn't mean he's gay."

"Are you sure?" She asked, still skeptical.

"Clara, do you want a date or not."

"Oh, please! Please, Chlo! I need one or it will be the death of me!" She replied melodramatically.

I chuckled, "You're such a drama queen."

"But you love me anyway." She responded as you could hear the smart ass in her voice.

"Yeah, I do. But, Clara, at this point, sexuality shouldn't matter, right? I mean, as long as he has a penis, you should be grateful."

"Yeah, you're right," She agreed, "Dammit, I hate when you're right." I gave a short laugh as she continued, "Oh, crap. I have to do that paper for Mr. Hicks class. Text me later?"

"Sure thing." I smiled.

"Okay, bye!"

"Bye, Clara."

I pressed the "end" button on my touch screen. Wow, is that how it feels to be a normal teenager?

I never went to a dance with a date before. Or really at all. I mean, I went to Homecoming freshman year, but it turned out to basically be a dry humping/grinding party. And I didn't really want to grind on Big Nose Steve (the guy who had a crush on me at the time). And, also, I didn't really know how. Nor had any interest to.

Suddenly, I heard a clanking noise from my window. Clank. Clank. Clank

What the hell?

I look out and see Dean. Throwing pebbles at my window. What the-- It's like 10 at night, what is he doing here?

I opened up the window and looked outside, "I'm sorry, do you need something?" I smiled.

He grinned, "Oh, Juliet. Won't you let down your hair?"

I shook my head and chuckled, "I think you're getting your fairytales mixed up, Romeo."

His smile still remained, "Is there anyway I could come in?"

I shrugged, "Sure. You just have to be quiet."

And so Dean and I tip-toed through the dark house, trying not to be heard or seen. Then when we finally got to my room, he let out a sigh. He held my hand and I let him.

That was my first mistake.

He grimaced and ran his finger across the palm of my hand. He then examined it and asked, "Chloe, what happened?"

"I cut myself cutting... potatoes." That's good, right? More reasonable than just vegetables? Like, everyone eats potatoes, right?

He didn't buy it, "Really? Potatoes?"

"Y-yeah. Making stew."

He sighed, "Chloe, I can tell that you're lying." Dammit.

"What? I am not!" I said defensively... Even though I was.

"Yes, yes you are. You're making the same face that I make when I lie." He took a closer look at my palm, again, and shook his head, "Why didn't you tell me."

"Tell you what?" I asked.

Anger was starting to get apparent in his voice, but it was a strange pairing with the whispering that escaped his mouth, for the whole rest of the house was asleep. "This. This is a demon cut. The way it healed... You can tell." He sighed in frustration, "Why didn't you fucking tell me." A worried hand ran through his hair.

"I didn-" I started.

"Didn't what?!" The anger was becoming more emminent. But his volume was still a mere whisper.

"I didn't want to worry you, Dean."

He stared at me. Long and hard. Searching my eyes. Back and forth. Back and forth. But not for answers this time. No. I think he was searching for sanity. For clarity. For reasoning.

After a while, with his hands still clutched onto my palm, he let out a deep breath. He sat down on the bed and folded his hands, while his brown hair covered his expression as he faced the ground. More moments passed before he finally spoke, "When it comes down to it, your safety is far more important than my comfort." He sighed again. I could tell that he was trying to calm down and that he didn't want to flip out on me... But I could also tell that it was stressing him out.

I joined him on the bed and looked at his profile, "I'm sorry." Was all that came out.

He looked towards the wall now, still not facing me, "It's okay." His voice was stone cold. "Just don't do it again."

I placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke with a small voice. I hated seeing him like this. I hated seeing him mad at me, "If there's anything I can do.."

He gave a light, stressful, and worried laugh. Like the ones that are just a puff of air, "Just call me if anything like this happens again, okay?"

"Okay."

"Promise?"

I took out my pinky and put it around his, "Promise."

He gave me a real, Dean, crooked smile and kissed me lightly. "We'll talk about this tomorrow. But now I think it's time that we both get some rest. "

And, even though I didn't know that his original intent was to sleep over,... he did.

I laid on his chest as he casually put his arm behind his head and his other arm around me while stroking my hair. His heartbeats were just the right rhythm and each one calmed my anxieties a little bit more.

"I'm sorry, Dean." I said again.

"I know, sweetheart. Just get some sleep." He continued to stroke my hair as I drifted off to sleep.

Notes

I hope this one was okay.

I kinda just started writing... And I didn't know where it was going to lead me so...

Hope you guys liked it :)

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Love you most,

Kayla