Angel's Mask (P. 2)

**I forgot about the competition. But due to all the encouragement and great advice I received with my first post, I thought I may continue with it. ^^ Thanks guys! Please, tear it to shreds! Although, please bear in mind that it's the dull bit before the action.**

I didn’t know if Saturday came too early or too late. All week I had felt jittery, as though a million butterflies were trapped within my stomach. This date would be make or break for my social life. I had only one chance; only one night. Teachers and my friends certainly noticed a difference in me. I had grown quiet, uncertain. Daydreaming in class when I should have been working. Well, excuse me, Mr. Maths Teacher, but when the most important night of your life is coming up, would you rather be doing Double Maths or thinking about possible scenarios you may find yourself in?

The doorbell rang.

I yelped, awoken from my daydreaming, and glanced at the clock on my bedside table. He was two hours early. And I was in my underwear. I sprang to my feet and searched desperately for my dressing gown. Come on, come on…

I found it hiding under my bed, although I had no idea how it got there. Pulling on the white, linen dressing gown, I took the stairs two at a time. Stop ringing the doorbell! I’m there, I’m there! Just give me a minute…

I should have been awarded with a prize. Fastest bedroom-to-front-door sprinter. But there was no sudden applause, no shining trophy. It was just me, opening the door with shaking hands and quickened breath.

“Surprise!” Hattie stood on the steps, grinning madly; two pizza boxes held triumphantly in front of her. “I figured you’d be hungry, Sand.”

For a few heartbeats I could only stare at her, slack jawed. I peered at the empty street behind her. Then back at her.

“Hattie?”

She laughed. “Of course! Who else would it be? So, are you gonna let me in? It’s sort of chilly out here.”

“Hat – I’m sorry. I have a date, remember?”

“Who has two hours to arrive, Sand. I thought we could enjoy a pizza or two and I could do your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Self-consciously, I raised a hand to my orange curls.

“Are you going to let me in or what?”

Mechanically, I stepped aside. Bouncing past me, Hattie stuck out her tongue. She went straight for the kitchen, with me on her heels.

“So, what’s happened to your parents?”

“Mum had to work late. So did Dad.”

She turned and grinned at me. “Mmm. Convenient.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can stay out even longer. A prolonged date, Sand! Hmm well, who knows what you could get up to…”

“You’re gross.”

“I know. Hey,” she lifted the pizzas, one in each hand. “Hawaiian or,” she grinned, “Calzone! Excusive to Pizza Hut! Don’t you just love me?”

“Okay, Hawaiian I’ve heard of before, but what the heck is ‘Calzone’?”

Her grin grew even more, which was practically impossible. “It’s not a pizza; it’s sorta like a pita-bread thing.” She peered at the box, “‘folded pizza filled with toppings and finished with garlic sprinkle. Available in Vegetable Supreme, Chicken Supreme and Meat Feast.’ Yum.”

“Whatever, Hattie. I have to get ready.”

“But which one!”

“Both.”

I made my way back upstairs, ignoring the pig imitations Hattie was butchering. I needed to get ready, because the next person to ring the doorbell would be him, and I had to have something other than my underwear and dressing gown on by then.

Time slipped by, even though I wasn’t having fun. I was too nervous to eat, but I forced down some of the Hawaiian, while Hattie gnawed on her ‘Calzone’. Then the terrible realisation came to me, like someone had smacked me in the head.

“Oh no!”

“What?” Hattie mumbled through a mouthful. Her bulging cheeks reminded me of a hamster.

“I’m going on a date! I might have to eat out! But I’ve already had this stupid pizza!”

“Don’t insult the pizza. It’s not the pizza’s fault you’re gonna have two dinners.”

“Why didn’t you tell me!”

“Sand, I doubt you’ll be eating much on your date. Reason one: you’ll be self-conscious about eating and looking gross. Reason two: you don’t have much of a stomach anyway. Reason three: You’ll be either talking with Morgan too much to eat or you’ll be snogging him too much to eat-”

“Hattie!”

“Reason four: you may not even go out to dinner or anything. You might be watching a film.”

“How many reasons are there?” I grumbled.

“Reason five-”

“Hat!”

“-With Morgan having a different girl nearly every week, you may just being going back to his place.”

“Will you stop talking about sex, Hat? You’re creeping me out. It’s just a date, okay? I’m not sharing a shower with him or anything.”

“Even though you want to.”

“Hat!”

The doorbell rang, which cut through our conversation like a guillotine.

Hattie and I stared at each other, the same thought leaping across our minds. That’s him!

I jumped to my feet, but tripped. With a short cry, I toppled onto Hattie's plate, squishing her Calzone. Lumps of chicken adhered to my wrist, like disgusting, white leeches. It felt cold and gooey, utterly repulsive.

“Oh wonderful!”

I tried flicking it off, but Hattie squealed and shoved me. So what if I was aiming at her? Did she have to be such a big baby over it?

“Hat – get the door,” I ordered. “I’ve gotta wipe my wrist.”

“Sure thing,” she gave me a lustrous grin. “Can I continue our conversation in front of him?”

“No!”

She said something through bursts of giggling, but she was already out of the room and thumping down the stairs, so I missed it. It probably wouldn’t have put me in a very good mood if I had heard it anyway. For revenge, I used her cardigan as a towel. It got the worst of it off, but my wrist smelt funny, pungent. It made my nose burn.

I had to walk down the stairs slowly, unable to move my legs much in my small, black dress. Even if it ended about halfway down my thighs, which I was a little uncomfortable about. Hattie had reassured me that it looked sexy. If Morgan doesn’t drool as soon as he lays eyes on you, then there’s probably something wrong with him. This was a typical, Hattie thing to say.

He didn’t exactly drool, but his blue eyes burned with hunger as they locked with mine. It made my legs feel weak and filled me with an overpowering urge to run back upstairs. I might have trembled a little as I stood next to Hattie, and gazed upon him with huge, anxious eyes.

What was I doing?

His luxurious voice sounded, wrapping my senses in a cloak of artificial warmth.

“Are you ready?”

No.

“Yes.”