#p;pj

“PJ WALTERS!” A young Eleanor called from her bedroom. “I look fucking ridiculous. I’m not going. Nope.” She looked at the posters of the Back Street Boys that adorned her walls and gestured at her dress, “Even you have to think I look like a sad case of teenage wasteland.” Eleanor said to Justin Timberlake. 

In that instant her mother, Regina Kingston, pulled open her bedroom door. “Language! Sweetie, that potty mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble!”

“Mom! Get out.” She seethed through clenched teeth.

“Nonsense. C’mon. PJ is downstairs and that boy is going to finish everything in our fridge if you don’t get your tush to him.” Regina fluffed her daughter’s hair. “He cleans up real nice too.”

Eleanor grimaced and swatted her mother’s hand away. She sighed, thinking this was now or never. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, she held onto the railing and took a slow step descend. Her pink Cinderella floor length gown was indicative of the times. 

Reaching the bottom step, she saw her dad conversing with PJ about who knows what. She cleared her throat, her heart racing as she felt like a true idiot next to her best friend who looked pretty damn good in his suit. 

“I know, I know. I look awful. I look like bubble gum threw up on me. You know what? Let’s just skip this thing altogether.”