Birthday Blowouts (Fiction Piece in Progress)

I’m not really sure how life is supposed to go, but I’m pretty sure that you’re not supposed to have an epiphany at the age of fifteen. Let me catch you up to speed here. My name is Avery Winters and I am turning sixteen in exactly two months. Sixteen. The big one-six. The sweet sixteen! Now, I don’t mean to be cliché, but I’m gonna be completely cliché here. My sweet sixteen has to be perfect in every way. The perfect venue, the perfect music, the perfect food, the perfect…everything! And I basically have it all planned out and it will be perfect. There’s just one teenie tiny problem-I kind of come in a package deal.

Before you ask, no, I’m not an identical twin or a twin at all as a matter of fact. I just happen to have a best friend. A best friend I’ve known and trusted since birth. His name is Connor Greeley and he is only one minute older than me. Yeah, you heard that right. Connor Greeley was born at 11:58 P.M on January 5th. I, Avery Winters, was born at 11:59 P.M on January 5th. Insane, right? Some people believe that it was fate that Connor and I were both born that night considering I was almost born the next day, but I don’t know if that’s true or not since I don’t really believe in fate. Why don’t I believe in fate, you ask? Well, that’s a very good question. A very good question to which I have a very good answer.

Since pretty much the day of my birth, all of my birthdays have gone horribly wrong. On my first birthday, we found out that I was allergic to strawberries and I had to be rushed to the hospital. Who gave me those strawberries? Connor. On our fifth birthday, we went to the zoo. What could go wrong at the zoo you ask? Well, a lot can go wrong at the zoo. Your best friend could be so excited to see the monkeys that he pushes you over and makes you break your wrist. Your best friend could also give you strawberries again, not knowing what it means to be allergic. You could start having a reaction and make the paramedics at the zoo find you causing a whole scene and a news story.

Now, I’m not going to explain all of my horrible birthdays, at least not right now, because that would be incredibly boring and unnecessary, but you could see just from those few memories why a girl might not believe in fate. Especially when I’ve finally figured out how I’m going to break this curse and have the perfect party. The answer? I’ll give you a hint. It’s a person, he’s 5 ft 9, has green eyes, and loves giving me strawberries. If you guessed Connor Greeley, then good job, you get a gold star. I just- I don’t know if he was at the wrong place at the wrong time or if he just really loves giving me strawberries or something, but he has always found a way to make me miserable on my birthday. So, the epiphany, you ask? Well, the epiphany is that in order to have the perfect sweet sixteen, my best friend since birth, can’t be there.

I know, I know. It sounds really harsh and selfish, and it’s going to absolutely kill me when Connor doesn’t receive and invitation, but can you really blame a girl for wanting a perfect sweet sixteen?

“What do you mean you don’t want Connor there, sweetie, he’s your best friend!” Apparently, my parents can because every time I mention the part about Connor not being at my party, my mom goes totally ballistic and my dad just pretends that he’s not in the room so he doesn’t have to get involved.

“I know he’s my best friend, mom, but don’t you remember all those times he gave me strawberries on my birthday? Or how he’s caused me to break my wrist numerous times?” I question her as I move from my spot at the counter to grab an orange juice out of the fridge. She bites back a small smile and I can tell that she’s trying hard not laugh. I’m not really sure why she would laugh in the first place, though. None of this is funny. I make my way back to my place at the counter and grab the glass in front of me carefully, not wanting to accidentally knock it over.

“Honey, I know those birthdays went wrong for you, but if he’s your best friend it shouldn’t matter to you,” my mom explains, leaning over the counter on the other side so she could face me. I can’t help, but roll my eyes as I screw the cap back on to the bottle of the orange juice. I’m not sure how your mothers is, but mine seems to be able to go from a completely casual conversation to one full of wisdom and enlightenment and I hate when she goes to wisdom and enlightenment; it makes me feel like I’m doing everything wrong.

“Well it does matter! I don’t want my sweet sixteen to be a complete disaster!” I turn my head over my shoulder to glance at my dad, who’s sitting at the family table, steaming coffee in hand, completely divulged in his morning paper or, in other words, tuning my mother and I out so that he doesn’t have to deal with it.

“Dad, back me up here!” I call out. My dad glances over the black and white pages, the rims of his reading glasses shimmering against the morning sun that gleams through the window, and folds his newspaper close across the table.

“Sorry, sweetie, I agree with your mom this time,” he answers. I let out a sigh of frustration. The one time my dad actually gives input when I ask him to, he agrees with mom. That’s perfect, just great, thanks for the help, dad. I glance at my mom to see her standing up straight, a smile of victory planted across her face. I shake my head in disgust.

“But-“ my dad lifts a finger, which is a good sign, and I sit up in my chair as my mother’s smile fades.

“if you really don’t want Connor there, it’s your party. You get to invite whoever you want and that means that you can say no to whoever you want. Although your mother and I think that Connor should be there, it’s ultimately up to you,” he continues. Yes! I leap out of my chair and rush over to give my dad a hug.

“You’re the best!” I shout, wrapping my arms around him. Before I can excuse myself for school, mom chimes in and my eyes dart in her direction.

“I really want you to think about this though, Avery. Who you invite to something as special as your sweet sixteen is something you should handle delicately,” she lectures; somehow sprinkling in the wisdom once again. I hold back another eye roll as I grab my back back from off of the

“I will, Mom! Love you, bye!” I start to make my way out the door, worried that the volcano in the room might erupt, when my dad calls out after me, making me stop in my tracks.

“And don’t expect us to tell him! You have to do it, Avery!” Well, that’s that then. I’ll never have the perfect sweet sixteen. I can’t tell Connor that he can’t come to the party! It’ll crush him! Maybe even murder him and I can’t murder my best friend. Well, I can’t murder anyone actually, but that’s besides the point! Connor Greeley is like a puppy. If you tell a puppy “no” it’ll give you those sad eyes. You know, the ones where the light that’s usually there goes dim and it makes you wonder who you are as a person and how you could ever let that light go out? Yeah, that one, and that’s exactly what would happen to Connor.

His green eyes would somehow get a shade darker and he’d bow his head down, afraid I that I would see the tears forming in his eyes, even though I’ve seen him cry numerous times. It’s not that hard to miss when he has literally cried while watching Finding Nemo. I just-I can’t do it. I can’t tell Connor Greeley that he can’t come to my party. I don’t want to be the reason that he cries, not ever. So I guess that’s sayonara to my perfect sweet sixteen party….unless.

I can get Sierra to do it for me. Yeah, that’s a brilliant idea! Sierra wouldn’t find it hard to do! She does it all the time! Well, I mean, not telling Connor he can't come to my party, being honest. Somehow, she’s always able to just say what she’s thinking. Of course, that’s not always a good thing, just last week she told Marty Malon that his hair looked like he had a ferret on his head, leading him to shaving it in the men’s bathroom and landing him in detention, but it’s perfect for this situation! She can tell Connor that I want separate parties and I can just sit on the sidelines and avoid him for weeks. Absolutely perfect, beyond brilliant. Looks like I just saved myself and my sweet sixteen party.