Damn high heels. I hate them.
I bend over to fix my high heels as my friend, Lavender, was towering over my head, even though I'm taller than her. I got back up and started to bop my head to the beat of *NSYNC. Honestly, Lavender is Joey's boyfriend, so I was kind of forced to go. I really don't totally enjoy hearing little 15-year old teenyboppers screaming in my ear, "Fuck me Justin!" when they know he'll just get a lawsuit against him if they do get pregnant. They just do it for the money, I guess.
"I love you!" I hear Lavender scream her little head off and her bleached blonde hair flew into her face. She quickly brushed it away and her dark brown eyes returned to the dancing Joey on the stage. I really like her better with her dark black hair. It makes her look more Asian. I guess she doesn't want people to know or something.
She simply saw Joey give a very small wink and point to her as she started screaming again. She pulled my arm towards her and yelled into my ear, "Did you see that? He winked at me!"
I could have gagged when I saw Lance. Pretty white boy who think he's better than all black people. He can just go fuck himself for all I care. But wait! He might like that too much.
I stared down at the aggravating pass around my neck. Why did Lavender have to get me this? Now I would have to be forced to look at the guy more than I actually have to at the concert.
"What's the matter, Nycole?" Lavender asked. I can't believe I haven't actually told her about mine and Lance's past situations together. They could be hell on wheels, for real.
"Nothing," I replied, just brushing off her comment to me and she turned back to the love of her life on the stage, Joey Fatone. I mean, I've met him once and he's a really nice guy. At least he didn't treat me like shit like Lance did in the past.
There's one thing that would make fans think completely different of him. He's one of those racist bastards that could be a member of the KKK. I mean, he has no reason to hate on black people, we haven't done anything bad to him at all. But for some reason, he feels like he can flash around the n-bomb like it should be used by everyone on a daily basis.
Thank god that's the only part of me he hates. He didn't mind that I was half Puerto Rican. I mean, I can't help my dad from Harvard law falling in love with a Puerto Rican exchange student. Otherwise, I wouldn't be Satan's little helper in his light green eyes, the eyes that held a lot more than a Southern charm.
He's just like his predecessors.
After the concert was over and the teenyboppers had fled out of the stadium, determined to tell their parents about how Justin apparently waved at them or how Chris smiled at only them during "God Must Have Spent (A Little More Time On You)", Lavender and I decided to head backstage to where the passes led us to. I dreaded having to see Lance again, not wanting to see his cruel light green eyes stare into my own brown ones, calling me everything but a woman without speaking a word, not wanting him to think black people should be abolished from this world. It may seem hard to believe, but it kind of numbs me after a while, all the insults and death threats.
I've made a decision. I'm going to lash back.