Jackson's Point Of View
The next hour of my life was excruciating. My Mom was all fake smiles and over the top gushing as she quickly organised a semi-formal seating arrangement outside of the pack house. An occasion like this, fake or otherwise, called for a certain amount of formality and I needed to dress accordingly. I chose clothes that reflected my mood, deciding on smart black pants and a black button-down shirt. I couldn't care less that it looked like I was dressed for my own funeral, because that was exactly how I felt.
Lisa had gone all out. I'd been unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of her as she was making her way downstairs. She was wearing a sickly pink prom dress with matching coloured shoes and had a tiara woven into her hairstyle. Every time I looked at her I
