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“Oh, yeah,” he says when I turn towards him, his eyes practically rolling back in his head. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He slides his arms around me and grabs my butt with both hands, grinding his erection into me.
“Get away from me,” I bark, pushing his chest with my fists that are trapped between us.
He stumbles backwards, knocking into several people who stop dancing to give us dirty looks.
“Get off me, man,” Lindsey’s cousin says, sounding annoyed and pushing Michael or Matthew back towards me. Unfortunately, that puts him right in front of me again. He grabs me and starts ramming his hips against me. Damn it. I lost my moment to escape.
“I don’t want to dance with you,” I yell, shoving him as hard as I can. He stumbles backwards again, almost falling this time. He’s so drunk he can hardly stand, and now he looks pissed. He lurches toward me.
“Bitch,” he yells.
My brain is muddled from alcohol, and I just stand there stunned. I’ve never been popular, never had friends, but I’ve also never had enemies or gotten into a fight. I’m invisible. People don’t call me names any more than they call me to invite me to parties.
So I’m not expecting it, even when he reaches toward me. I think he’s going to try to dance with me again, and I’m ready to push his hand away, so I’m already leaning back, trying to get away from him, when he shoves me. Hard.
This time I’m the one staggering backwards, trying to catch my balance… And failing.
I fall flat on my ass in the middle of the floor.
Everything stops. Everyone around us stops dancing. They’re all staring. No one is moving.
Too stunned to move, I sit there for a full second before the embarrassment sets in. Usually, once I’ve had a couple drinks, I don’t get embarrassed anymore, but this is a special circumstance. Ever since I shot up to my five-foot-ten height, I’ve felt painfully clumsy and had this terrible fear of falling all over myself.
And of course when I do, it’s at a party in front of dozens of people, including my friends and older college kids who probably think I’m some sloppy drunk who can’t hold her liquor.
I brace my hand on the floor, about to stand and run away and hide for the next three years until high school is over, when strong hands grab me under the arms and heave me up. Chase steadies me on my feet before stepping in front of me. He grabs the guy by the front of the shirt and gets up in his face.
“What the hell?” he shouts. “Did you just push her?”
Now everyone in the whole room has stopped dancing, and someone turns the music off, and they all stand there watching. I’m frozen with embarrassment. My heart is pounding with adrenaline, but my feet are stuck to the floor.
“She pushed me first,” Michael or Matthew says.
“She pushed you first? What are you, five fucking years old?”
“Whatever, bro. That girl is a bitch,” the guy says, obviously too drunk to understand the implications of pissing off the most powerful person at our school.
“The only little bitch I see in here is you, and I think you need to leave now,” Chase says, not moving an inch.
The guy starts to turn around and then thinks better of it, turns back, and punches Chase in the face.
Chase stumbles backwards and knocks into a tall lamp, sending it toppling to the floor with a loud crash and tinkle of broken glass. Before he can recover his footing, the guy tackles him around the middle, and they crash to the floor. The spell is broken, and people come alive and start yelling and cheering.
Guys are chanting “Fight! Fight! Fight!” and girls are screaming.
Chase punches Michael in the face, but Michael grabs the base of the lamp and holds it up, about to bash his face in while he holds Chase pinned to the floor with his knees.
My mind flashes an image of Chase’s gorgeous, panty-melting smile, and all I can think is that I can’t let it be ruined. I leap onto Michael’s back, grab him by the shoulders, and yank as hard as I can.
I drag him halfway from kneeling to standing before he pitches sideways, and my hands slip from his shoulders, and I end up on my butt on the floor for the second time tonight. Michael’s body reels sideways from the momentum of dragging me along, and once I’m off his back, he can’t recover his balance fast enough, and he crashes through the glass doors and down the three steps onto the patio. Everything suddenly stops again.
Did I just throw a guy through a window?
Michael is lying on the cement with pieces of glass all around him, and for one terrified, drunken moment, I think I killed him.
Then he groans, turns his face towards the jagged hole in the door left by his sudden exit, and raises his middle finger.
Everyone laughs, and then they migrate out of the room now that the excitement seems to be over.
